Unfixable Page 8

  It’s like he didn’t even hear me. “Willa, you should have seen your sister…” This time he doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s choked up. “I thought I knew how strong she was. How incredible. I had no idea.”

  I swallow a sob. “She finds a way to remind you once in a while.”

  “I’ll never forget again.” His deep, shaky inhale crackles through the line. “I have to go now. The nurse needs me to fill out the birth certificate. Jesus, a birth certificate. It might be the only kind of paperwork that doesn’t piss me off. You all right, kid?”

  “I’m great. I’m so happy for you, Derek.” I feel someone step behind me and lay a hand on my shoulder. Without turning around, I know its Shane. Absently, I notice Orla has appeared behind the bar to replace him, possibly just returned from her break, and she’s watching me with concern. Correction, everyone in the pub is watching me. When I feel tears rolling over my knuckles as they grip the phone, I swipe at my eyes with the sleeve of my hoodie. Hesitantly, Shane pulls me into his side and I go without protest. “Hey, listen. Try not to turn Dolly into a law-abiding citizen before I have a chance to corrupt her.”

  A rumbling laugh. “Don’t even think about it. She’s not leaving the house until she turns eighteen. And only then, after completing every self-defense class I can find.”

  I release a watery sigh. “Sh-should I come home? I can—”

  Shane goes stiff beside me, but I’m in no place to ponder that reaction.

  “I knew you’d say that. It’s not necessary.” A chair scrapes back four thousand miles away. “You’ll be home soon enough. I’m off for a week and then Patti is coming over to help out while I’m at work.”

  Patti, the ex-police dispatch operator who’d taken a shine to Ginger at a long-ago police gala, then quickly became an inevitability in our lives, sort of an adopted grandmother that asked too many uncomfortable questions. I hear someone call Derek’s name in the background. Not Ginger, probably the nurse.

  “I have to go. You sure you’re okay?”

  “Yeah. Will you have Ginger call me when she’s up?”

  “Of course. Talk to you soon. Stay out of trouble.”

  “Trouble finds me, you know that.”

  “Bye, Willa.”

  “Bye.”

  In my hand, the line goes dead, but I continue to hold it to my ear, imagining Derek bustling around the hospital room while Ginger sleeps peacefully in the bed. I want be sitting in one of the hard, plastic chairs in that room so badly, it’s a physical ache yawning in my stomach. I want to hold my niece. I want to look down at her and see the proof that Ginger escaped our past and made a happy life. I want to know it’s possible for me, too. But I can’t. It’s out of my reach.

  Finally, Shane takes the phone out of my hand, and it drops limply to my side. With an arm around my waist, he walks me through the noticeably quieter pub toward the back hallway. I think he is going to leave me at the bottom of the stairs leading up toward the rooms, but he pulls me into the dark office instead.

  I’m thankful when he closes the door and doesn’t turn on the overhead light. Fluorescent lighting and sniveling girl are an unattractive combination, even if that ambiance would probably help me pull it together quicker. In the pitch-black, however, nothing prevents the sob from shuddering higher in my chest and escaping through my parted mouth. Not even Shane’s presence. I cringe when I hear it. It sounds like weakness. But he’s pulling me against his chest and holding it in is no longer an option.

  “All right, love.”

  That’s all he says, yet somehow it’s the perfect thing. In this case, however, the perfect thing makes me cry all the harder. I don’t want to be comforted. I don’t deserve it. “I was supposed to be there. First babies almost never come early. I Googled that shit.”

  “I need more to work with. Who had a baby?”

  “Ginger.” Just her name brings on a fresh wave of tears. “She wasn’t due for another month. And I’m here in this rainy-ass country. When I should be there.”

  He begins rubbing circles on my back with his big hand. “It does rain a lot.” For some reason, that startles a laugh out of me, but it’s far too tempting to bury my face against his neck and keep crying. I haven’t cried in a long time, not even over Evan, and I can’t seem to stem the flow of emotion. “You couldn’t have predicted it,” Shane says quietly, almost to himself.

  I wipe my eyes on Shane’s hard shoulder and pull back shaking my head, even though he can’t see me. “You don’t understand. It’s our job to predict what the other will do. We’re both impulsive, and we can’t communicate worth a damn. Predicting is our how we operate.” My head falls back on my shoulders. “I couldn’t even get this one thing right. The one time she actually needs me, and I’m missing in action. God, I’m so fucking sick of not getting it right for people that matter. She was there for me through everything. She saved me.”

  He’s silent a beat. “Saved you from what? Tell me, Willa.”

  I laugh bitterly, hating the sound but unable to stem it. “I can’t.”

  “Bullshit. Give me something.” He lays his rough cheek against mine, the gesture undermining his harsh words. Letting him stay there feels risky, yet oddly natural.

  “Why do you want to know? Just so you can understand where your initial judgment of me went wrong?”

  “I have a need to know. Beyond that, I don’t have an explanation.”

  I take a deep breath and tell the first story that comes to mind. “Ginger bought me my camera when I was twelve. A Christmas present. She probably had to save the entire year to afford it. It’s not the best one, but it’s mine.” I squeeze my eyes shut, unable to believe what I’m revealing, but Shane’s heat combined with the dark is so inviting. “Ginger had to buy the same camera five times from a pawn shop in Nashville because our mother kept selling it to buy heroin.”

  Shane doesn’t say anything, but his circling hand grows firmer on my back, massaging my suddenly tired muscles.

  “Ginger never told me. Just kept buying the damn camera and leaving it in our room, under a pile of clothes or in the back of the closet we shared, teasing me about misplacing things. One night, she was working at the bar. Mom came home, high out of her mind, with two men I didn’t recognize. They tore my room apart looking for that camera to pawn it again. But Ginger had taken it with her to work that night just in case my mother came home. So it wasn’t there.”

  Shane’s hand goes still on my back. My voice has gone hollow, almost unrecognizable. This could be my default voice for talking about Valerie. I wouldn’t know, because I try to avoid talking about her whenever possible.

  “Drugs did funny things to her mind. She wasn’t thinking rationally, just knew she needed her fix. Otherwise she would have realized pawning your child wasn’t possible. She did her best to convince the owner to hold me for just a few hours, kind of like collateral on a loan. Thankfully, the owner kept Ginger’s number handy so he could call her whenever my mother came in to pawn the camera. My sister came and got me. We didn’t see our mother for a while after that.”

  Shane curses under his breath and pulls me closer, enveloping me in his contradictory scents of smoky and fresh. “Ah, love. I’m sorry.”

  I nod, but he’s pressed so close it seems like I’m nuzzling him. “That’s just one time out of a thousand I owe her for. I don’t know anything about babies, but I was going to help. This was my chance to pay her back for saving me.”

  Shane pushes my hair back from my face. “Willa, I understand guilt. More than you know,” he adds quietly, giving me the feeling that I’m not the only one hurting here. His voice sounds rusty, as if he hasn’t flexed his compassion muscle in a while, making it all the more meaningful. “I don’t know your sister, but I do know you’re not the type who needs rescuing. I reckon she’d say you rescued her, in return.”

  “Huh…thanks,” I say on an exhale. Even if I don’t entirely believe him, I appreciate him saying so. From what I
’ve learned about Shane, warmth and understanding don’t come easy to him. Being that he doesn’t especially like me, I’m sure saying the words were twice as difficult. When neither one of us speaks for a stretch of time, the darkness starts to feel closer. I become aware of every tingling point of my body that connects to his. My knees, my arm, my cheek are all warmer than the rest of my body. Our breaths sound like waves rushing between us, and the longer we go without speaking, the deeper those breaths become. Something he said before comes back to me, though, and I need to voice my curiosity. “Why are you guilty, Shane?”

  Shane’s hand curls into a fist at the outside of my thigh. “Too many things, Willa.” His head turns just slightly, and I shiver when his lips brush my earlobe. “I’m not a nice guy. Not like—”

  I kiss him. I don’t know what compels me to do it. If it’s the fear of hearing Evan’s name right now, allowing his ghost to intrude on this oddly endearing moment in the pitch-dark. Or if it’s just Shane and I’ve finally reached my limit on resisting him. As he sinks into the kiss with a groan and my head goes light, I know it’s the latter. It’s all Shane.

  Just as I’m about to pull him closer to deepen the kiss, he breaks away. “I shouldn’t kiss you when you’ve been crying.”

  “Yes, you should.”

  “Yes, I should.”

  His lips seal hard over mine, the force of it tipping my head back. We breathe shakily into one another’s mouths at the initial contact. We’ve barely started and I can’t draw air into my constricted lungs. I quickly decide air is overrated when his tongue nudges my mouth open and he starts to take. My sanity, logic, and reservations become indistinct as his fingers burrow in my hair and my mouth is mastered.

  Shane Claymore kisses me like the world is ending. I’ve never experienced anything like it. He doesn’t rest in one pattern, but keeps me guessing which part of me he’ll explore next. The kiss is at once fast and slow. Determined and savoring. My thoughts bleed together until all I can do is melt against the body molding into mine, trapping me between it and the desk.

  With an irritated groan, he takes one final, provocative pull of my mouth, then gives into the human weakness of oxygen requirement. We’re dragging in air, the office suddenly stifling. I can’t see his face so I have no way to judge what he’s thinking. Then I feel the grip of his strong hands on my backside, yanking me to the edge of the desk. His hips wedge between my legs, hard, and I gasp at the unexpectedness of it. It’s an aggressive move, but it doesn’t scare me. No, instead it sends a thrill of heat coursing through my system.

  “When you walked in tonight, I could see it on your face. You’re thinking about it.”

  “Thinking about what?” I run my hands up his muscular chest, licking my swollen lips. Why isn’t he still kissing me? Before I can voice my second question out loud, his body propels mine backward onto the desk, so my legs have no choice but to curl around his waist.

  “This, babe.” Shane’s mouth skates up the side of my neck as his hips begin to roll suggestively against mine. The rhythmic movement causes the seam of my jeans to push and drag over a spot I’ve been sorely neglecting of late, and I moan. “This. Us. Me moving inside you. You’re thinking about it.”

  “Jesus. I am now.”

  Shane grabs both of my thighs and props them on his hips. “People like us, we keep too much inside already. We can’t bottle up everything, or we go crazy.” His mouth collides with mine, the kiss beginning almost lazily, but by the time we break for air again, we’re in a frenzy. “Come to me, soon, Willa. Knowing you’re asleep upstairs in that big bed alone is keeping me up at night. I want to be between your legs without these goddamn jeans in my way.”

  “Yes. Okay,” I pant. “I’m th-thinking about it.”

  With a low curse, he releases me. I slump back onto the desk, listening to his footsteps make their way toward the exit. As he opens the door, allowing dim light to intrude, I prop myself up on my elbows to watch him. He pauses and looks back at me, hair disheveled, mouth still damp from kissing me.

  “Think faster, girl.”

  Chapter Nine

  “Ah, come on, Willa. Shane gave me the day off. Have you even looked out your window?” Bouncing up and down on one leg, Faith gestures dramatically toward the window of my room. “There’s enough sun that I might get burned. I haven’t been burned in ages.”

  “Why would you want to get burned?”

  She pinches her arm. “I have Irish skin. My options are white or red.”

  “Ah.” I hide my smile and turn back to the mirror. Biting my lip, I glance at the laundry-day outfit I’ve thrown together. Emergency jeans that sit way too low on my hips, and a sleeveless fuchsia blouse I’d bought yesterday on a whim. Because I liked the color, not because I thought someone else might like me in the color, that’s for damn sure.

  I tug down the sheer material of my top, but a sliver of my belly is still showing. Hiding in the Laundromat with my navel exposed is one thing, but spending an entire day in this outfit, so unlike my usual black T-shirt and jeans, is decidedly unappealing. Today was supposed to be about laundry and buying a gift for Dolly, which for some reason feels like a pressing errand even though I won’t meet her for weeks. Ginger still hasn’t called, making me twice as restless. I feel like I need to do something for the baby, to make up for my not being there.

  Still, Faith’s reflection behind me in the mirror is so hopeful, and she’s already straightened her hair. I’m going soft, I realize glumly. “I might be able to swing a couple hours. What did you have in mind?”

  “Just a bit of shopping,” she says it too quickly, like she’d already had the answered chambered long before entering my room. When I narrow my eyes at her suspiciously, she spins toward the door. “Come on then, before the sun remembers what country it’s shining on.”

  Bracing myself for whatever Faith is about to spring on me, I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder and follow her out. I catch the last of her white dress fluttering, then disappearing at the base of the stairs as I start to descend. “Slow down, crazy pants. If you break your neck, we’ll—” I come to a halt as I see Faith and Shane standing toe to toe in the hallway. Ever since their argument the night of our O’Kelly’s excursion, I’ve wondered if they’ve been talking to one another. Apparently not, if their body language is any indication. Faith has her arms crossed over her chest, chin up in the air. Shane simply looks weary.

  Until his eyes meet mine over the top of Faith’s head, and his gaze sweeps me from head to toe. Any lingering weariness is quickly replaced with heat potent enough to make catching my breath necessary. I become even more aware of the skin showing at the waistband of my jeans as his attention lingers there for what feels like an eternity. While I want nothing more than to tug down the shirt, I’m distracted by the way he looks. The dark circles under his eyes tell me he’s exhausted, but with shower-dampened hair and those suspenders outlining the curve of his strong chest, he looks touchable and dangerous at the same time. I have the sudden urge to pull back one of those suspenders and let it slap against his body, just to see his reaction.

  With a start, I realize Faith is calling my name. The way she says it tells me it’s not the first time. Ignoring Shane’s knowing smirk, I croak, “’Sup?”

  “I said, are you all set to go?”

  “Lead the way.”

  “Actually,” Shane hedges, when we move to pass him. Looking a touch uncertain, he runs a hand through his hair. “I need a moment with Willa in the office.”

  “For what?” Faith and I ask at the same time. A tiny bubble of panic floats through my chest. I can’t be alone with Shane this morning, not when I haven’t sorted through what I’m feeling, nor have I made a decision about…well…jumping each other’s bones. With the way I’m feeling now, having him standing so close, I don’t think I have the strength to be objective.

  “Faith can come,” I blurt. “Whatever you need to say…Faith can hear it, too.”

&nb
sp; It’s a risky move. For all I know, Shane is going to call my bluff and remind me to continue thinking about his proposition. Right in front of his sister. When he eyes me closely for a moment, then shrugs, I release a pent-up breath. He nudges open the office door but doesn’t meet my eyes as Faith sails past him. “After you.”

  Clutching the strap of my bag, I can’t help inhaling as I walk past, wondering what kind of miracle soap he uses to smell like that. It’s comforting and elusive all at the same time. What do I smell like to Shane? I don’t wear perfume like Ginger or shower with body wash. Dove soap and regular, drug-store bought lotion is all I’ve used. Do I have a scent? Does it have an effect on him? With a shake of my head, I will myself to stop thinking these ridiculous thoughts and continue past into the office. This time the lights are on, but it doesn’t stop me from remembering last night’s heart-to-heart turned make-out session.

  Prompted by Faith’s long-suffering sigh, I shift in my boots. “What is it?”

  Shane rounds the desk and hits a few keys on a laptop I’ve only just noticed. Around it, there are pieces of paper with scribbled notes on them and a half-empty mug of tea. He checks his watch, then runs an impatient hand through his hair. “Just…wait.”

  “Okay,” I mumble, ignoring Faith’s questioning looks in my direction. What would she think if she knew Shane and I shared a kiss on this very desk mere hours ago? Would she still want to spend the day with me? I’m trying to figure out the answer to that question when I hear it.

  My sister’s voice. Her familiar Tennessee drawl is coming from the laptop. “Earth to Wip. Come in, Wip.”