Page 19

CHAPTER 18

NICE TRY

WILDER

T he fairy lights over our head twinkle in the dim room, Cass’s voice velvety and rhythmic as she reads the opening chapter of A Wrinkle In Time to Cricket.

I’m smushed against the wall with my feet nearly hanging off the end of the bed. Cricket is sandwiched between me and Cass. Everything feels soft and blurry around the edges, both familiar and completely unknown.

Dinner went quickly and then the Walkers said goodbye. It was hard to watch Cricket clinging to her grandmother, her eyes pinched shut. I feel like a villain, selfish for keeping her here, even though this is exactly what was asked of me. Not only by Ashley but by the Walkers. It’s what I want, which is probably why it feels like a crime. Cricket chose to be here, but I can’t imagine this is where she wants to be.

Where she wants to be doesn’t exist anymore. The reminder makes my stomach turn.

There are no other options. And it’s what’s best for her. I think, at least.

But I still feel like I’ve done something wrong. Maybe if I can make Cricket happy, everything else will fall into place.

She’s tucked under my arm, her eyes following along as Cass reads. Cute little nightlights are scattered artfully around the room. One is a glowing white duck, its legs dangling off a shelf. One’s a piece of toast with a face on it and tiny arms and legs. A projector throws a slowly swirling galaxy onto the ceiling. There are even night lights in the hallway and my room. Our room.

Cass thought of everything.

When I came home Monday morning and saw what she’d done with the room, I stopped dead in the threshold and gawked for a long minute. All these little details she chose one by one in the hopes they’d make it easier for Cricket. Judging by Cricket’s sleepy smile, I think it worked.

Cass closes the book when she reads the last line of the chapter. Cricket groans.

“One more chapter?”

“It’s a school night,” Cass reminds her, booping her nose before she climbs out of bed.

I do the same, but off the foot. When Cass moves to the bookshelf to put the book away, I step to the bedside and pull the covers up to Cricket’s armpits. She takes off her glasses and hands them to me, watching me with big eyes as I set them on her nightstand and kneel. Her arms pop out of the covers, her hands folding on her stomach. I cover them with mine.

“What else can I get you before bed, kiddo?”

“Nothing, I think.”

“Okay. Well, if you think of anything, me and Cass are just down the hall. Normally, we sleep with doors closed, but until you’re ready, we’ll keep them cracked, okay?”

Her brows click together. “How come?”

“It’s safer in case there’s a fire.”

Cricket’s face flickers, and I curse myself.

“You don’t have anything to worry about here. Remember, that’s my job.”

“To stop fires?”

“To keep you safe.”

Her face softens, and she wears a small smile that makes me feel like a king. “Okay.”

“Okay,” I echo, leaning in to kiss her forehead as I stand. I’m not sure why. It just feels like the right thing to do.

The way she’s still smiling at me, so small in her bed, confirms that it was.

Cass and I back out of her room, reminding her again we’re close by and to come get us if she needs anything. I leave the door half open, as promised.

We release a simultaneous sigh as we walk the short distance into my room, then fill the space between us with details about when we have to wake up, what time we have to leave, what’s in the kitchen for breakfast. All the while, I brush my teeth and Cass gathers her pajamas. On confirming that I don’t need in the bathroom, she closes herself up inside, and I’m alone.

I empty my pockets into the dish on my dresser where my wedding band used to live, now back on my finger for the foreseeable future. The sounds of Cass brushing her teeth keep me company as I tug off my shirt, then my pants, plugging in my phone before climbing into bed. My gaze catches on the small pallet Cass made for Cricket. For a moment, I’m a stranger in my own home, sitting still and awkward against the headboard, the covers in my lap. Waiting for my wife to join me.

The number of full nights I’ve spent alone with Cass could fit in one hand. If you count the ones that include access to a mattress, there is approximately one—the night we got married in Vegas. Strange that tonight we’ll share a bed, but I can’t touch her.

God, how I fucking hate it.

But the fact that she’s here at all is the mother of all wins, and for that, I’m the most grateful man on earth.

As I’m waiting, I imagine the next few minutes. Wonder how I’ll handle seeing her walking toward my bed in those silky green pajamas she took in there with her. Maybe she’ll tease me, offer me a smile. Slip into my bed and turn her back to me. Then, somehow, I’m supposed to sleep. Feels impossible. Seems like?—

The door opens, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath when it bursts out of me in a laugh.

Cassidy Winfield struts out of the bathroom looking like a silken monster, hands on her hips as she strikes poses. Her hair is tucked up in a lumpy, hot pink satin bonnet, with a black eye mask pushed up on her forehead. Under her eyes and beneath the eye mask are some sort of shiny patches like she’s at a spa. Her lips are a weird shade of bluish-purple, and when she smiles a plastic mouth guard is on full display.

I cannot fucking stop laughing.

Cass pops a hip and flips imaginary hair, and I do my best to ignore the jiggle of her breasts, nipples hard in the silky tank. When she speaks, it’s impeded by the mouth guard. “I know I’m hot, but keep your hands to yourself.” Drool threatens—when she slurps saliva back into her mouth, we lose it. She drops the act, taking off her mouth guard as she climbs into bed next to me. Our cheeks are pink and high.

I’m indescribably happy.

“Sorry, I had to,” she says around giggles, setting the mouth guard on the nightstand so she can situate herself in bed.

“What the hell is all this?” I yank her eye mask and snap it lightly.

“Careful!” she warns, her hands flying to keep everything in place. “They say the uglier you go to sleep, the prettier you wake up. Can confirm.”

I’m laughing again.

“Don’t laugh.” She swats my arm. “You’ll see in the morning.” I watch her pretty legs disappear as she slides them between the sheets.

I lean in a little, examining her plump, purple lips. Without thinking, I thumb the bottom one. “What’s this?”

Her cheeks flush, but my hand is already gone. “Lip stain. They won’t be this color when I peel it off.”

“Peel?”

“Oh, baby—in the morning, I will shed all of this like a sexy reptile and emerge a goddess.”

I make a face, confused. “What do you mean? You always look like a goddess.”

She might roll her eyes, but her blush deepens. “Really, Romeo?”

“What? It wasn’t a line. I don’t get how all this will make a difference.”

Smiling placidly, she pats my cheek. “That’s because you are not a woman. The first thing we learn after our ABCs is that you could always be prettier.”

Of course I knew women were put through that kind of bullshit, but I frown through a pause as something I’d never considered occurs to me. “You don’t think Cricket feels that way, do you?”

She stills, blinks at me. When she sees I’m serious, she lays her hand on mine. “Maybe a little, but it’ll come later no matter what we do. It’s our job— your job,” she corrects herself, “to help show her that stuff doesn’t matter. You know, so she can joke about it instead of letting it be a real thing.”

“I mean, even if you’re doing it as a joke, it matters enough to you that you’re doing it.”

One of her auburn brows arches. “Maybe I’m doing it as a form of birth control.” She shoves one of the extra pillows between us.

A slow smile lifts one corner of my lips on the same side as her sassy eyebrow. “If you think all this would stop me from wanting to fuck you, you’re crazy.”

Her mouth falls open and her eyes pop, but laughter bubbles out of her. “I’d thank you for the compliment but I don’t want to encourage you.” She shakes her head at me as she slides all the way into bed.

When I stretch for the light switch, she’s reaching for her mouth guard. The room goes dark but for the glow in the hallway.

“Are we okay?” I ask.

“Yeah,” she answers.

“You’re not mad at me still?”

“No. I forgive you, even though I cannot figure out why you didn’t mail the papers.”

“Do you want the fake answer or the real answer?”

After a pause, she says, “Both. Fake one first.”

“I just forgot about them.”

“And the real one?”

“I couldn’t stand the thought of not being married to you.”

I hear the small intake of her breath. She says nothing for a protracted moment. Then, only, “Thank you for telling me.”

“You’re welcome.” I hear her roll over to face the other way. But I stay where I am, hunkering down for sleep, not expecting either of us to speak.

“Goodnight, husband,” she says quietly.

My heart all but shoots out of me with its loud, painful pounding.

I turn my head toward her, searching for the outline of her in the dark.

“Goodnight, wife,” I say.

She sighs, content.

And I fall asleep smiling at my ceiling.