Page 10

10

Holt

I shouldn’t want Ziggy to stay.

Bad idea, having a woman—a pregnant woman at that—in my house while I’m here.

Especially when I already spent the past three weeks being as brief as possible over text, lest I give away that I can’t get her out of my head.

A camp buddy ordered a glass of wine at dinner—I thought of Ziggy.

I passed a pregnant woman in the offices—I thought of Ziggy.

I lay in my bed alone at night—I thought of Ziggy.

I should offer to put her up in a hotel. Find a short-term rental for her. Find a teammate who can move in with me and put her in his place instead.

But fuck me, if that’s what she cooks for breakfast for someone who doesn’t deserve the honor of eating dog shit, what would she cook if I was nice to her?

And she was right—the pain meds have kicked in, and it’s helping.

My mood anyway.

Not my panic.

I’m panicked that she’ll leave. Panicked that she won’t.

Panicked that I’ll be alone. Panicked that I won’t be alone.

I’m a goddamn mess.

And it’s not because she’s pretty.

It’s because she made me breakfast.

She took care of me.

People don’t take care of me. I take care of them.

But Ziggy—she looked through my attitude and my mood and she brought me exactly what I needed.

It’s hitting me in places that I’m not supposed to get hit.

She meets me downstairs ten minutes after she disappeared into the bathroom to get sick again. “Okay. I’m ready. Let me put Jessica out and then we can go. I’ll meet you at the car.”

There’s something different about her.

Subdued.

Like she’s embarrassed she’s sick or something.

I tell myself it’s not my problem, but it’s hard to exist in this house and not want to make a sick person more comfortable.

Did it for enough years.

It’s instinctive now that I’m not in as much pain myself.

And I’m completely off-balance at being the one who needs help.

The one who can’t offer her as much help as I’d like because of these damn crutches .

I head to the front door, manage to get myself out of it, and hobble down the steps. She catches up before I reach the driveway, where there’s a new small Toyota SUV parked next to my Jeep.

“Could’ve used the Buick,” I grunt. “Or my Jeep.”

She doesn’t reply as she unlocks the passenger door and opens it for me, then takes my crutches and puts them in the back.

She climbs in, starts the car, and shuts off the stereo before I can figure out the language of the podcast or talk show or whatever it is she’d be listening to if I weren’t in the car with her.

And soon we’re on our way as she backs us out of the driveway.

Her hair’s up in a ponytail, and she’s wearing short cotton shorts and a baggy T-shirt. All she needs to complete the soccer mom running her kids to early morning practice look is a coffee mug.

One day, that’s what she’ll be doing. Driving her baby to dance classes and soccer practice and piano lessons.

It’s a life I’ll never have—kids are out of the question with the genes I’d pass to them, and so dating to find forever hasn’t been a priority either—but fuck if there isn’t a howl of outraged yearning deep inside of me making my chest hurt at the idea of what she’ll have that I won’t.

I wonder if she knows the full health history of her baby daddy and his family.

Hell, I wonder if she knows her own.

I fiddle with the air conditioning vent to direct the right one toward me.

Hot as balls in here, and I’d say that even if I wasn’t uncomfortable as hell .

Especially since the heat is making her scent of vanilla honey even stronger.

I aim my left vent in her direction as much as it’ll go.

No chance the air conditioning will cool me off. She might as well have all of it.

She slides me a look.

She’s been different since she got a text message earlier.

Quieter.

More subdued.

I want to ask why, but after my attitude since I got home, I doubt she’d tell me.

Doesn’t stop me from wanting to know.

You could quit being a dumbass and be a human being who asks , Caden says in my head.

I ignore him and clear my throat. “Breakfast was good. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

“I feel better after my medicine.”

She hmm s as she brakes for the stop sign at the end of my block.

It’s an I told you so if ever there was one.

I’m getting a silent scolding from a librarian.

The kind of librarian who wears pencil skirts and glasses and keeps her hair tied up in a neat bun, but then dives into sweatpants and shakes her hair out as soon as?—

Knock it off, asshole , I tell myself.

Last thing I need is to pop a boner over her.

Again.

This time in front of her.

That would be the end of this.

Caden once coached me through flirting with a girl in high school. Tell her you like her backpack , he said. Ask if you can sit with her at lunch. Pay one of the bullies to run into her so you can save the day and help her pick up her books like in the movies .

He was a fucking hilarious menace sometimes.

And I don’t need to flirt with Ziggy. She’s not interested.

“I’m not always an asshole,” I tell Ziggy.

She doesn’t look away from the road.

I’m still sweating. Not sure if it’s the temperature inside the car or the effect of the fear that I’m afraid to be alone and injured in my house.

In Caden’s house.

A house that’s already seen too much sickness and injury and death.

Fucking honest truth?

I don’t want to be alone in my own home.

I don’t want bottles of pills with a medication schedule inside those walls again. I don’t want to get set up to sleep on the first floor because it’s too hard to get up to the second floor. I don’t want to feel physically broken inside the same walls where my brother eventually couldn’t get upstairs either. Or even go to the bathroom by himself.

Doesn’t matter how much I renovate, paint, re-floor, whatever.

If I stay there by myself while I’m injured, I’ll go fucking mad.

I might go mad anyway just having to be the patient inside the house.

Hell, I want Ziggy to stay almost more than I want to stay myself.

She’s growing a new life.

That’s something.

That’s something good .

“Once I get a phone, I’ll call a buddy. Crash at his place so you can have the house to yourself today.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I can’t—I can’t get around well, but I don’t want to be a constant burden.”

She sucks in a breath through her nose, making her nostrils wobble, but she doesn’t look at me again.

“Be a few weeks before I can take care of Jessica again.”

“I’m taking your dog with me whenever I leave.”

My heart dips.

She should, and I know it. Jessica likes her. Jessica hates me.

But it’s one more failure.

And I need to accept it. “Okay.”

She wrenches the wheel, jerking us to the side of the road at the very edge of the neighborhood, and slams on the brakes. “Are you fucking serious?”

Her eyes are blue flames heating the rest of her face until her cheeks are splotchy red.

I swallow and instinctively lean closer to the door. I’m six-two. Two-hundred-thirty pounds. At least six inches and fifty pounds bigger than she is. And at this moment, I’m absolutely shrinking away from her.

“She hates me. I try, but she hates me. You like her. You should have her.”

“ You don’t know me . You don’t know me at all, and you’ll just give me your dog? Who does that ?”

“You just told me you’re taking her.”

“But you’re not even fighting for her.”

“She doesn’t like me. I took her because no one else would. But she likes you.”

“You’ve seen five minutes of evidence of that. Maybe I’m a terrible person. Maybe I’m planning to ruin her life by making her internet famous and putting too much pressure on her. Maybe I won’t let her have any other doggie friends.”

What? “My neighbors texted me. They said she looked happy with you.”

“What if they’re lying? What if I’m terrible for Jessica?”

“Are you?”

“ No . But how do you know that for sure? Why would you trust me?”

“She’s still alive. House is still standing. You’re driving me to the phone store.”

She stares at me while I watch what seems to be my logic filtering through her brain. Her eyes start to water, and her entire expression tightens while she blinks and turns forward again and pulls back onto the street. She’s breathing hard. The splotchy red stains are spreading down her neck, and her knuckles are white on the steering wheel. At the next three stop signs, she brakes so hard that we’re both thrust forward against our seatbelts.

Tell her , I hear Caden say in the back of my head. Just tell her you don’t want to be alone .

Great plan.

Everything about her says she wants to be alone.

Or at least not with me.

I keep my head forward as we leave the residential area and approach a major road lined with restaurants, markets, and strip malls. About a mile left to get to the right strip mall.

A dozen or so stoplights.

She hits the button on the display, then another button, and pop music comes out of the speakers. It’s so drowned out by the sound of the air conditioning that I can’t tell what song is playing .

Probably wouldn’t know what it was even if I could hear it.

Ziggy’s still breathing heavy. She’s also blinking too much.

Fuck .

Is she having morning sickness?

Was it something with the text message she got?

Or is it me?

I open my mouth and get an instant side-eye glare.

So I keep my jaw shut until we pull up to the store.

She stops in the fire lane right at the door.

No messing around.

Just get your fucking crutches and get out of my car .

At least, that’s what I presume she’s thinking as she finally looks at me again.

Fuck it.

I look her straight in the eye. “House could use some life for once. Stay. Long as you need to. I don’t—I don’t want to be alone there, but I don’t—I don’t know where else to go. I don’t—I’m the guy who takes care of other people. I’m not the guy who needs help, and I don’t—I just don’t .”

That wariness is back in her expression. “This—me—I guess we’re both having a bad day.”

Shiiiiiiit .

There’s no mistaking the way the wheels instantly start turning in my brain.

An attractive woman in my orbit is having a bad day.

I need to fix it.

But I don’t .

I can’t.

Best thing I can do is to not be the person making her bad day worse .

I reach for the door handle to let myself out. “Relatable. Hope it gets better.”

“Thank you. I hope—I hope you don’t have to be on crutches long.”

I grunt.

She sighs.

And if that doesn’t say it all, I don’t know what does.