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“I don’t meanher. The girl. Who is she?”
“Her name is River.”
“And she’s yours?”
“Yes?” Notice the way my answer comes out in a question? Willa’s the closest thing I’ve come to a mother, and don’t tell her this, but I’m actually afraid of her. She can be a real bitch when she wants to be.
“I assumed that,” she says, shaking her head with disappointment.
I grin, and it’s not received well. “You know what they say when you assume.”
“Shut up.” She slaps my shoulder again. “Answer me.”
“If I shut up, I can’t answer you,” I point out with defiance.
The medic adjusting my sling laughs.
“Tiller!”
“Okay, fine. Fuck.” I turn to the medic. “Get out.” By my tone, he laughs. When there’s no one but us, I lay out the facts for Willa, knowing I can’t hide it from her any longer. “The kid is Amberly’s niece. And yeah, I sorta fucked her sister, Ava, about four years ago up at Mammoth.”
My words hang awkwardly, bouncing off the walls of the trailer lined with medical supplies.
“You mean Ava Johnson? Doug Johnson’s other daughter who was killed a couple weeks back?”
“Yep. That one. Amberly has custody now.”
“And you haven’t said anything to me yet? Tiller.” She groans, slumping against the wall. “What the fuck were you thinking? I suppose now she wants money from you?”
“I don’t think she does. She never said anything, but if the kid needs something, I’d give her money. I’m not a deadbeat.” Unlike my mother.
“Did you take a paternity test? Maybe she’s not yours.”
“No.”
“So, you don’t know for sure?”
I raise an eyebrow and remember chocolate kiss eyes.
“Shit,” Willa curses and straightens her posture, internally going over a plan I’m assuming she’s formulating already. “You’re right. It’s obvious she’s yours.” She gets in my face. “Tiller, what are we going to do?”
I stare back, resisting the urge to curl up and sleep. “She doesn’t want anything from me besides getting to know the kid.”
“And you don’t want to?”
“Not particularly. I’m not exactly a role model, despite what Camden thinks.” Camden, sadly, is one of my best friends and he’s eleven. That should tell you a lot about my morals.
Willa’s mouth thins into a firm line. She means business. “Tiller, I’m warning you now. You need to beverycareful and not hurt her.”
“Who?”
She gives me a pointed glare. “Bothof them.”
“You’re hot when you’re mad,” I tease, winking at her. “Wanna give me a sponge bath later?”
Again, she slaps my dislocated shoulder. “Knock it off.”
Dramatically, I fall back against the table. And sleep for the next hour.