“Don’t play dumb,” he warns. “Tell me what he did and I’llshowyou how to protect yourself.”
I blink, because my instincts were right.
And they’re never right when it comes to the opposite sex.
I swallow. My body buzzing with something electric. A fire I can’t seem to put out. But also something I don’t want ruined with memories of my ex.
My jaw hardens because something tells me this is the way to do it. “He held me up against the wall just like this and told me I couldn’t defend myself.”
As suspected, he steps back, giving me space. “What’d this class teach you?”
I glance down, take a breath, and demonstrate. “Step in, palm out, hit up.”
He grabs my wrist mid-thrust, then the other, and tosses them both over my head, holding tight. “Now what? And the right answer isn’t ‘screamfire.’”
I suppress a swallow. “Why not?”
“That only works in a public place. Where’d he attack you?”
“He didn’t attack—”
“Where, Willow?”
“In an office,” I shout in one breath. “My boss’s office—when he came to the bar and saw a customer getting friendly after my set.”
There’s a beat before he continues—like he can picture it. “Headbutt right to the nose.”
I meet his eyes. He can’t be serious.
“No one’s going to expect you to cause yourself pain. Might hurt like a bitch, but the second you do, you’ve bought yourself time to get away. Or as I’ve seen some cowgirls do at the local bar, dig your claws into his groin—then headbutt him. And now you’ve hurt more than just his pride.”
My eyes stretch wide. “You teach a local class or something?”
He steps back with a heavy sigh. “Just stay out of trouble, and if you can’t—remember: groin, nose.” He picks my bag up off the floor. “Come on, let’s ‘saddle my truck.’” He chuckles to himself.
I don’t move. “Do I have to claw you in the groin to let me stay and help?”
He throws his head back with a growl. “Willow, enough. I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but this place needs more than all-purpose cleaner to get it ready for Ellie by tomorrow. I need to get moving, now, so grab your shit and let’s go.”
“Why tomorrow?” I demand.
“Because her grandmother died two days ago. I need to give hersomething.”
I blink, trying to piece what one has to do with the other. “I’m sorry.”
He shakes his head. “I’m sorry. She—she doesn’t know. And before I tell her, I need to give her something permanent she can hold on to. Something to believe in the life I want to give her. That I’m ready for it and she should be too.” He swallows. “It has to be tomorrow.”
8
The hell is wrong with me? How do I tell a stranger about Ellie’s grandmother before I tell my daughter? Especially a stranger I need to get out of my head—and my house.
It’s not like it’s going to come as a surprise to Ellie. We knew it was coming, but that didn’t make it an easier call to get. Deep in my heart, I’d hoped to spare my girl from the all too familiar pain of losing someone you love.
Maya’s been in treatment, but last time I talked to Cole—Ellie’s grandfather—they were planning on moving her to a facility. Doctors said they’d be surprised if she made it to Christmas.
I avoid Willow’s glassy eyes. Evidence of her compassion. I don’t need to know that side of her. “So if you’d please just go grab your stuff—”
Frowning, Willow turns on her heel, but she doesn’t head for her bags. She marches to the living room and starts pulling on the cellophane and tarp-covered furniture. Starting with the loveseat.
