“Nah, I was an idiot. What was I thinking? That she would welcome me with open arms? Course not.” I’d felt a little lost, at the time. I was away, and meanwhile, life was going on without me at home. Thinking about who I wanted to become, I’d naturally been reflecting on my origins. I’d looked her up. Turned out, she wasn’t that hard to find. And she was living right there, in Boston, where I was attending college. “It’s a good thing I went. It set me straight. I was ashamed of myself, really.”
“For what?”
“For seeking her out. Mom… it felt like a betrayal of her love. She’d never done anything to make me feel less than her birth children. It served me right, to be rejected—”
“Wow—hold it. Served you right?” Willow’s hand clamps on my forearm again, but now she’s rubbing her hand up and down.“You were looking for answers. You’d lived with the trauma of rejection for years and now you were rejected again. Don’t ever blame yourself for what you did. Your… birth mother owed you answers as to why she left you. Even if—good riddance. She’s a horrible person.”
I glance at her right as she wipes a tear off her cheek. I didn’t mean to make her feel sorry for me. That wasn’t the point. I just thought, as my wife, this is the type of information she should know. I’m about to tell her that, but she continues.
“Your Mom made you into this beautiful, caring man. I’m sure she never blamed you or felt hurt that you tried to rekindle… some sort of relationship with your birth mother. Any mother would understand that—”
I shake my head. “I never told her, or anyone.”
“Oh, honey,” she says, the word barely a whisper. She clears her throat. “Well, now you told me. How does it feel?” She stands and picks up my glass, going to the small bar.
“Scary,” I admit. “I’m a little relieved too.”
The sound of a drink being poured fills the room. She brings the glass to her nose and sniffs it, then grimaces.
“Not used to opening up?” she asks as she hands me my refill.
“You won’t tell anyone, will you?” Suddenly I have a vision of Griff, Beck, and Lane looking at me like I’d betrayed them. Like I wasn’t one of them after all.
Willow messes with her hair and rubs her face. “What kind of wife would do that?” she says, her voice a little broken.
“Right, I’m sorry.” I take a sip of the whiskey.
“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff,” she says, and I know it’s to lighten the mood. I’m thankful to her for that.
I smile. “That’s not the good stuff. The good stuff I keep in the kitchen. This is just for when I need to take the edge off while I’m working. If I kept the good stuff here, I’d be plastered every night.”
She squints. “Take the edge off? Hmm. Maybe we should try yoga.”
We?There’s so much packed in this tiny word, I can’t imagine even going there. “Sorry—what? Is that some kind of drink that’s better than whiskey?”
“If you’re drinking to take the edge off, that could become a problem. Second class alcohol isn’t your answer. Something else might be.”
My heart pounds. Who’s shown me this kind of concern—apart from Ms. Angela—in years?
Willow quickly adds, “Since sex is off the table, I’m suggesting yoga.”
“I’m not doing yoga. And not… the other thing either, obviously.”
Her gaze lingers on me, soft and inscrutable, until her giggle lightens the room. “The other thing? That’s what we’re calling it—okay.”
Did I just disappoint her? I wish I could take back what I said, tell her I’ll do yoga every day with her. “I’m afraid you’re stuck with a husband on the verge of alcoholism. Hey! That could be a good excuse for the divorce. You didn’t know how bad it was until—”
“I don’t think so.” She crosses her arms with a cute, stubborn frown. “We already agreed we’d say we found out we were better off as friends.”
I nod. “Yes. Should we shake on that so I don’t bring it up again?” I hate that it’s the second time I mention the divorce by trying to make it her fault.
With a smile that goes straight to my heart, she extends her hand. “I want your word, Callaway.”
There’s no one around us. This isn’t fake. The way her eyes dance. The way she touched my forearm to console me moments earlier. The way my chest expands right now, at her touch. Theway my hand closes on hers, wanting to protect her. To give her everything she needs. “I promise I’ll be the jerk.”
twenty-four
Willow
