Written With You Read online

  “I saw the pictures. I knew what he was capable of.”

  “I’m not talking about hindsight. I’m talking about in that second. That one second when you made the decision to go to work. Did you ever once think it was a possibility?”

  He groaned and dropped his head back against the headrest. “No.”

  “I didn’t, either.”

  His head swung my way. “What? You couldn’t have known.”

  “No. I couldn’t. But I was the only reason my family was at the mall that day. We’d gone to get my film developed. Hadley was pissed. After a morning at the park, she wanted to go home. My mom even tried to talk me out of it, saying she’d take me later in the week. But I wanted those pictures. I begged my parents on my hands and knees, promising to do extra chores, whatever it took. My dad finally relented. They were dead an hour later.”

  “Jesus,” he breathed, catching me at the back of the neck and dragging me toward him.

  I didn’t need a hug, but I thought maybe Caven did, so I remained silent and got lost in his scent.

  He smoothed the back of my hair down and kissed the top of my head. “There is not a day that will ever pass where I won’t regret going to that mall.”

  “And yet every day you thank God for your daughter.”

  His hand at my neck spasmed, and his body turned to stone. “That’s…”

  “The truth.” I righted myself in my seat.

  Just as I’d suspected, he was inching toward the edge of panic. “Don’t give me that ‘everything happens for a reason’ bullshit.”

  “Don’t worry. I don’t believe there is a reason for anything that happens. There are only actions, consequences, and unorchestrated coincidence. But every now and then, after the pain and heartache settle, beauty can be found in the consequences. There will never be a moment that I don’t also wish Malcom had never gone to the mall that day.” I lifted a shoulder in a noncommittal shrug. “But I can’t change it. And punishing myself for choices I made in the seconds of the past was ruining the seconds I had in the present. So I let go. I let time march on and I joined it for the ride.” I curled my hand around the feathers on his arm. “It’s okay to live with regret, Caven. But it’s something totally different to live in regret.”

  He stared at me for a long time, his eyes searching my face, disbelief shining through unshed tears. “Letting go. That’s easier said than done.”

  “Absolutely. But when was the last time life handed either of us something easy?”

  The side of his mouth lifted in a boyish smirk. “Falling in love with you was easy.”

  “Wow, you’re a bigger liar than I ever was.”

  He chuckled, sad and distant. “I’ve never had anyone I can talk to about stuff like this. Not even Ian knows about the pictures.”

  “Well, now, you have me. And I’m good at all kinds of things—bath bombs, tie dying, listening.”

  He rested his hand against the side of my face, his thumb stroking back and forth across my cheek. “I know you want to be strangers. But I want this. Right here. Me and you. Willow and Caven. Two fucked-up people trying to make sense of the world.”

  My heart soared, and I covered his hand with my own. “I’d like that. I really would. But I have a date with a Ryan Reynolds look-alike tomorrow.”

  With a smile, he pulled me toward him, meeting me halfway. Ghosting his lips over mine, he whispered, “Fuck him. I’ll treat you better than that asshole ever could.”

  I nipped at his bottom lip. “I don’t know. He’s taking me on a real date. You just brought me to Truett’s house.”

  His smile fell along with his lids, and his nose brushed with mine, our exhales mingling. “I’ll take you on any date you want. Any time of day. Anywhere in the world. I’ll give you absolutely anything, Willow. Just as long as you stay with me.”

  My chest filled with more warmth than I knew possible. And after spending five months with Caven and Rosalee Hunt, that was saying a lot.

  “Anywhere?” I croaked out, teasing the tip of my finger up his forearm.

  “You name it. Paris. Rome. Hawaii. Anywhere.”

  “And on this date, we can do whatever I want?”

  “Anything.”

  “Okay. Then I want to go to your house and play in the backyard with Rosalee until she’s exhausted. Then I want to cook dinner and force you both to eat lots of vegetables. Then I want to curl up on the couch and watch the Animal Channel until she passes out. And then I want you to take me to your bed and whisper my name. My name, Caven. Not Hadley’s. Not the woman who came back. Not even the little girl from the mall. Just me.”

  He smiled. “That was very specific.”

  “I may have given it some thought before now.”

  He touched his lips to mine. “Fine. If I give you all that, you’ll blow off the stranger and stay with me? Not the kid from the mall. Or Rosalee’s dad. Just me.”

  It was a worthless promise. He would always be the boy from the mall to me. Just like I’d always be the girl at the mall to him. But we could grow into more.

  More than the love we already shared.

  Maybe we’d even grow into the permanent kind.

  My nose began to sting, but I blinked the emotion back. It wasn’t a time for tears.

  “Ryan Reynolds is going to be devastated. But yeah, I’ll do it for you.”

  He was still smiling when his mouth came down on mine. It started as a lip touch—a shared sentiment of happiness and hope—before slipping into something slow and reverent. Tasting and memorizing. Life-altering and undefinable.

  And I kissed him back, returning his worship stroke for stroke.

  We’d said a lot of words in that car. More elephants had slid into the backseat, while a few had managed to break free into the wild.

  But it finally felt like something had gone our way.

  That kiss became a promise to work together.

  A promise to heal.

  A promise to step out of the prison of regrets and live in the seconds of the present.

  We were a long way from forever, but just like the day at the mall when he’d appeared next to me, seemingly out of nowhere, I had hope that we could find a way out of this mess.

  We were going to be okay. We were all going to be okay.

  “It’s Saturday,” I whispered against his mouth. “Can we wait here for another twenty minutes or so? I’d like to see Truett.”

  He backed away so fast that it felt like a Band-Aid being ripped from my lips. “Willow, I—”

  “Relax. We aren’t going to talk to him. He’s not much of a conversationalist anyway. Have you ever met him?”

  “No. Have you?”

  “Yep. He might be the only person in the world holding more guilt than you.”

  His forehead crinkled. “What the hell does he have to feel guilty about?”

  “I don’t know. Apparently, it’s what good and decent men do when they come face-to-face with the stark reality that they aren’t superheroes who can save the world.” I winked. “Anyway. He’s not a talker. But if we stay a little while, he’ll see us and know someone cares. Sometimes, that’s the hardest part of being alone.”

  His face got soft as he stared at me with rapt adoration, but he said nothing else.

  I heard the I love you all the same.

  We sat in the car for twenty minutes, and like clockwork, Truett’s front door opened and the tall, dark, and ominous man appeared. It had been at least a year since I’d last paid him a visit. But he looked the same: handsome, lonely, and terrified.

  His brown eyes collided with mine through the window and a deep frown curved his lips. That was as happy as Truett ever looked.

  His heavy gaze flicked to Caven, who I swear nearly broke my hand, squeezing it as he desperately tried to disappear into a crack in the seat.

  Yeah. He wasn’t ready to talk to Truett.

  And Truett was more than likely beyond relieved.

  Lifting two fingers into the
air, our tattooed hero started down the street toward the diner. Holding hands like we were slipping off the edge of the Earth, Caven and I watched his every forced and calculated step until he disappeared.

  CAVEN

  Fuck.

  This was going to hurt. After the day we’d had, delivering more pain was not what I wanted to do. What I wanted to do was get my daughter to sleep and then take Willow to bed, bury myself inside her, and forget about everything and everyone that was not inside the four walls of my house.

  But after the news Leary PD had just delivered, I doubted that was going to be possible. Thanks to Aaron White, the asshole they had identified as the guy who had assaulted Willow outside the grocery store, breaking her heart had been carved into the top of the night’s agenda.

  “Yes, sir, I’ll let her know.” I looked at Willow, who was rolling little bits of paper towel while watching me from across the kitchen. “Right. We’ll be there. Thank you. I appreciate all your hard work. Okay. See you then.” I hit the end button and set my phone on the counter.

  She swallowed hard. “I’m going to pretend not to notice how sexist it is that they called you instead of me.”

  I grinned. “They called you twice and were sent to voicemail both times. Rosalee still have your phone?”

  “Yeah. She wanted to take pictures of her stuffed animals before bed.”

  “Right,” I murmured, closing the distance between us. She looked as nervous as I felt, so I wrapped her in a hug. “They got him, babe.”

  “That’s good, right?”

  “Very good. His name was Aaron White and they found him OD’d on a park bench about two hours ago. He still had your ID in his pocket.”

  “Damn,” she mumbled.

  I tightened my grip. “But it appears he hit your house first.”

  Just as I suspected, her whole body tensed. Craning her head back, she put her chin on my chest and peered up at me. “What does that mean? Hit my house?”

  “It means, at some point after the patrol car drove past this morning, he broke into your house and trashed a lot of stuff.”

  She shoved at my chest, but I refused to let her go. “What kind of stuff?”

  “Mainly the boxes in your garage. And your bedroom.” I stared down into her green eyes, my chest aching for what I was about to tell her. “But also all the paintings in your downstairs studio.”

  She stared up at me, her face unreadable. I’d seen that makeshift studio; there had to have been fifty paintings lined against the wall. Some of them had been moved out to the backyard studio, but after it’d flooded with sewage, they’d been moved right back. For what an R.K. Banks original went for, that could have been as much as several million dollars in loss. Willow wasn’t hurting for money, but that kind of loss could be paralyzing for a business. Especially for an artist who had dedicated months of her life creating them.

  Her breathing sped. “Wh-what about the ones in my living room? The ones on the wall?”

  “He didn’t mention them. But he said the damages were pretty isolated to the garage, your bedroom, and the guestroom. So, I’m assuming they’re okay.”

  “Oh, thank God,” she rushed out, her entire body sagging in my arms. Laughing, she patted me on the chest. “Jesus Christ, Caven. You scared me for a minute.”

  I quirked an eyebrow, thinking maybe she was in some kind of shock. “Willow, baby, you heard what I said about all the paintings in your studio, right?”

  Her lips flapped as she blew out a relieved breath and stepped out of my arms. I reluctantly released her that time.

  “Yeah, but those were all junk. I painted them.”

  I twisted my lips. “I’ve seen your work. They weren’t junk.”

  “Maybe not total junk, but Hadley was the painter in R.K. Banks. I’ve been fooling myself that I could ever fill her shoes. We were a team. That was what made us work. I’ve been trying for months to replicate her strokes. Maybe this was the sign that I shouldn’t.”

  “This guy being an asshole isn’t a sign. You spent a lot of time on those paintings.”

  “I did. But they’ll never be the same without her. The ones hanging in my house were hers. That’s all I care about. He could have created a bonfire in the backyard with my stuff and it wouldn’t have mattered.”

  “What about the stuff in your garage and your bedroom?”

  She shrugged. “The boxes were mainly her clothes and a few other things she’d shipped to me in Puerto Rico when she was supposed to be moving there. I haven’t had the heart to go through them yet. I had a few of my mother’s things in my bedroom, but unless he had a fetish for silk scarves, they can probably be salvaged.”

  I eyed her skeptically as she swept the paper towel balls into her hand and carried them to the trash. “I told them we’d come by tomorrow morning around ten so they could take a report of what, if anything, was stolen.”

  “Okay.”

  “Okay? You sure. Having someone break into your house and destroy your property is hard, babe. You don’t have to pretend for my sake. It’s okay to be upset.”

  Her deep-red hair brushed her back as she turned to look at me, a peace I never could have imagined only minutes ago gracing her face. “Well, I’m not thrilled about it. But it’s hardly a reason to ruin the night. We’re all safe. He’s gone. And well, the rest was just…stuff.” She stopped in front of me and looped her arms around my hips. “And just think: Now that the coast is clear, you can finally be rid of me.”

  This woman. This strong, beautiful, incredible woman. She’d spent the day talking me off the ledge of guilt only to find out her house had been vandalized. And she didn’t care because we were all okay and stuff was just stuff.

  I trailed my fingers over the curve of her jaw. “Maybe I don’t want to get rid of you.”

  “That’s good considering we haven’t finished our date yet.”

  I dipped low and pressed a soft kiss over the bruise on her cheek. “Oh, yeah? How’s that going for you?”

  “So far? Five stars.” I grinned until she finished with, “Out of ten.”

  “Hey!” I objected.

  “I’m not sure if you’re a closer in the boardroom. But there’s still time for you to pick up a few more stars.”

  I slid my hands down to her ass. “Oh, I’m a closer.”

  She sucked in a sharp breath. “You totally just went up a half star.”

  After nipping at her bottom lip, I mumbled, “A half star for that? Really? We should have no problems getting you to a ten.” I went in for a kiss, opening my mouth, and as if on cue, Rosalee yelled down the stairs.

  “Daddy! Can I have my iPad?”

  Willow giggled and shook her head.

  I loved my daughter. Truly, I did. But it was times like those where I wished she had an off switch.

  “No,” I called back, staring into Willow’s eyes. “It’s bedtime. I’ll be right up to tuck you in.”

  “Willow too?”

  “Yes, ma’am!” she replied.

  And in a demonstration of the utmost maturity, I didn’t even stare at her ass as I followed her up the stairs.

  Just kidding. I absolutely did.

  “It was so gross,” Rosalee whined as I tucked her in and settled on the edge of her bed.

  “Don’t say that. You’re going to hurt her feelings.”

  Willow propped her shoulder up on the doorjamb. “Oh, I already gathered that she thought it was gross when she hid it under the couch.”

  She had done that, but if it had hurt Willow’s feelings, she hadn’t let on at all. Sans the phone call from the police, she hadn’t actually stopped smiling all day.

  True to my word, I’d taken her on the date of her dreams—back to my place. We played hide-and-seek in the backyard, and I’m not too proud to admit that this included me sitting on the front steps of the house and drinking a beer while they searched the backyard for over twenty minutes. However, I am proud enough to brag that, once they did find me, I was still
able to beat both of them back to base before they tagged me.

  Willow claimed I cheated.

  Rosalee told her I always cheated.

  And while they were fuming and pissed off, I grinned like I was the luckiest man on the planet.

  After that, Willow cooked an incredible “family friendly” dinner of white bean quesadillas with spinach and sun-dried tomato orzo. Clearly, she had not eaten a lot of meals with Rosalee though. The moment she said “beans and spinach,” she lost her. This led to Rosalee shoving a quesadilla into the pocket of her shorts, asking to be excused, and then hiding it under the couch. Two hours later, while I was on my hands and knees, cleaning up Willow’s water that had been spilled, I found the hidden meal.

  Why was Willow’s water spilled all over the floor?

  Well, because Rosalee had asked why the baby zebra came out of the mommy’s butt instead of the tummy while it was giving birth on the Animal Channel and then quickly followed that jarring question by asking if she had come out of Hadley’s butt when she was born. That was followed by me accidentally-on-purpose knocking the water over to escape that discussion.

  After the quesadilla was found, I declared that it was time to call it a night.

  And that had absolutely nothing to do with the way Willow had been looking at me all night.

  Or the way my hands itched to touch her.

  Or that, after our day of confessions, for the first time in my entire goddamn life, I didn’t feel like I was being suffocated by gravity.

  Or the fact that she’d told me she wanted to end her date in my bed with me whispering her name.

  Nope. Those were all just purely coincidental—ish.

  “It’s okay, Rosie,” Willow said. “I didn’t like spinach when I was a kid, either. Tomorrow, I’ll make you some avocado toast for breakfast. It was my favorite.”

  It was a damn good thing Willow drew a good unicorn butt because, for the look on my daughter’s face at the idea of eating avocado anything, she was about to be asked to leave.

  “Daddy, no,” she whispered.

  I shot her a wink and mouthed, “I’ll make pancakes,” before kissing her on the forehead. “Goodnight, baby.”