Page 31

“Of course.”

“And…I’d appreciate it if you’d keep the incident to yourself.”

Waylon narrowed his eyes. “You don’t even have to ask.”

“Thanks.”

“How are you doing?”

I pointed at my chest, equal parts pleased and uncomfortable with the query. “Same as always. Twenty irons in the fire and only so many hours in the day to get shit done.”

“I meant…” Waylon tapped his temple. “Here. This is heavy stuff. Do you have any siblings or anyone else helping you and your mom?”

“Layla. I’m sure you’ve met her.”

“Cooper’s secretary.”

“Yeah. She’s nine years younger, and she has her hands full with her own family. She knows what’s going on, but we gloss over the issue. I don’t know how much Mom has shared with her. Probably something like, ‘Dad’s a little forgetful lately, but everything’s fine, don’t worry.’ And Layla is used to letting me fix whatever’s broken. Not that I know what I’m doing. If anything, I’m trying to—fuck.” I closed my eyes briefly and huffed a laugh. “Now would be a great time for you to tell me to shut the hell up and keep my family dysfunction to myself.”

Waylon chuckled lightly. “Oh, please. Your family dysfunction is cute compared to mine.”

In spite of the seriousness of the topic, I smiled…my first real smile in days. “How so?”

“My sister is a recovering addict. She just finished her third stint in rehab and is on her third sober-living stay. She’s a wonderful cook, a talented pianist, a loyal friend, and she loves her kid to pieces. But addiction has eaten her alive. It’s a sickness of the mind and body. If it was so easy to walk away from the bad shit and concentrate on the positives in her life, she’d have never looked twice at a crack pipe. Sadly, that’s not the case.”

“Crack?”

“Among other things,” he replied matter-of-factly. “She’s been sober for eight months, and we’re all hoping it sticks this time—for everyone’s sake, but mostly Emmett’s. In some ways, the kid doesn’t know his mom. Not the real version of her. And let me tell you…that’s a damn pity. He’s missing out.”

“Fuck.”

“Yeah.”

I sipped my coffee and leaned against the counter. “How’s Emmett doing?”

“Good. He says he wishes he was here, but school started and he’s happy to be with his friends.”

“And you?”

Waylon pointed at his chest. “I’m fine. I’m…just trying to get by in a new town. I was just thinking I could use a project. I might offer to refinish Jed’s deck or build a few birdhouses.”

“Birdhouses?”

He told me about Viggo’s premade kits and joked about making a new coffee table for Jed. “The one in the living room is flimsy as hell, and a little DIY is good for the soul.”

I chuckled. “Sounds like fun.”

“I don’t know about that. Hey, look…I know what your family is going through isn’t my business, nor is it comparable to my family’s BS, but you’re not alone. If you need help or whatever…I’m here.”

Help.

I stared at the rugged, tattooed logger with his broad shoulders and bare feet as if seeing him for the first time.

Somehow Waylon had gone from being the new guy in town with the precocious nephew to the guy I’d hooked up with once out of town to…an unlikely confidante. Maybe even a friend.

I inclined my head. “I appreciate that.”

“No problem. I should probably get ready for work,” he said, scrubbing a hand over his beard.