by Sadie Jacks
Chasing the pain I could give her would take her from me.
No. You’re not losing her. She cares, even if she can’t see that yet. You’re going to show her how good it can be. How good you can be.
I didn’t even bother arguing with myself. I’d been working my way to this moment since I’d gotten her voice mail last night. No one, minus Grams, had cared enough about me to make sure I’d gotten home okay. I wasn’t going to lose the only person who had. Not in this fucking lifetime.
She sobbed softly. It was so heavy with grief, it grabbed my throat and shook me to my core. “You kissed me so gently. That’s what you need, Ryker. You need a nice girl. One who enjoys gentle. Who needs soft.” Her voice cracked. “That’s not me. I’m broken. He broke me. A long time ago.”
My soul snarled in anger. I was going to find that fucker and rip him into pieces with my bare hands. He’d damaged her. Broken her spirit. My wildly vibrant Willow.
“I can put the pieces back together, Willow. Just like you put together my cupcakes, I can make you into something new. Something better from all the different parts.”
My computer dinged with her location. Fucking finally. I noted the address and shot from my seat. Grabbing my keys and my wallet, I shot towards the private elevator.
I was in my car and rocketing towards her before her next words slid down the line.
“I hope you liked them. I won’t be making them anymore. I won’t be making anything anymore.”
“Why did you choose vanilla buttercream frosting?” I grasped at conversational straws to keep her on the line. Anything to keep her talking to me. To keep her here until I could get to her.
She sighed. She sounded so tired. Soul-deep weary. “Because it’s my favorite.”
My heart ripped open. “So you put both of our favorites in one cupcake?”
Her low dry chuckle sounded as brittle as bleached, dry bones. “I guess so. I didn’t know cinnamon was your favorite when I made them though.”
“I had one. It was the best thing I’ve ever tasted.” That was nothing but the truth.
“I’m glad you liked it. Will you do me a favor?”
My heart pinched and my belly tightened. No. No. No. No last goodbyes. No favors for when you’re gone. “That depends.”
“On what?” She sounded more alive on that one. More pissy.
Come back to me, Willow. Come back to me. Tell me where to shove it. Tell me what an asshole I am. Something. Anything. “On what the favor is. Is this a friend kind of favor?” I bit my lip, prayed I said the right thing.
Another sigh. I could almost see her rolling her sage green eyes at me. I wanted to pump my fist into the air, but I was too busy darting in and out of traffic. I wasn’t willing to chance an accident when Willow was this close to the edge.
“Fine. Yes. This is a friend kind of favor.” She snapped the words.
That’s right, cupcake. I’m a demanding asshole who only cares about himself. Tell me how awful I am. “How many points are we talking here?”
The line was quiet. The low hum of machinery stopped.
I held my breath, prayed she hadn’t done something. Answer me, baby. Answer me.
“At least fifty points.”
I exhaled as I pictured her face. Her brows were probably scrunched together. Her lips pursed. Her nostrils flared.
I whistled dramatically. “That must be quite the favor. Do I have to kill one of the Amatucci brothers to get them?”
She snorted.
My belly loosened infinitesimally.
“No. Besides, I’m pretty sure they could take you out with barely any effort. You’re kinda cushy, Ry.”
It was my turn to snort. Bring it on, cupcake. Fight me. Lay into me. “Excuse me? Insulting me isn’t going to get me to help you. No matter the number points involved. And those boys have got nothing I haven’t seen or beaten. I could take them out blindfolded with one arm tied behind my back.” I rounded the last corner and screeched up to the small building in New Trenadie’s Old Town square. Willow Tree Bakery was written in a white soft, flowy script against a blue background.
She gave the slightest chuckle. “Come on. You can’t seriously believe you can take on the mob, can you?”
I shot from the car, ran up the steps. “You keep thinking I’m soft and squishy, cupcake. See where that gets you.”
The line went quiet. Too quiet. Fuck!
“I know you’re soft and squishy. That’s part of the problem.” Her voice was quiet but I could practically feel the need in it.
“Let me show you that none of me is soft or squishy.” I tried the door at the front of the store. It pushed open with the slightest pressure.
The doorbell sounded over my head and through the phone.
“I’ve got to go.” She hung up on me without saying another word.
I slid the phone into my pocket and waited for her to appear. Adrenaline poured through me like I’d just gotten a shot of the stuff straight into the vein. I’d gotten to her. She was still here. I was going to turn her over my knee for scaring the fuck out of me.
If she needed pain, I was going to be the one to give it to her. I had ways of making her hurt so good, suicide would never be an option for her again. Not on my fucking watch.
I’d do anything to keep from hearing that broken doll voice of hers ever again. I’d do whatever it took to keep Willow here among the living. Even if she ended up hating me for it. Even if it lost me her.
I shuddered. I’d heard that kind of hollowness once before. From my father, literal moments before he’d committed suicide.
Some things were important enough to risk. Some of them were more important than others. Some of them were more important than my happiness.
Willow Chase was one of them.
Chapter 31 – Willow
Cursing myself for not locking the front door, I set the hand mixer down on the worktop and moved to the doors that separated the kitchen from the booking and show space. I stuffed my phone in my bra. I needed to get rid of whoever was out here.
Then I needed to find out how to disappear. I had no idea why I’d called Ryker. He couldn’t help me. Other than pissing me off.
A sardonic smile pulled at the corner of my mouth as I got to the double swing doors. He’d helped me. Pulled me back with his ego and arrogance. I was going to have to bake the stupid man some more fucking cupcakes. They could be my going-away present to him.
I skidded to a halt as the one and only stupid man stood just inside my shop’s door. He looked big and menacing. Heat and emotion vibrated off him in waves and surges that reminded me of the ocean during a tsunami.
“Wh-wh-what are you doing here?” I asked, my hand moved to the collar of my shirt. Covered the base of my neck. Shit. Had he guessed what I had planned?
“What are you doing here?” he asked. One dark blonde eyebrow rose in question.
I swallowed. Hoped he couldn’t understand the depths of the hole I’d gotten stuck in. I told him my original plan. “I’m getting ready for the gigs this weekend.”
He took a slow step forward. “Is that all you were doing?” His low voice pulsated with authority and demanded answers. Truthful answers.
I opened my mouth.
“If you lie to me, I’ll tell the Amatuccis.”
I snapped my mouth closed. I crossed my arms. “Tell them what?” Maybe I could bluster my way through this.
“What you were thinking of doing.”
A cold chill swept through me. “And what do you think that was?”
“Hurting yourself. Going too far with it.” He took another step towards me.
I jerked as if he’d slapped me. He’d known. Somehow he’d known what I was thinking. Planning. Craving. Guilt and shame ate at my insides.
“I told you on the phone, cupcake. I can give you what you need.”
I shook my head. Denied his words. He’d had his chance. He had nothing I needed. Or wanted. And the same was true in reverse
.
With a sound that was more animal than man, he lunged forward and gripped my arms. His fingers dug into my flesh. His green eyes watched me so closely, I felt like he could see into my soul.
Only this time…this time, he didn’t turn away from what he saw there. “Yes. I can. But there are rules. Lots of rules.”
I jolted. Tried to pull from his grasp. When he held steady, I stilled and glared up at him. “You don’t get to tell me what to do. Ever.”
He smiled. It was full of menacing promises. “Oh, but I will. And what’s more, you’ll like it. Because of what I can give you when you obey me.” He tightened his fingers slightly.
I inhaled on a wave of ecstasy and pain. Shit.
He released the grip without letting me go.
Almost begging him to tighten his grip again, I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood to keep the words inside.
“We’ve got lots to talk about, you and I. Conversations that will be had when you’re in a better frame of mind.” He set me away from him slightly. He took a deep breath. Shook his head. “Now. What are you making in here?” He smiled slightly.
I debated trying to throw him out. The man was taller than me by at least six inches and probably outweighed me by seventy five pounds. He was a bear of a man. A giant, bossy bear.
I’d probably have to call the Amatuccis to get it done and since I couldn’t have them finding out about this latest issue, I was stuck with him. Him and his too-seeing gaze. His nosiness to delve into my life.
Figuring it was the lesser of two evils, I heaved a sigh. Waved him back to the kitchen. A thought slid through my mind. The door. I stopped, turned, and went back to lock the damn thing.
He grabbed my arm, his grip firm without biting into my flesh. “You’re not bailing on me. Not again.” He glared down at me. His nostrils flared as the green of his eyes took on an eerie cast.
I held still under his touch. My gaze placid as I gazed back at him. “I’m locking the front door. The only reason you’re in here is because I forgot when I came in the first time.” I waited for him to let me go.
He stared at me, weighed my words. Finally, he nodded. “Then I’m glad you were forgetful. I was willing to break through the door to get to you in time.”
In a crazy way, that was sweet. I’d never been the person people rushed to help or protect. Mostly I liked it that way.
I shot him a smile as the wall around my heart developed a crack. “At least I know you’re good for it.” And this man said he didn’t know how to be a good friend. He was either lying to himself or very stupid.
He let go of my arm as he smiled. “I’m good for a lot more than that, cupcake.”
I turned away so he couldn’t see my stiff nipples pressing against the thin fabric of my shirt. I think I was legitimately going crazy. Maybe I should think about some medication. Or going to therapy. From being suicidal to aroused in less than thirty minutes? I made a mental note to start looking for some good therapists around here.
I turned the lock and moved back towards the kitchen doors. I stopped right beside him. Looked up into his emerald eyes. “If you come in here, I’m in charge. You touch nothing without my permission. You don’t taste or sample. You don’t breathe too hard in my cakes’ directions. Nothing. You get to sit in the corner and look pretty.” I jabbed my finger in his direction.
He raised his hands in surrender. “Yes, mistress. I understand, mistress.”
I rolled my lips in to keep them from twitching. The man wouldn’t know how to be submissive if it bit his dick. I glared at him for good measure. As we passed into the kitchen, I pointed to the high stool in the corner. “There. Sit.” I paused for a effect. Raised a single eyebrow. “Good boy.”
A low growl filtered from his throat. “Easy there, cupcake. We have to leave this kitchen eventually.” He sat on the stool, his arms crossed.
Ignoring that, I hit the button on the industrial mixer to stop its churning. The batter was going to be useless now. Moving the lever to lift the mechanical head, I grabbed a spoon and dipped it into the bowl. Gathering a small scoop, I tasted it. Shook my head.
“Hey. You get to sample, but I don’t?” Ryker whined from his corner spot.
“I’m the boss.” I grabbed a huge plastic scraper and emptied the beaten batter into the nearest trash can.
“I’m not sure how bakeries usually work, but I can’t imagine dumping product in the trash is really very cost effective,” he drawled.
I flipped him off.
He laughed.
“I let it go too long.” I kept my attention on the bowl, wishing I could pull the words back. I needed to keep him focused on the here. The now. Not the black hole of despair he’d found me in.
“A lot of things can go bad when you let them go too long.” His voice was quiet, serious.
I nodded. He wasn’t wrong. I washed the bowl and put it back on the stand. I got out the ingredients to start again.
“So, really, what are you working on today?”
Heaving a mental sigh of relief, I gave him the rundown for Natalie’s party tomorrow afternoon. I looked over when he said nothing. He was smiling at me.
“What?”
He shook his head. “You like her. This Natalie. Are you a Potterhead? What’s your house?”
I stared at him for a moment. “You’re a closet nerd, aren’t you?”
He shrugged. “I’m Slytherin house.”
“Why doesn’t that surprise me?”
He smiled. “Your house?”
“Ravenclaw.”
He smirked.
I rolled my eyes and smiled. Answered his original question. “I do like her. She reminds me of me when I was that age.” I shook my head. “But no, I don’t know that I can be considered a Potterhead. I’ve only ever watched the movies, never read the books.”
He gasped, grabbed his chest. “Heresy. How could you not read the books?”
Turning away, I shrugged as I measured out everything I would need for the first layer of her massive book cake. “They came into popularity when I was with…him. Since I’ve been single, I haven’t had the time to read them.”
“Can I ask what happened while you were with him?” he asked softly.
The measuring cup fell from my hand. It clattered to the stainless steel surface with a loud crashing tang. He was the first one to ask that. To want the knowledge. The specifics. The Amatuccis, goddess love them, were satisfied with my vague answers. To give me space and time.
As I struggled to control my breathing, I felt his hands curl around my arms. His fingers bit into my skin. “Still here?” he asked against my ear.
I nodded, took a deep breath of life-affirming pain. “Ye-yeah. Your question just startled me. And you can ask, but I probably won’t tell you.”
He waited a long moment before he let me go, moved back to his stool. He was silent so long, I looked up at him.
His eyes were pinched at the corners, his lips pursed into a thin line. “Have you told anyone?”
I went back to the worktop, started breaking eggs and adding them to a bowl. Shook my head. “I can’t. Not yet.” I said the words so softly, I barely heard them.
I worked in silence for a while after that. Having Ryker in the room wasn’t nearly as annoying as I’d thought it would be. Most of the time, I had to work alone because people in my space bothered me. Especially when I couldn’t keep my eyes on them.
While I knew Ryker was there, I didn’t feel pressured to talk or keep him entertained. At one point, I looked up and he was just watching me. Almost as if he were trying to memorize my recipes by stalking me with his gaze. But not once did I feel uncomfortable or out of sorts with that gaze on me.
Instead, in some kind of weird way, I felt better. Seen. Acknowledged. I wasn’t quite sure what to do with that, but I held it close to my heart anyways.
“What flavors are you doing?” he asked me.
My lips quirked without looking up from the batter f
or the second layer. The first layer was already in the oven. “American Waffles, Peanut Butter, Red Velvet, Mississippi Mud, Cookies n’ Cream, Chocolate Mint, and plain Vanilla.”
He gave a low whistle. “All of those mix well together?” He looked doubtful when I glanced up at him.
I smiled. “I’ll put a buffer section of plain frosting between each layer. The cake is going to be massive.” I dreaded the idea of having to assemble it and then move it to the venue in the morning. Even with help, it was going to be a pain in the ass. Or legs, as it were.
“How much will it weigh?”
I shrugged. “Somewhere close to fifty pounds, by the time it’s all said and done. I’m making the cake books bigger than the original paper books to help with the decorating. But even then, there will just be a lot of cake. She’s having close to 200 guests.” I smiled. “Well, that’s how many her mother is having anyways.”
He chuckled. “And you’re planning on moving it by yourself?”
I shook my head. “I’ve got some guys from across the street who help me. They own a small moving company. I’ve already bribed them with cupcakes and scones.” They were the cheapest labor I’d ever used—minus the free hands and feet of the Amatuccis.
“Do they ride with you to the venue? Help you unload it?” he asked. There was something in his voice I couldn’t identify.
“No. That would be taking advantage of them. I have a couple of venue attendants who help me. They work for the venue itself, but each of them will get a small cake as a thank you.” I could feel my shoulders inching up towards my ears. I shouldn’t have to defend myself or my choices. I wouldn’t.
“That’s good. I was going to offer to help. You shouldn’t be trying to move that much extra weight with your legs still trying to recover.” He sounded pleased.
I nodded, felt my shoulders relax slightly. “I’ve got this one covered. The twenty pound cake for the Stanten anniversary is going to be a little trickier. The wedding is going to be a breeze. A simple two tier with sheet cake for serving.”
