Chapter Twelve
Will had never considered himself a deep thinker. He didn’t analyze his actions. He didn’t wonder about his motivations or shit like that. He did. He moved forward. He enjoyed.
But something about losing control and kissing Tori last night had recalibrated his brain into something he didn’t recognize.
He thought about her dimple. The mole she had right inside her left elbow. The way the ends of her braid always curled, and the way the strands of hair that fell out of it were always the faintest, whitest blond, while the braid together was honey gold.
He thought about her laugh, remembered all the different ones he used to know. She used to laugh at him, with him, in spite of him. She used to smile, that dimple winking, and in that twenty-twenty kind of retrospect way, he could see it.
What he’d avoided seeing back then. The way she’d been something special to him, and he to her. It hadn’t been the same relationship she’d had with Sam or Brandon, and he’d sort of understood that in college, but he’d also tried not to look under that too deeply.
He tried not to look under anything too deeply, and yet it was all he seemed to be doing today. Wondering why he’d kissed her. Why Lilly’s admission she’d wanted him to be jealous of James had cracked something inside of him.
He let out a sigh and scrubbed his hands over his face. He needed to get out of his mood. He needed to stop thinking about Tori Appleby’s damn dimple. He needed to shower and change. He didn’t have any excursions today since there hadn’t been enough rain to keep the river at safe kayaking levels.
There was paperwork. He could always go into town and put up some fliers. He could take a hike by himself and find some damn clarity. But he sat in his office and stared at his index finger.
He was certain he knew exactly where on Tori’s cheek the dimple would appear if she’d only smile at him again. A real smile.
He heard a bark and crossed to the little window of the office that looked out over the back of Mile High. A small yard, a stone fire circle with colorful lawn chairs around it, the trailhead to Solace Falls.
Sarge bounded into sight, followed by Brandon and Tori. They carried climbing gear and were clearly cheerfully rehashing the excursion as they walked over to one of the sheds that kept the heavier gear.
It was a weird thing to watch them when they didn’t know it. Probably stalker creepy weird, and yet he couldn’t force himself to look away.
This was what was supposed to have been, and now here it was.
He’d never had a second chance at something before. Was this some kind of second chance? He didn’t know. So he watched Tori find a stick and toss it up in the air. Sarge barked and followed the arc of the stick, catching it in his mouth just before it hit the ground.
Brandon had disappeared now, likely to come inside and file the paperwork for their excursion. But Tori stayed, playing with a joyful Sarge.
Second chance. That kept echoing around in his head. Never had one. Never wanted one. Didn’t even know if she was one.
What did a man do with a second chance?
“Will?”
He turned at Lilly’s voice. She was standing in the doorway to the office as pretty and polished as ever. No one would have ever guessed she’d been out sick for however many days, on bed rest no less.
She had a binder clutched to her chest, which was par for the course for Lilly. Binders and schedules. Organized efficiency. Perfect for Brandon in every way.
She cocked her head. “Are you all right?”
“No.” Because he couldn’t really lie about it anymore. He wasn’t all right, didn’t know what it looked or felt like. Hadn’t for a long time.
She let out a breath and stepped into the office fully, pulling the door closed behind her. “I owe you an apology,” she said grimly.
“No, you don’t.”
“Yes, I do. I never should’ve—”
“Butted in and meddled, like you always do?”
She pressed her lips together at that before very purposefully relaxing her shoulders. “Okay, maybe I don’t apologize for everything. But I apologize if this time when I did, you got hurt. I didn’t ever mean to hurt you.”
He looked back out the window at Tori playing with Sarge. It was so disorienting to feel like he should be out there. He should be playing. He should be a part of this.
“Maybe I needed to be hurt,” he murmured, half to himself, thinking those words over and over.
Lilly didn’t say anything, and when he finally looked back at her she still had her lips pressed together. As though she was about to smile, but there was also worry etched in her drawn-together eyebrows, in her warm blue eyes.
The thing was, Lilly cared. About people and things and Mile High. About him. Brandon cared, and Sam. Even Hayley. They all cared. The hardest part of the past few months had been watching them all open up to that and do it better.
Do it far better than him.
“You don’t need to apologize to me. I’ve been . . . I was angry last night. But not at you.”
“Then at who?”
Will raked a hand through his hair. That was the thing, when he let himself feel anger he aimed it at people, but . . . Last night there’d been no aim except . . . “I guess myself mostly.” Which wasn’t all that different than any other day, just him admitting it to himself.
He didn’t look at Lilly, but could feel her studying him. This polished, empathetic, really good woman who loved his brother. Who was carrying twins. Evans twins.
He took a faltering step toward her, lifting his gaze. His brother’s pregnant wife. There would be babies here, soon enough, and he’d sort of kept himself apart from all this. The reality of what Lilly being pregnant meant.
He’d convinced himself it didn’t affect him. The babies weren’t his, what did it matter to his life? If he let it matter, he’d have to think more about Courtney, and telling Brandon about that had been bad enough.
But he’d convinced himself that was it. He’d told and he’d gone back to . . . What exactly? Pretending he didn’t feel anything about it. Ignoring the emotions because she’d had her reasons and it didn’t matter.
But it did matter. It would always matter that he hadn’t had a chance. He looked at Lilly, who’d put her binder down and was looking at him with concern.
His hand reached out, seemingly of its own accord, a little unsteady. Hell, everything about him was unsteady right now.
“I know . . . I know this is weird, but . . . Could I . . .” He didn’t even know how to communicate it. The desire. The painful, needy thing unfurling inside of him.
Lilly smiled and stepped toward him, taking his hand. Without a word or question, she placed his hand over her still-flat stomach.
“Not much to feel yet,” she offered. “But the doctor says they’re in there.”
It felt bigger than it had. Everything right now felt so much bigger than it had, and he knew it was because he was letting it. A little bit against his will, but a little bit with his will. Letting himself feel. Absorb. Think.
He glanced up at her then, meeting those strong steel-blue eyes. She was a good person. Strong and thoughtful, honest and determined. Perfect for Brandon. Perfect for Mile High. Perfect for the job of mom of two more human beings in this world.
Who would share his last name, his blood.
“I’ll be a really good uncle,” he promised.
Her mouth curved. “Of course you will. I never had any doubts.”
He did. A million and one doubts. Confusion and insecurity. About everything. He dropped his hand from her stomach and stepped away.
Terrible things lived inside of him, and he had given them credence all his life. Let them win. Let them dictate.
But he wasn’t only the son of Phillip Evans anymore. He wasn’t a child, and he wasn’t a teenager. He wasn’t mixed up in a toxic marriage. He’d made mistake after mistake in his life, but he was in charge of it now. Not his father or the Evans name. Not Courtney. Not Brandon or Mile High.
Not Tori.
He’d been drifting for so long and he hadn’t realized it clearly until this moment. Until the future was basically staring him in the face.
Tori. Here. In his life for good, supposedly.
Brandon’s kids. Growing in Brandon’s wife.
They weren’t kids anymore. There were going to be kids around, and he needed . . .
Well, Will Evans needed to grow the fuck up.
* * *
After everything that happened last night, Tori had decided to keep her distance from any sort of extracurricular activities with the Mile High crew. She’d work, she’d enjoy it, and then she’d go home to her sunny house down in Gracely and most expressly not get mixed up in any more weird dinners.
So she’d adamantly said no when Hayley had mentioned to her they were having an impromptu get-together around the fire pit that night. Tori was busy, and not interested. They could have hot dogs and s’mores without her.
She’d repeated it to Sam, and to Brandon. Even to Skeet. No, no, no. She was busy.
Then somehow as she’d been about to take off, Lilly had physically wrangled her out back, and a woman couldn’t fight a pregnant lady who’d just gotten off bed rest. Then Cora and Micah had shown up, and Micah had started wrestling with Sarge, and Cora and Hayley were talking her ear off about getting dogs.
So here Tori was. Sitting in one of the colorful lawn chairs in back around a little fire in the stone circle. Brandon had put a cooking grate over the fire and was efficiently roasting hot dogs while Lilly set up a s’mores station with Hayley’s help.
It was like something out of a movie. A colorful sunset, prettily, organized foods, a gorgeous summer evening complete with campfire smell and the faint buzzing of insects. Tori wanted to hate it out of principle, but everything was too nice. She relaxed into the chair against her will.
It was soul-refreshing to sit here with the stars winking to life in the sky above her, Sarge at her feet while Micah snuck him bites of hot dog. People she knew and liked circled around, grabbing food, taking seats, chatting together and laughing.
Some of her relaxed posture faded when Will took the seat next to her. He handed her a plate.
“Mustard and relish, right?”
She blinked down at the perfectly prepared hot dog, willing her stomach not to do that obnoxious thing it used to do when Will did something nice for her, or noticed something about her.
She wouldn’t go back there. “Yeah, thanks,” she managed, taking the plate. She didn’t dare look at him. She focused on the fire and the hot dog, all the people around her who weren’t Will.
Truth be told, she liked all of these people. She liked seeing Sam happily infatuated with Hayley, liked Hayley’s shy sweetness with everyone. She liked having Micah wrestle around with Sarge, and Brandon easily controlling the food situation. She even liked Skeet, weird old man that he was. He made her laugh with his insights and maniacal cackle.
Lilly, well, Tori was never quite sure how to be around Lilly. The woman made her nervous, but it was impossible not to see how perfect she and Brandon suited. Even when they were arguing about the appropriate size of the campfire, it was like watching a choreographed dance.
Tori felt oddly blessed to be witnessing it, to be a part of it. All of it.
Too soft. It’d get her in trouble, but in the darkening night, a hot dog on her plate, maybe she could indulge . . .
“Watch this,” Will whispered into her ear, too close, to . . . Will. He pointed at Brandon and Lilly—Brandon scowling, Lilly gesturing with a package of marshmallows. “In five seconds scowling will turn into smiling and then three seconds later, what no one wants to witness.”
“What does no one want to witness?” Tori asked in spite of herself, watching as Will counted down, and almost on cue the two grinned at each other.
“Three, two, one,” Will said again in her ear, and then Tori realized too late what she should have predicted.
Brandon leaned down and captured Lilly’s mouth with his.
Tori blinked and looked down at her hot dog. God, she really didn’t want to see other people kissing. Not with Will’s voice in her ear and last night flashing in her head. Over and over. The heat of his mouth. The scrape of his beard. His taste. She wasn’t supposed to know what Will tasted like. She didn’t like that knowledge. It sucked.
“Everybody got something to drink?” Brandon asked, apparently done kissing his wife.
Tori shifted uncomfortably in her chair, wondering if Will’s mind was now on last night, and then chastising herself for wondering. Her hand closed over the can of pop she’d grabbed earlier and she stared very hard at Brandon, trying to focus on him and whatever he was going to say.
“Then let’s have a toast,” Brandon offered.
“A toast to what?” Sam asked skeptically. “You already got Lilly pregnant once. I don’t think it could have happened again.”
“Ha. Ha,” Brandon retorted. “I think we should toast the future. We have a full staff we can implicitly trust. We have a full schedule for the fall, Mile High’s fifth year anniversary. Cora will have enough coursework under her belt to step in while Lilly’s on maternity leave.”
“Oh, who is going to force Lilly into maternity leave?” Will called, sounding relaxed and good-natured. “God himself?”
“She’s having twins. Even Lilly will need some time off with twins,” Cora offered, beaming at her sister.
“We’ll see,” Lilly replied primly.
“Anyway, the toast. To the future of Mile High. To the future of us. Everyone raise their glasses, well, cans.”
“Here, here,” a few voices echoed, and Tori did her best not to look at Will as she bumped cans with him.
There should be no talk of futures and looking in Will’s direction at the same time, but hell, she was only human.
Much to her dismay and nerves and a million other things that jangled through her, Will was looking right at her. His hazel eyes glittering in the firelight.
Why hadn’t she gone home?
She turned abruptly to Cora and clinked cans with her. Cora would be her saving grace. “I didn’t know you’d be taking over for Lilly for a bit. That’s great.”
Cora shrugged. “I’ve been taking some office management classes. The publicity stuff is still a little beyond my pay grade, but I guess Brandon and Will have faith in me. Or Lilly’s making them anyway.”
Cora looked a little unsure, but Tori would be the last one to point that out. She liked Cora, and it’d be nice having someone around Mile High she could relax around, even if it was months away.
Tori took a sip of her pop, feeling edgy all of a sudden. She got to her feet. “I’ve got to run to the bathroom. Be right back.” She patted Cora’s arm as she scooted by, gave Micah a little nudge with her knee.
“If he throws up, you’re in charge of cleaning it up,” she offered to him with a grin.
Micah groaned, but she hoped it would keep him from sneaking any more bites to Sarge. “Sorry, boy,” she murmured before picking her way through the circle and back toward the offices.
She used the bathroom and washed her hands and then just paused. She needed a moment alone to breathe. She was overwhelmed with feeling—all different kinds. Hope and joy. Nerves and anger. Discomfort and happiness.
And the oddest, scariest sense that she finally had what she’d always wanted, and what would happen this time to take it away?
Do you really have everything you want?
She shook her head and pushed out of the bathroom. Only to find Will standing in the hallway.
She’d been angry at him this morning. And last night. She’d been so angry with him for so long, but something about the kiss had twisted that anger into something else. Not just hurt or fury, but fear.
A fear she didn’t know how to handle. She couldn’t march through it like she did with most of the fears in her life. She’d decided Mile High was her landing point, so she couldn’t run away.
Or could you?
“Bathroom’s all yours,” she managed, trying to skirt around him and past him. His hand curled around her arm—not hard and jerky like last night. This was more of a careful touch. He was, or seemed to be, very purposefully giving her the space to step away from him, if that’s what she wanted.
It was definitely what she wanted to do, but for some reason, she didn’t.
“I wanted to apologize about last night,” he said, his voice low and sincere.
The memory of that kiss, with his hand on her, it was enough to have her pulling away from his light grasp. “Consider it forgotten.”
“That’s not what I said I wanted. I said I wanted to apologize.”
There was something different about him. Something too soft and too open and she wanted to shrink away from it.
“I was angry and jealous. And I didn’t quite know what to do about feeling jealous.”
“Jealous of what?” she asked, none of it making sense. Not the apology. Not him touching her. Not the way he was acting. God, couldn’t he be predictable for damn once?
He stared at her as if that would hold some answer. But she didn’t understand what on earth he’d been jealous . . .
He didn’t mean . . . But he nodded, as though he could read her thoughts. As though he could read them and answer every question in her head.
“I didn’t particularly care for watching you smile at James.”
Those twin feelings popped up. Something too close to pleasure, and the usual anger. She held on to anger because that was her. Pleasure was how she got knocked to the ground again. Anger was how she survived.
She was so tired of surviving. “You don’t have any right to be jealous,” she managed to say, sounding very nearly dispassionate.
“No, I don’t. I know that. But that doesn’t change the emotion.”
He hadn’t taken his gaze off her in the entire time they’d spoken. He was looking at her so intently, and she didn’t know what he was trying to say or do, and she didn’t want to figure it out. She just wanted things to be easy. She wanted to be left alone.
She wanted his hand on her arm. She wanted his mouth on hers again, rough and needy.
She walked past him. “Fine. I accept your apology. Whatever. Can we get back?”
“I like having you here.”
She stilled since those simple words were like an arrow to the heart. She wanted to say something mean and awful in return, but her voice didn’t work.
“I guess I wanted you to know that. That I like having you here, working here, like you were always supposed to. That I was jealous. It’s something to think about.”
“I won’t be thinking about it. Ever,” she returned foolishly. She was not going to consider what it meant that he was jealous. What it meant that he liked having her here. No, those were off-limits thoughts, that was for sure.
“I will be.” He said it softly like a promise, like he didn’t understand it was nothing more than a threat. There was no way to explain it to him though, so she simply walked away.
Back to the group who had welcomed her, and away from the man she didn’t know what to do with.