Written With You Page 11

  But maybe that was our biggest problem of all.

  Assumptions were made based on how a person perceived something.

  And never, since day one, had Caven and I perceived things in the same light.

  “Caven,” I whispered, gripping his hips. “Please. Just talk to me. If you don’t hate me, then—”

  “I don’t want to talk to you,” he seethed, his mouth inching impossibly closer like a magnet that had met its polar opposite.

  His hand came up, cupping my jaw and forcing my head back. I gasped and his gaze immediately dropped to my mouth.

  “I want to hate you,” he hissed. “I want to stop thinking about you. I want to stop fucking staring at you for two goddamn nights every week.” His mouth hovered over mine, not touching. Nothing but an exchange of air as I panted, thick with desire. “I want to forget the way you felt. I want to forget the way I felt. I want you not to have lied to me. And I want to stop feeling so fucking guilty because you had to.”

  My body sagged, and I forced my mouth closed, fearful of what was about to come out. It was going to be some variation of Caven, I love you and then a tear-filled plea for him to give us another chance. But I couldn’t stand the idea that it was only going to be one more thing to add to his list of what he wanted to forget.

  The hope that only seconds earlier had sung in my veins turned into a toxic sludge, poisoning me with every beat of my shattered heart. In a lot of ways, it was easier to accept that Caven and I were over when I thought I was the only one hurting. I’d spent a lifetime in agony; I could handle it. But seeing him there, so close, his anger nothing but a mask to hide the pain—it was a blistering torture I never could have prepared for.

  I had no way to fix it. This was my storm. My disaster. All I could do was let him know that I’d be waiting in the rain if he ever changed his mind.

  I gave his hips a squeeze. “I’m here, Caven. If you want to call. Text. Come over. Yell at me. Whatever you need. I’m here. But I am begging you. Please, whatever you do, just don’t forget how it felt when we were together.”

  His gaze once again found my mouth, his fingers biting deliciously into my jaw as he held me in place. “Oh, don’t worry, Willow. Forgetting you has been an eighteen-year-long process I’ve never been able to master. I’ll remember you until the day I die. At this rate, it might even be what kills me.” With that, he suddenly let me go, opened the door, and walked into my bedroom, calling out, “Rosalee. It’s time to leave.”

  I stood there, my chest heaving as I watched him exit my bedroom with his hand wrapped around his daughter’s. It was all I could do to follow them downstairs on shaky legs. He didn’t look at me again as I hugged her goodbye.

  He didn’t even acknowledge me as I waved and called out for them to have a good night.

  And four days later when he brought her back, he pretended nothing had happened. Which just meant he went back to pretending he hated me.

  WILLOW

  “Shit. Sorry,” he said as my face collided with his chest.

  I winced and not because my nose had taken the brunt of the full-body collision, but rather because my already shitty day had taken a turn for the worse.

  That morning, a week after Caven had shredded me with the joyous news that he didn’t actually hate me, I found myself in need of a mop and a metric shit-ton of bleach. Why a mop and enough bleach to burn the hairs off my nostrils ten times over? Because my incredible finished studio complete with a unicorn mural and every single piece of art work Rosalee had ever made was covered in shit. Literal shit.

  It was just a regular Friday morning when I’d woken up, still high from my visit with Rosalee the night before and broken from Caven’s Sixth Sense ghost routine. But it was Friday. People were happy on Fridays. Well, people who didn’t work around the clock painting pictures that would never be good enough to sell because their sister who had been a total pain in the ass but the most talented painter in the world had passed away—those people were happy on Fridays anyway.

  I, on the other hand, hated Fridays because it kicked off the longest stretch of the week before I could get my Rosalee high and Caven low again. It also sucked because Beth would no doubt try to drag me out to some god-awful happy hour or speed-dating nightmare. And I’d have to make up a ridiculous reason why I couldn’t go.

  But not that night. Because, that night, I had a valid excuse.

  My studio was filled with shit.

  At some point overnight, the toilet, shower, and both the sinks in my studio had backed up with enough sewage to fill a swimming pool. Okay, maybe that was an exaggeration. But it was a lot nonetheless.

  I’d called the plumber out and he’d taken one look at my pipes and laughed.

  No, literally—laughed.

  It seemed my contractor had done just enough to pass inspection, but not enough to keep gallons of sewage from pouring into my house any time it rained.

  A small fortune and six hours later, he was able to fix my problem and pump out the inch of vomit-inducing filth that had been pooling on the floor.

  Cleaning the aftermath was up to me. I’d called around and found a company that could come first thing the next morning to rip out the majority of my floors, but I needed to get it cleaned as much as possible so it didn’t start seeping up the sheetrock.

  Hence why I’d been hurrying through the grocery store in search of a mop and my body weight in bleach when I’d run face-first into none other than Ian Villa.

  Why hello there, Karma. So good to see you again.

  “Shit. Are you okay?” he said, recognition hitting his dark-brown eyes.

  “Just dandy,” I replied, swiping at my nose to see if it was bleeding. It wasn’t. Though, for a moment, I wished it were so I had an excuse to make a break for it. Stepping away, I aimed an awkward smile up at him. “Hi, Ian.”

  “Hey,” he replied, curt but upbeat. Like maybe he was one of those people who got excited about Fridays.

  “Sorry about that,” I mumbled, starting around him. I didn’t know Ian. Not really, anyway. Most of what I knew about him I’d learned when Beth and I had done our research before I’d come back as Hadley. We’d spoken a few times, during most of which he’d glowered and grumbled. He was Caven’s best friend, but that hardly obligated me to stand in the grocery store and have a chat. “Have a good weekend.”

  “Willow, wait. Can we talk for a minute?”

  I stilled, my eyelids fluttering shut as I internally groaned. No. The answer was no. We had nothing to talk about. Nothing left to say. No apologies left to issue. I was a horrible person. I got it. I didn’t need another reminder.

  So I craned my head back, opened my mouth, and chirped, “Sure, what’s up?” Damn my manners to hell!

  Much to my surprise, he smiled down at me. I’d seen a lot of frowns from that man, so the smile took me off guard. And it should be noted that it was a gorgeous smile. The kind Beth would lose her mind over, but since he was holding a basket with nothing but a box of condoms inside, I figured some other woman would be losing her mind over it later that night.

  “He’s confused,” he stated, thus making me confused.

  “Huh?”

  “Caven. He’s confused. He misses Hadley. Well, he misses you when you were Hadley. Now, he has these different versions of you. Willow the little girl. Willow the woman who lied to him. Willow the sister of his daughter’s mother. And he can’t figure out what compartment to put you in in his head.”

  I blinked at him. “What are you talking about? All of those people are me.”

  “Right. But Caven doesn’t live his life that way. Ever since…” He glanced around the cleaning aisle then lowered his voice. “Ever since that day, he lives his life in neat little mental boxes. He has one for work. One for Rosalee. One for me. One for Trent. One for the mall. And every box has its place. Because inside those boxes in his head, he doesn’t just get to decide what goes in them. He decides what stays out.”

  He poppe
d his eyebrows pointedly. “But you were different. I didn’t understand it while it was happening, but when you were Hadley, Caven started this one big box for you in his head. You were Rosalee’s mom, the one thing he’d always wished he had growing up. And you knew about his past, so whether he wanted that to be in your box or not, it didn’t matter. And then there was just you. The beautiful woman who made the Tin Man feel.” He grinned. “Now those people all live in different compartments. He’s mad at the woman who lied to him. He misses the woman he was falling in love with. And he is damn near paralyzed by guilt when he’s around the girl from the mall.” He shrugged. “He’s confused.”

  I shifted my eyes from side to side, waiting for the music from The Twilight Zone to start playing. “I’m sorry. Don’t you hate me?”

  He laughed. “No. I hated your sister. I hated her for getting pregnant and never telling him. I hated her for dropping the baby off on his doorstep. And I hated her for never looking back after she abandoned the most incredible child I have ever met.”

  I opened my mouth, but he lifted his hand.

  “I read the journals. I know she had her reasons. But I’ve seen Caven with Rosalee, so I know there is a difference between struggling and giving up. Several times since she was born, Caven has needed help, but you would have to pry that child from his lifeless arms before he’d ever let her go.”

  My chest got tight. He definitely had a point there. Hadley had had her problems, but she’d absolutely given up on her daughter. She hadn’t spent the four years after Rosalee was born lost in the past, unable to see through the fear. She’d laughed. She’d painted beautiful pictures. She’d had boyfriends. She’d gone to rehab. She’d relapsed. She’d been obsessed with the nonexistent woman from the mall. She’d traveled to and from Puerto Rico to visit me. She’d lived a full life, all while her child had been out there living one without her.

  His hand came down on my shoulder. “You didn’t do those things, Willow. You could have come back like a raging tornado, fighting for custody, dragging Caven through the mud, and using every resource you had to take Rosalee. But you didn’t. You tiptoed in and made paper flowers at his dining room table. I don’t like the lies you told, but I don’t have any reason to hate you, either.”

  I bit my bottom lip. Damn, why did that feel so good? “Thank you. That means a lot.”

  “He doesn’t hate you, either, ya know.”

  “Yeah. He’s mentioned that. But then, shortly after, he said he wanted to forget me, so I’m not holding out hope that things between us are going to change any time soon.”

  He shrugged. “With fifteen years of experience dealing with Caven Hunt, I can tell you that you need to pick a box. Your name is Willow, but you’re still the Hadley that came back. Make him remember that. He’s confused.” He smiled again, his hand leaving my shoulder to tuck inside the pocket of his slacks, and he lowered his voice to a whisper. “Un-confuse him.”

  “How?” I begged. “Just tell me how?”

  “Now, that I don’t know. I’ve personally never tried to make him fall in love with me.” He winked and dipped his chin. “Have a good weekend, Willow.”

  “You too,” I managed to croak as I watched him walk away.

  He’d said a lot of words. Most of which I understood, but the concept of un-confusing Caven after all the hell I’d put him through seemed impossible.

  But maybe he’d said it best…

  Our entire lives were one impossibility after another.

  I could make him remember that I was still the same woman who eye-fucked him from across the room, curled into his lap every chance I got, and laughed with him over cheesecake. I could fit into whatever box he wanted me to as long as it got me him.

  Things might have changed, but I was still me.

  Only, as I walked out of the store that day with renewed hope infusing me, I realized that I’d never truly be me while the world still thought I was Hadley Banks.

  I’d just loaded the final gallon of bleach in to my trunk when a man’s hand collided with my throat and shoved me into the back of my car. The mop jabbed me in the side as I crashed down, but I couldn’t even scream around his hold on me.

  “You fucking cunt,” he rumbled. “What did you tell him?” Panic consumed me, but from his blond goatee to his buzz cut, he didn’t trigger the first memory for me.

  “Let me…go,” I grunted, clawing at his wrist.

  He gave me a hard shove, my head banging against the tire well on the inside, but he finally released me.

  I gasped for oxygen. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  He laughed without humor. “After everything I did for you. This is the way you fuck me over? Well, guess what, Hadley? I can fuck you ten times harder.”

  Hadley.

  Of course.

  He loomed over me as I balanced half in and half out of my small trunk area.

  “Where is it?” he growled. “Where the fuck is it?”

  My pulse thundered in my ears as I shook my head. “I don’t know. I’m not Hadley. I’m—”

  “Swear to God, woman. Don’t try this bullshit with me. Your fucking sister is dead. I checked. You can only pretend to be Willow so many times before your act gets stale. I let you drag me into this, but I’m not letting you hang my ass out to dry.” He picked my purse up and dug through my wallet to remove my ID. “Yeah right, you’re not fucking Hadley.”

  I let out a scream, lifting my hands in defense as he reared back and threw my purse at me. It hit me square in the face, the buckle on the front clocking me on the cheek.

  “Hey!” a man yelled. “Get away from her.”

  My attacker looked up and quickly started to shuffle away as he shoved my ID into his pocket. “I’ll swing by your place on Sunday, and I swear to God, if you don’t have that fucking flash drive, it’s your head that’s going to roll, not mine.” His feet beat the pavement as he took off at a dead sprint.

  Almost immediately, another man appeared. But this one I recognized. As soon as I saw Ian, whatever strength I was holding on to crumbled.

  “Oh, God,” I croaked.

  He helped me to my feet and pulled me straight into a tight embrace. “Shhh, it’s okay. Just relax. He’s gone.” His hand glided up and down my back. “Do you know who that was?”

  I shook my head and swallowed hard, doing my best to keep the tremble out of my voice. “He…he thought I was Hadley. I think she stole something from him. I don’t know.”

  “All right. Okay,” he mumbled, and I was vaguely aware of him pulling his phone out. “Just breathe. I’ve got you. It’s all good.”

  CAVEN

  “She’s fine. She’s fine. She’s fine,” I chanted to myself as I white-knuckled my steering wheel.

  I’d just gotten home from the office when Ian had called to tell me that a man had mistaken Willow for Hadley and assaulted her outside the grocery store. He’d assured me that she was fine, but she was Willow. Fine was not fucking good enough. Leaving Rosalee with Alejandra, I’d darted out of the house, and the worst-case scenario played in my mind as I’d all but peeled out of my driveaway.

  Because Ian knew me so well, I received a text a few minutes into my drive, warning me that an ambulance had arrived, but it was only a precautionary measure. In all caps, he repeated that Willow was fine.

  It was crazy how a mind worked sometimes. I was ready for the ambulance, had mentally prepped for it the entire fifteen minutes it took me to arrive. However, the second it came into my view, a savage anxiety slashed through me. With nausea rolling in my stomach, I frantically searched the area for any sign of her red hair. It wasn’t until I caught sight of her sitting in the back of her Prius with the hatch open, shading her from the sun, that my pulse slowed a fraction.

  She was okay.

  But as I took in the fact that she had an icepack pressed against her face, I was not.

  My car was barely in park before I was out the door, storming her way. The thunder
of my steps caught her attention and her head slowly turned my way. The surprise that hit her face might as well have been a sledgehammer to my gut. Things were bad with us at the moment, but what the hell? Had she really not thought I’d come when I found out some idiot had attacked her in the parking lot?

  Or maybe she’d hoped I wouldn’t.

  “Nooooo,” she moaned, swinging a glare at Ian. “What did you do? I don’t want to be in this box, Ian. I don’t want to be in this box.”

  He shrugged. “A man puts his hands on you and I’m there to see it? I’d end up in a pine box if I didn’t tell him about it.”

  I had no fucking clue what the two of them were talking about. Nor did I care. My only concern was making sure she was truly okay and my swirling mind wouldn’t still until I did a full inventory of her injuries. I rested a hand on her thigh, the other going to her hand holding the icepack as I squatted in front of her.

  My throat was gravel as I ordered, “Let me see.”

  She sighed. “I’m fine, Caven. Really.”

  “Fantastic. Then let me see.”

  She stared at me, her chin quivering and her green eyes sparkling with unshed tears. “Please don’t. I don’t want to be in this box.”

  “What are you talking about? What box?”

  She glanced over at the cops, who were congregating behind a cruiser, then whispered, “The one in your head where I’m the girl at the mall who you have to rush in and save all the time.”

  “Babe, I have no idea what you are talking about right now. But I really need to see what’s going on beneath that ice because the shit in my head, seeing you surrounded by police and paramedics again, it’s not pretty. Okay?”

  Her face got soft. “God, I’m sorry. I didn’t think about that.”

  As she moved her hand, revealing nothing but a quarter-size bruise on the apple of her cheek, I physically swayed with the movement of my world tipping back on its axis. All the garbage from the past crashed into place, hidden in the recesses of my mind where it belonged, but it left the most beautiful woman sitting in front of me. Despite everything that had happened between us over the last month, I didn’t think twice about kissing her forehead, allowing my lips to linger as my anxiety ebbed, leaving me lighter than I had been in weeks.