Only When It's Us (Bergman Brothers Book 1), page 22
I shove my sympathy aside. I’m angry at him. That’s what I need to remember.
“I met him for a meal and spilled water on his desk,” he says. “Her file got wet.”
The backyard swims. Ryder reaches to steady me by the elbow but I drag myself out of his reach. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
His mouth works. I watch his green eyes widen. “Tell you what? That I knew your mom was sick? That my dad was her doctor? Willa, you didn’t tell me anything. I asked about your mom, your home life. You kept that from me.”
“Don’t you dare blame me!” I march up to him and jab a finger in his chest. “That’s my private business—”
“So is my dad’s medical practice!”
I tear at my hair. “When you knew we were coming to your home, why didn’t you say anything?”
“I tried,” Ryder groans. “You kept avoiding me. I couldn’t text you that.”
It’s not enough. It’s not okay. The depth of omission that’s been between us is staggering. I feel like everything that made Ryder feel safe has been ripped away from me. How could he smile at me and talk to me and study with me, night after night, knowing all this? Knowing he was getting ear surgery, and then going to be able to speak, telling me none of this. Sneaking the hearing aid on me. Hiding his own history with the sport we both love. What the fuck has Ryder told me?
“Willa,” Ryder pleads. “Slow down.”
Seems I continue to verbal process. He steps toward me but I back away. His eyes narrow, his jaw clenches. And before he can say one more thing, I turn and sprint into the trees.
22
Ryder
Playlist: “Bloodsport,” Raleigh Ritchie
Goddamn, that woman is fast.
Willa bolts for the trees, her agile body slicing through the shadows. Thankfully, I’ve kept up on my speed-training too, and my legs are fifty percent longer than hers. Soon, I’m right behind her, hearing the sharp gasp of sobs as she runs. I hate that these are the first sounds I’m hearing from her. I hate that this is how she found out. But I can’t change the past, and I’m a practical man. All I can deal with is the present, and as much as possible, the future.
She hurdles a felled tree and falls funny, wobbling for a second before she takes off again. Glancing over her shoulder, she’s wide-eyed, flaming with anger. Her head whips back around and she picks up her speed. I’m at an advantage, in that I know where and how my parents’ property ends. Soon, she’ll run right into a ten-foot-high privacy wall. She’ll be cornered.
Willa’s run slows as she spots the fence. Her head swings left, then right. When she spins and faces me, her eyes dart around, planning her escape.
“Enough, Willa. No more running away. We’re going to talk about this.”
Willa glares at me, wiping an unsteady hand under her nose. “No.”
“Yes.”
She shakes her head. Fine. I can be the bad guy. Piss her off a little bit. Not the first time I’ve done it. Two strides toward her before she even knew I was coming, I bend and toss her over my shoulder. I’m mindful to set her on my left side, farther from my good ear. Then I remember I don’t have good and bad ears anymore. I have new ears. Both of them hear her equally well.
As predicted, she shrieks. I wince, trying to shield myself as best as I can.
“Put me down, you lying, flannel-wearing, tree-limbed, lumberjack son of a bitch!” she hollers.
I just tighten my hold around her legs and hoist her higher on my shoulder. The entire walk across the lawn is punctuated by her yelling strings of expletives. She slams her fists on my back and jerks her strong legs under my grip. I just lock my arms around them.
When I swing open the front door, poor Ziggy’s there, gaping at us. Ren slaps a hand over her eyes and drags her back into the kitchen. Willa seems to sense we’re headed to my room because her panic picks up in the form of fists pummeling my back.
“Put.” Punch. “Me.” Punch. “Down.”
After I slam my door shut, I let her slide down my body, and immediately earn a fist to the chest. Our eyes meet.
“Tell me what you’re angry about. Tell me so I can—”
“So you can talk your way out of it? So you can deceive me some other way as you cover your ass?”
I reel. “Willa, no. I…I never wanted to deceive you.”
“Except for when you snuck your hearing aid on me. When you never told me you played soccer. When you figured out my mom’s your dad’s patient. When you learned she’d be living here. When your ‘minor’ procedure for your ears was actually meant to overhaul your hearing and give you back your speech. Explain to me how you’ve managed to do all that without wanting to deceive me.”
I rake an unsteady hand through my hair. “Okay, when you put it that way—”
“What the hell, Ryder? That’s the only way to put it! How do you even have the audacity to hold me here, expecting me to excuse—”
“I wore the hearing aid because I wanted to hear your voice,” I blurt. “Because when I heard you in Aiden’s class, it wasn’t enough.”
Willa’s jaw drops.
“I-I-I didn’t know you mumble to yourself. I didn’t know because I’d never heard it before. I didn’t know until it was happening, Willa. I didn’t tell you about soccer because it felt pointlessly sad. I was trying to move on. I didn’t talk about your mom because you never talked about your mom. I tried, Willa, but you don’t make it easy. You push people away when they want to be close to you.”
I pause as my throat tightens. Willa stares at me, her eyes widening. She looks scared, like a cornered wild animal.
“I know you’re in shock. I know this is some twisted small world, but, Willa, it’s still me. No, we haven’t been as open about some things, but we’ve been there when we needed each other—”
She stiffens. Her eyes tighten with panic. “I didn’t need you.”
Those words hit me like a physical blow. “Everybody needs someone, Willa.”
“Not me.” She leans in, locking eyes with me. “I. Don’t. Need. Anyone. Except for Mama.” She sniffs and wipes her nose roughly. “Who I’m going to go make sure is okay. Mama’s never lied to me. Can you say that much for yourself?”
I’m empty of words. No, I can’t say I haven’t lied by omission. No, I can’t deny that I’ve withheld parts of my life. But Willa has, too. She’s just scrounging for every bit of material she can and throwing it against me. Anything to keep her distance.
Willa draws her shoulders back, her jaw set as she interprets my silence exactly how she needs to. “That’s what I thought.”
She throws open my door and walks out, but this time, I don’t chase her. This time, I slump to the floor and let those words settle in.
I didn’t need you.
I don’t need anyone.
“But, Sunshine,” I mutter to the empty room, “what if I need you?”
“Ryder, do you want milk?”
Mom’s voice snaps me out of my daydreaming. Her hand hovers over my coffee with a small pitcher.
“Oh, no, thanks, Mom.”
She smiles and looks like she’s tearing up. “I can’t get over hearing your voice.” Dabbing her eyes, she sets the pitcher down and turns back to the fresh-baked bread she’s slicing. “It’s deeper than I remembered.”
“That’s because his balls finally dropped.” Ax nudges me as he falls onto a neighboring stool.
“Axel!” Mom gives him a severe stare, but still slides a cup of coffee his way.
“Sorry, mom. So, your friend.” Ax drops his voice and sips his coffee, his eyes that are just like mine crinkling over his mug. “She’s hot.”
I clench my jaw. “She’s not yours for the taking. She’s also like…ten years younger than you.”
Ax scoffs. “Six, if she’s your age, and women like older men. They like maturity. An established career.”
“Which explains why you’re single, Axelrod.” Ren drops on the other side of me and reaches to the cutting board, nabbing a slice of raisin bread faster than Mom can swat away his hand.
“Fuck you, Søren,” Ax grumbles into his coffee.
Ren’s cheeks darken with an angry flush as he shoves the entire piece of bread into his mouth. He looks about to flip his shit. Ren hates his full name.
“Boys.” Mom raises her eyebrows. Something in the intensity of her frown oddly reminds me of Willa. My coffee curdles in my stomach. “I use that term, boys, deliberately. Do you see your younger brothers acting like this? Why am I lecturing the older ones?”
“Because they’re still sleeping,” Ren mumbles around his mouthful. “Give Viggo and Ollie time to wake up and then ask them about what they did to the backyard.”
Mom’s eyes widen in alarm before they close and she takes a centering breath. Those two put the first signs of aging on her forehead and near her eyes. “I’ll deal with that later. The point is that it’s Julafton. Christmas Eve. I’d like you to pretend for one day you don’t have disgusting mouths, and that you somewhat like each other, förstått?”
It’s the Swedish version of Am I understood? with the emphatic expectation to be damn well understood.
“Yes, Mom,” we all mumble.
“Now. I want to discuss Willa and Joy.” Mama resumes slicing the last of the bread and begins neatly setting it in the basket in front of her. “I think we should invite them to Christmas dinner tonight.”
I choke on my coffee. Ax takes the opportunity to smack my back harder than necessary.
“Get off.” I shove him so roughly he nearly topples off his stool.
“Ryder?” Mom watches me, her head tipped.
“It’s your home, Mom. Your decision. I wouldn’t expect them to say yes, though. Willa’s pissed at me.”
Mom sips her coffee and drags a stool toward her side of the counter. She sits with a sigh. “Why?”
“She says that I was dishonest, that I kept a lot of myself from her, but she did, too. We were both playing the same game—”
Ren laughs. “The one where you pretended you hated each other but all you really wanted to do was—”
I slap a hand over his mouth and raise my eyebrows, gesturing toward Mom. Mom smiles and sips her coffee. When I’m confident Ren isn’t going to continue that train of thought, I drop my hand.
“We’ve been playing with fire for a while. I don’t think Willa likes feeling as if she got burned and I didn’t.”
Mom nods and sets down her cup. “But you did, too, didn’t you? Maybe you’ve even been burned the worst?”
Her eyes hold mine in understanding. It’s hard to think about and impossible to say, how stealthily my feelings for Willa shifted. “She doesn’t know that.”
“She will if you tell her,” Mom says softly.
I fiddle with my napkin. “I’m not sure she wants to hear it.”
My brothers’ eyes bore into the sides of my head, as they realize what we’re saying. Mom reaches for my hand and clasps it. “Be brave, älskling, and give her a chance. If you don’t, I think you’ll regret it for a long time.”
Nodding, I manage a smile. Mom’s idea is nice in theory. But she doesn’t know Willa. She doesn’t know all that I’m up against. “Thanks, Mom. I’ll think about it.”
My phone buzzes. While her eyesight has indeed deteriorated, Joy has discovered the art of dictating texts. Swiping open my phone, I read:
It’s Darcy’s visit to Longbourn today.
Get your ass down here and read
me my happily ever after.
A laugh I can’t stop rumbles out of my chest.
At your service, milady.
Wrong century, squire.
“Tough crowd,” I mumble.
“What?” Mom asks.
Standing, I pocket my phone in my PJ pants. “Sorry, nothing.” Rounding the counter, I give Mom a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for breakfast. I’ll be back in a bit.”
“Don’t be too long!” Mom calls. “I need help with the julskinka.”
“I won’t, promise.”
Jogging up to my room, I change into jeans and a flannel, of course. Willa’s jokes about them echo in my head as I button my shirt. She can tease all she wants, but wearing a flannel shirt is like wearing a socially acceptable security blanket. Sue me, I like to be comfortable and comforted.
Once downstairs, I round the banister and stroll down the hall to Joy’s room. Knocking twice, I wait for her voice.
“Enter,” she says dramatically.
I smile as I walk in because I can’t help it. I like Joy. She’s a smartass, like Willa, with all the fun and a fraction of the bite. Unlike Willa, she’s incredibly blunt, but I am too, so it works out fine. She’s also whip-smart. Each time I read to her, Joy explains cultural contexts I never knew about in Pride and Prejudice and tells random funny anecdotes when something in the story jogs her memory. Not that Willa wouldn’t love her for the fact alone that Joy’s her mother, but I can see why Willa loves her so much. Joy Sutter is a good time.
“You’re giving me that look again.” She shifts in bed and sighs heavily.
“Am not.” Sitting down, I sweep up Pride and Prejudice. I frown when I open the book. “This is where we left off two days ago.”
“Willa was too tired to read last night. She just curled up on my bed and passed out.”
Tired my ass. Willa was a wreck is what she was. Guilt hits me like a kick to the stomach.
“It’s not your fault, Lumberjack. Willa’s an emotional minefield, which, to her credit, is with good reason.” Joy sighs again and raises the bed. “Willa never had a dad. She grew up being carted all over the country for my military career. The only constants in her life have been the soccer ball at her feet, and her mom whistling for her from the stands.”
Joy draws in a shuddering breath and betrays a rare window of emotion. “And she’s about to lose one of those.”
Reflexively, I wrap my hand around hers. Silence hangs between us as I search her eyes. “Does she know that?”
She shakes her head. “I can’t.”
“Ms. Sutter, you have to tell her.”
Joy’s hand grips mine hard as she blinks up at the ceiling. “I don’t know how. I don’t know how to break my daughter’s heart. One promise I have always made Willa is that I will never leave her, that in this world she could count on her mama being there for her.”
I stroke my thumb gently along her skin. “Due respect, you made a promise you could never keep. Parents always leave their children, unless horrifically their children leave them first. Willa knows this. She’s going to grieve and struggle, but not because you failed her. You’re not doing wrong by her, being sick, by…”
Tears paint her cheeks as she stares up at the ceiling. “By dying,” Joy whispers.
I swallow around a lump in my throat.
Silence lapses again as the sun hides behind a cloud, bathing us in shadows. Joy squeezes my hand and tugs me closer. “Promise me something?” Her eyes lock with mine. “Don’t give up on her, okay?”
I only nod, because I’m struggling for the right words. Joy releases my hand and lifts her pinkie. “I mean it, Bergman, or I’ll haunt you.”
I laugh through the thickness in my voice, blinking away tears as I lock fingers with her. “Deal.”
“Now.” Joy drops my finger and sits back, hands folded primly in her lap as her eyes drift shut. “Where were we?”
23
Willa
Playlist: “This Must Be The Place,” The Lumineers
With one ear pressed to a crack in the door, my eyes scrunched shut in concentration. That’s the first time I hear the words spoken out loud. My mother is dying. I’ve refused to acknowledge it, but I’ve known. Subliminally, I knew why she was leaving the hospital, but hearing it, thinking it is so much more painful.
I must be in shock because I’m not crying. I’m not even breathing unsteadily. My heartbreak is a white-hot knife, slicing down my sternum. It rips open my chest, and I feel as if I’m watching my heart tilt, then flop out of my chest, where it lands with a splat on the hardwood floor. Next, it’s as if my intestines unravel slowly, a steady, nonstop unwinding. There’s a sad, sick parallel to how I spun that scarf off my neck and unveiled my body to torture Ryder.
Ryder.
I hear his voice on the other side of the door.
My body is distant from my consciousness. I’m floating away, staring down at myself, slumped to the floor in a fragmented pool of parts. My lungs are the next victim. They collapse in on themselves. They tighten and shrivel as I gasp for air.
I see myself, balled up on the floor.
My sobs are silent. I’m airless, carved out, breaking, until—
Laughter. Mama’s belly laugh yanks me down to my body, jamming everything inside again, knitting me together. My lungs fill. My heart pounds safely inside my chest. My stomach tightens. Everything is where it should be, as I listen. The mood shifts in the room.
“Reread the first proposal, please,” Mama says.
“In vain I have struggled.” Ryder’s voice is deep and ragged. He reads Darcy’s voice with suffering that’s as believable as it is expressive.
He’s her gentleman reader.
Oh, fuck.
Hot, fat, tears slide down my cheeks. That asshole. That infuriating asshole lumberjack is reading to my sick mom and putting Colin Firth to shame.
“It will not do. My feelings will not be repressed. You must allow me to tell you how ardently I admire and love you…”
I listen, rapt, my ear pressed tight to the door. The famous heated exchange as Darcy stupidly degrades Elizabeth’s family, points out their every flaw. When he finishes I hear Mama sigh heavily.
“I always wish Austen wouldn’t have tortured us,” she says before a wet cough stops her. Finally, she catches her breath. “All that longing at Pemberley, the misunderstandings over Jane and then Wickham. I wish Lizzie and Darcy told each other what was going on. Then they could have gone straight to happily ever after.”
