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NOLAN: You are the last person who needs to apologize.
I should’ve at least said something.
NOLAN: Cade’s missing. Is he driving you back? Or did you take a bus?
I’d never get home on a bus. Lol.
Yeah, Cade is driving me home.
NOLAN: Will you be going to the Ironwoods…
I don’t think so. But I’ll see you when you get back.
NOLAN: If I stop in Olympia and pick up boxes upon boxes upon boxes of that pumpkin spice coffee you insist we have at the store, will that help you feel better?
Coffee is the direct line to my heart.
NOLAN: That is incredibly unhealthy.
I love you.
NOLAN: I love you too.
“Nolan played a smut audiobook to wake everyone up this morning, Sam ended up in the clubhouse as a wolf cuddling with Axel on the floor—at least, I’m assuming they were cuddling. He used Sam as a pillow,” I recapped for Cade as I dropped my phone back in the cup holder. “And Roan cuddled with… Killian last night. I’m sure a lot more happened than just that but you know.”
“Waking up to dick sounds like a great way to start the day,” he commented. God, that was a thought I didn’t need in my head. It’d been so long that I wasn’t even sure my lady parts would know what to do if a man went near them. The most action I’d had in over three years was getting a vertical clitoral hood piercing by Bea. How pathetic was I? Cade blew out a slow breath. “So, speaking of… do you want to tell me why you showed up at my door again last night in tears?”
“Thank you for answering in pants this time.”
“You’re deflecting,” he replied. I was. I sighed heavily and stuck my hand out the window. The tug of the cool air was an anchor, something to keep me from drifting off as I tried hard not to fall into thinking about that kiss all over again.
“Killian and I got into a fight,” I whispered.
“Oh, this is drama,” Cade exclaimed.
“He kissed me. And I sort of… kissed him back.”
“This is spicy drama.”
“And then I hit him.”
“Is he into that sort of thing? Or is this some Jerry Springer shit?” he asked, glancing at me. Goodness, it sure as heck felt like some Jerry Springer drama.
“He’s not into it,” I said. “But I don’t know if I’d go as far as to say it’s Jerry Springer drama. It’s just… I don’t think we know how to be around each other, you know? Not after…”
I trailed off.
“Not after what?” Cade prompted quietly.
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I told him. Those floodgates never needed to be opened.
“But have you talked about it? To anyone? Therapist? Friend? Family?” he replied. I didn’t say a word. “Whatever it is, Ginny, you can’t just hold it in.”
The pit of my stomach dropped out. I hated those words. I hated this conversation. How many people had said some variation of the same thing to me? They didn’t understand. They couldn’t.
“I still don’t want to talk about it.” Ever. It was just easier to smile. Grin and bear it. Trust God and know at some point I wouldn’t have to keep dealing with this. I wouldn’t feel the way I did. There’d be no more nights of crying myself to sleep or feeling like my heart was about to fall out of my chest.
“Okay.” Cade let the conversation go thankfully. He reached over and turned on the radio. Loud rock music filled the car. He sang off-key and drummed his fingers against the steering wheel, getting into it.
