Page 16

Carson

T he pounding intensifies, and I yank the pillow over my head, desperate to drown out the noise.

Why won’t anyone let me fucking sleep?

Half a bottle of Jack needs a little more time to wear off before we go galavanting about.

Just when I think the person has given up and I might finally get some peace and quiet, my phone buzzes across the nightstand for the two thousandth time. I seriously consider throwing it out the window.

Reaching out, I grab it and light up the screen.

Ten missed calls and twice as many texts.

Holding down the button, I power it off. I don’t want to talk to anyone today. Having your dreams burn to a crisp in front of your eyes is fucking depressing. I just want to wallow for twenty-four hours. Is that too much to ask?

The front door creaks open, and I pull the pillow from my head, propping myself up slightly on my stomach to peek out the bedroom door.

“Who the fuck just came in my house?” I grumble out the doorway—because my head is fucking throbbing and there’s no way I’m walking out of this room.

A few seconds pass before an angel appears in my bedroom doorway—her golden hair cascading in waves over her shoulders, bright blue eyes gazing into mine.

“I brought breakfast,” she beams, holding up a bag. “Come on. It’s on the table.”

Wren Beckett: my own personal torture device.

“No,” I mumble, dragging the discarded pillow back over my head.

Before I have time to doze off, the clip-clop of her flip-flops enters the room and approaches the bed. She reaches for the pillow, but my grip is tight.

“Carson Everett Matthews. You get out —” she tugs, “of this—” another yank, “bed— woah !”

My strength is greater than I realized, despite this hangover from hell. When I pulled back, she toppled down right on top of me. Her warm, lavender-scented body is oddly helping my shitty mood.

She wriggles in the bed, trying to stand, but my arm lies over her shoulder, holding her in place.

“Just go to sleep, Wren. My fuckin’ head hurts.”

“Well, it wouldn’t —” she huffs, climbing back to her feet, “if you’d get up and take care of it.”

I peek one eye open. “I am. You’re interrupting me.”

“You’re not. Come on. Time to get up and get some food. Where’s the Tylenol?”

I know this woman is determined, and when she gets into these moods, it’s pointless to argue. It’s better to give her what she wants so I can get her out of here and crawl back into bed.

While she digs through the medicine cabinet in my bathroom, I mosey out to the kitchen, where I spot a box of donuts and two iced coffees on the table.

“Here,” she says, dropping two pills into my hand. “Take these.”

I down the pills and slump into a chair at the kitchen table.

“What are you doin’ here? Don’t you have work today?” I ask as I watch her pull a glazed donut from the box.

“Not today,” she says through a mouthful. “I called off.”

“What?” I frown. “Why?”

“Someone’s gotta get your stubborn ass out of bed.”

Hearing Wren curse makes me laugh. I can count on one hand how many times I’ve heard that woman use foul language.

“Besides,” she smiles, “it was supposed to be my day off anyway. I was just pickin’ up some extra hours. Figured they needed the help.”

“Hmm...” I study her as I take another swig of the cold caramel-flavored coffee. “And the gang all decided to volunteer you as tribute to come save me from myself, I take it?”

She grins, her eyes popping up to meet mine as she takes a bite of the donut, her tongue brushing over her glaze-covered lips.

“No,” she shakes her head. “I told them to stay away, and they told me I should do the same. They thought you needed space and time.”

“And you disagree?”

She nods. “I highly disagree.”

“And what is it you think I need, Wren?”

What I need can’t happen. What I need is for that fire to never have started. What I need is for someone to wake me up from this hell and tell me that last night never fucking happened.

“You need me.”

“You,” I echo, not really sure what else to say—not really wanting to say too much and get myself in another shitty situation.

Do I need her?

Like fire needs oxygen.

But I can’t fucking have her. She still deserves better than some thirty-five-year-old man who doesn’t even have a job.

“Yes. You need me to get you out of this house. We’re gonna go over to the diner and assess the damage. Wild said he’d go with us whenever you’re ready.”

“ Hmm ,” I hum, still not really in the mood to talk, especially about the diner.

“So…” She glances down at my black boxers, a pink hue dusting her cheeks. “Go get dressed.” She raises a brow in challenge, waiting for me to argue with her.

“I thought you wanted me to eat.”

“You know,” she says, placing a finger on her chin, “that’s one of the great things about donuts—they travel well.” She stands and pulls me from the chair. “Get dressed, or I’ll do it for you.”

My stupid dicks twitches at the thought of Wren’s hands on me. Having her this close isn’t helping matters either. Her floral scent drives me fucking insane on a normal day. Now, today, when I’m at the lowest of lows, it’s damn near torture.

I step to the left to go around her. She steps in the same direction. I try the other side—she mirrors me again. We do the awkward little shuffle twice more before I huff a quiet laugh, then reach out on instinct.

My hands find her waist, warm and slim beneath my fingers, and I lift her easily, setting her gently to the side.

Her eyes are wide, lips parted like she might say something. But I don’t give her the chance.

I turn and head straight for my room, shutting the door behind me before I do something stupid. Like look back.

Wren gnaws her lip as she peeks over at her brother. “So?”

“It’s really not as bad as it looks.” Wild’s gaze sweeps over the burned room.

“Well, it looks pretty fuckin’ terrible,” I bite out, taking my frustration out on the people who don’t deserve it.

They both give me a sympathetic look, like I’m some poor stray left out in the rain.

We wander the area a bit longer, Wild pointing out things that need to be fully replaced and those that just need a quick fix. Once he leaves Wren and me alone, I collapse into the untouched booth against the wall.

“Why does everything always have to be so fuckin’ complicated?” I groan into my palms and rest my elbows on the table.

Wren quietly slides into the seat across from me, her calming scent drifting toward me.

“I’ll be busy for weeks with all of these repairs.” I look around the room. After taking inventory with Wilder, I know it’s really not as bad as I’ve been leading on. I just feel like fucking complaining.

Wren watches me, her eyes so damn blue, so damn steady. She slowly reaches across the table and rests her hand on my arm.

“Why do it alone when you don’t have to? I’m right here, Carse… Let me help you.”

This woman is so selfless that it pisses me off sometimes. She constantly gives to everyone around her until there’s nothing left, sometimes to the point where I worry she might burn out.

“What do you do?”

Her face scrunches, my question taking her by surprise. “What? I’m a nurse,” she answers with a laugh. “Maybe you really do need some more sleep.”

“No,” I shake my head. “I mean like a hobby. What do you do for fun? For you .”

“Uh… Well…” She purses her lips in thought, remaining silent longer than acceptable for such a simple question.

Her silence tells me what I suspected—she doesn’t have anything she does for herself. The woman is always moving, always giving. Constantly filling up her calendar with everyone else’s appointments.

“Two weeks, Wren.” I hold up two fingers between us.

She blinks, staring at me like I’m fucking insane. “You’re not makin’ any sense. Maybe you inhaled too many fumes last night. Come on. Maybe we should stop by the?—”

“I challenge you to go two weeks without helpin’ anyone. Only do things for Wren .”

“What?” She laughs incredulously. “Carson, there’s no way I could do that. Everyone needs me, and I don’t mind. I can’t just?—”

“You can.” I meet her gaze and hold it, standing my ground.

Wren always wants to step in and help me; it’s time I do the same. This selfless woman, who constantly helps everyone, doesn’t have a single person who returns the favor. Not that any of us wouldn’t help if she asked, but that’s just it—she’d never ask.

She finally breaks eye contact and looks down at her hands resting in her lap as she sits in the large red booth.

“You can’t always jump in and save everyone else while you drown, Tink. You finally have a little free time. Do things that you enjoy.”

Her pale cheeks take on a slight pink hue as she takes a deep, frustrated breath. “I don’t have anything I do for fun... I don’t know what I like to do,” she shrugs. “I’m always busy doin’ so many other things,” she admits sheepishly, rolling her lips in tight.

Standing, I walk to the counter and reach underneath, grabbing a notebook from the shelf.

When I sit back down across from her, I begin to write.

Wren peeks over my hand. “What’s that for?”

“I’m writin’ down hobbies for you to try,” I state, adding another item to the list.

“Hobbies?” Her dark blonde brows pull together. “What, like crafts?”

“Sure.” I nod, adding crafting to the list. “And other things.”

She leans further to the side, getting a better view of the list as I slide my hand down more.

“Clever.” She chuckles, reading the name I wrote at the top of the paper.

“You like that one?” I ask, underlining the name.

“Yes, very fitting.” She nods with a smile.

What can I say? I’ve been in reno mode for a while now with the diner and my house. It’s what’s on my mind. Wren-ovation Project seemed fitting for the list of things to help her out.

“ Hmm …” she hums, watching me write more items down the sheet of lined paper. “What do I win?”

“What?”

Distracted, I write something I know she’ll get a kick out of when she reads it.

Wren has never tried fishing, even though she has been to the lake with us several times over the years.

She says it’s because she simply doesn’t want to, but I know it has more to do with the fact that she doesn’t want to hurt an animal—even a delicious fish.

“If I make it two weeks, what do I win?”

I shrug one shoulder. “I don’t know. Whatever you want.”

She thinks for a second, a finger resting on her chin. Gradually, her eyes drift down to my mouth. She quickly glances away, biting her lower lip. “I’ll have to think on it,” she says hurriedly, fighting the blush blooming on her cheeks.

After jotting down a few more things on the Wren-ovation Project , I hand her the paper. “Here. Feel free to add to it, but this is a good start.”

She takes the notebook and looks over the list, nodding her approval of the activities. “Okay…but Lucy and the babies don’t count. If they need me, I’m there.”

“Of course.” I nod my chin in her direction, knowing this woman would rather cut her arm off than not be there for her family. “But she shouldn’t need you much with all the help she’s gettin’ from her brother and Betty.”

“But you need me,” she says, placing the notebook down again.

Would I like help? Sure. But from the looks of the place, this isn’t something I can’t handle. Part of the work I’ll be hiring professionals to do.

“I think I’ve made it worse in my head than it really is, Tink. I got this.”

“Yeah, so that means you?—”

“If I really need you, I’ll ask.” I meet her gaze, unflinching.

Those eyes that remind me of a summer sky dig into me, looking for any hint of a lie. “Promise?”

I nod. “Promise.”