Page 23 of Sweet Escape (Whispering Oaks Ranch #1)

Executive Dysfunction is a Bitch

? Busyhead - Noah Kahan

Olivia

It takes a few days for me to convince myself to dial the phone, but my effort toward reconciliation falls flat. Three unreturned calls and a string of text messages later, I finally hear back from my mom.

Mom: We need more time.

It’s not what I expect to hear, but I have to respect her boundaries and trust that they’ll reach out when they’re ready.

To me, this might feel like a petty vendetta, but to my family, it was the near loss of their livelihood and everything they worked for their entire lives.

They need time, and I have nothing but time to give for the next six months or so, at least.

I can be patient. I just need a distraction.

My first attempt at a new recipe is an epic failure. I can’t remember if I added the eggs, so I add more. Then I find the shells in th e trash, confirming that I did, in fact, add the eggs the first time. I compensate by doubling the remaining ingredients.

To my utter horror, the mixer overflows. I manage to wipe down most of the mess before starting on the dishes and somehow end up spending the next hour rearranging the cabinets. That’s what my illogical brain tells me to do, even though I still have a mess to clean up.

The inner workings of my mind are like one giant maze with a million dead ends and only one exit.

Outside the small kitchen window, the sun sinks behind the trees, leaving me with only the faint glow of the street lamps and the dim light above the stove.

I lean back against the basin, inhaling a few stuttered breaths.

On the outside, I’m cool and collected. Inside, I have this intense need to be doing something, anything, but I’m paralyzed looking around at the mess on my countertops.

I know I need to fix it, but I can’t. My mind is at war within itself, and my body doesn’t know which side to obey.

I sink to the floor and wrap my arms around my knees.

I stay like that for minutes, maybe half an hour, until I muster up enough energy to make my way to the bedroom.

I spare the bathroom a cursory glance, but I can’t even bring myself to shower or brush my teeth.

Those are problems for the me of tomorrow.

Right now, I want to sink into my bed and hope I wake up without this debilitating dysfunction.

A sharp rap at the door wakes me from my peaceful sleep. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve been out for almost twelve hours. I stumble out of bed and throw my hair into a haphazard bu n as I make my way to the door. At least I had the wherewithal to lock up last night.

I wince as I pass the disaster that’s awaiting me in the kitchen. When the door swings open and Wilder is on the other side, my eyes widen. I’ve never seen him looking so disheveled.

His hair is sticking up at odd angles, and his clothes are wrinkled like he threw them on in a hurry. His fists are clenched at his side, but I don’t miss the tremble. “You weren’t answering your phone. I thought something happened to you. Then it stopped ringing altogether, and I panicked.”

I grimace. My phone is probably somewhere on the kitchen island, buried in cupcake batter and regret. I take one of his shaking hands in mine. “I’m okay. Come inside.”

When he steps through the door, he pulls me into his arms, and his comforting scent wraps around me. He inhales deeply and blows out a prolonged breath. “You’re okay,” he murmurs. It’s not a question, and I can’t tell if he’s saying it for my benefit or his.

“I’m okay.”

Another beat passes before he finally lets go.

Head tilted down, eyes closed, he rakes both hands through his hair and takes a few deep breaths before his shoulders finally relax.

He scans the space, and I melt into a puddle of shame right there in the entry between my disastrous kitchen and the man I have more than a passing attraction to.

“What happened?” he asks incredulously.

“Short answer? Chaos.”

“Long answer?”

“I tried out a new recipe and got a little sidetracked.”

“A little? Right. How long ago was this?” He lifts one of the dirty spoons that’s solidified to the counter.

I cover my face with my hands, not wanting to see the disgust in his expression, and groan into my palms. “I don’t know. Like… twelve-ish hours ago. Give or take.”

He grasps my wrists, prying them away from my face. “Look at me.”

I snap my hands back into place. It’s childish, I know, but I can’t bring myself to face his judgment.

I still remember the way Jake used to berate me for my messes.

I never realized how bad he made me feel about myself until I was out of that environment.

I couldn’t bear it if Wilder did the same. “No thanks. I’m fine like this.”

“Don’t hide from me. What’s going on?”

I drop my hands and sink onto one of the kitchen chairs. “I have ADHD. It’s probably something you should know. With my luck, our kid will have it, too.”

He crouches before me, placing his hands on my knees. “How can I help you?”

“You can’t help me. It’s just something I have to live with.” I shrug. “Some days are better than others.”

“I get that, honey. I just mean, what can I do right now in this moment to make you feel better? Can I clean up? Would that be okay?”

“You’d do that for me? It’s not even your mess.”

“No, but you’re struggling, and I want to help. Will you let me?” He tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers trailing along my jaw. “Please.”

Tears spring to my eyes, and I nod. This gentle side of the broody cowboy is unexpected, and everything I didn’t know I needed. “Sorry. Hormones.” I stand, intending to help with the mess.

“Sit down, Liv. I’ve got this.”

“But—”

“Sit. I’m going downstairs to get you some breakfast because I’m certain you haven’t eaten recently, and when I get back, you better be on that couch waiting for me. Got it?” His commanding t one brooks no argument, and just like that, all traces of the gentle cowboy have vanished.

Wilder’s footsteps carry down the stairs. I head off into the living room as instructed, though I’m tempted to see what happens when I don’t cater to his every whim. It could be fun to rile him up.

When he returns a short while later, he places a tray across my lap with a BLT and french fries, then hands me a bottle of water.

He takes a seat on the coffee table across from me like he’s prepared to watch me eat every last morsel.

I take the first bite of the sandwich, savoring the fatty, tangy flavors.

He’s right, of course. I can’t remember the last time I ate, and now I feel guilty because I’m not taking care of myself, which means I’m not taking care of my baby. I wish I could call my mom. She’d know exactly what to say.

“Where did that beautiful mind of yours just trail off to?”

“What do you mean?”

“You frowned. What’s wrong?”

With a resigned sigh, I murmur, “The baby’s not even here yet, and I’m already failing.”

“That’s the biggest load of bullshit I’ve ever heard, Olivia Sullivan. Do you ever just let yourself be imperfect? Do you think every parent has it together all the time? I sure as fuck don’t. So, you left a mess in the kitchen, and you forgot to eat… so what?”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Because it is.” He leans in and kisses my forehead. “I want you to promise me something, okay?” He doesn’t wait for an answer. “If you’re ever struggling like that again, call me.”

I nod, knowing I have no intention of bringing him into the mess that is my life. We might have to co-parent, but he doesn’t have to deal with my scatterbrained nature.

“Promise me,” he says again, more forcefully this time.

“Okay. I promise. ”

“Good girl. Now finish your lunch while I clean up.”

“Wilder, I?—”

He spears me with a warning glare, eliciting a small smile for the first time since he walked into the apartment, and I change course.

“Thank you.”

Wilder

The fear that consumed me when I couldn’t get a hold of Liv still lingers beneath the surface, but I manage to tamp it down enough to take care of her.

Now, as I stand in the disaster area that is her kitchen, some of that fear threatens to resurface.

I don’t know how I’m going to live like this, with her so far away from me, and me knowing I won't get to her in time if something happens.

Breathing in a steadying breath, I drain the sink of the cool water that’s been sitting there for fuck knows how long and start on the dishes.

I want to ask her to move to the ranch so I can take care of her like this every day.

It’s not a hardship, and I know she needs the support, but it’s way too soon to be talking about living arrangements.

We only just reconnected. I tuck the idea to the back of my mind to revisit at a later date, refocusing on the task at hand.

My thoughts drift to Olivia in my home, in my kitchen, and in my bed, until a blur in the shape of my baby mama crosses in my periphery.

I waste no time, dropping the dish into the sudsy water as I trail behind her down the hallway.

A door slams shut before I can reach her.

There is the distinct sound of retching on the other side, followed by a string of curses.

“Liv. Are you okay?”I ask.

She groans, and the muffled sound of her voice saying something indiscernible is quickly followed by another round of vomiting.

“Do you need me to get you anything?”

“Oh my God, Wilder. Go away,” she screeches. “I do not need you here for this again.”

I hold up my hands in a placating gesture, even though she can’t see me through the closed door. “Ok. I’m going. I’ll bring you some water and set it outside the door.”

I’m elbow deep in a sink full of dishes when I hear the sound of the toilet flushing and running water before Olivia emerges from the bathroom.

“Can we just pretend that didn’t happen?” she asks, twisting the cap back on the water bottle.

I chuckle. “You do realize you’ll be pushing a baby out of your body soon, and I’ll be there every step of the way. That’s way worse than a little morning sickness.”

“Great. Now I have that to think about for the next six months.”

I dry my hands and turn to Olivia, hoping she can read the sincerity in my expression. “It’s the most beautiful thing in the world, and I can’t wait to be by your side when you experience it.”

She smiles and pads around the island, wrapping her arms around my waist. “Thank you. For everything. If I had to get knocked up by some rando on an airplane, I’m glad it was you.” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice, but there’s also an undercurrent of profound honesty that catches me off guard.

“Technically, you didn’t get knocked up on the airplane,” I say. “Do you need a reminder? I can take you on a quick trip down memory lane.”

Her shoulders draw up on a full-body shudder. She hugs me tighter.

I rest my cheek against her hair, inhaling the faint scent of her shampoo —vanilla coconut. “I’m glad it was you, too, Pretty Girl.”