Page 35 of Mountain Grump Protector

“I don’t have to do anything, Willow.” I hold her gaze. “But if you really think I’m going to let you walk into that house on your own, then you don’t know me very well yet.”

“It’s my house.”

"And if everything’s fine, then afterward you can tell me I’m overreacting.”

Something in her face softens, and she blows out a breath before she finally says, “You’re a stubborn ass, you know.”

“Been called worse.”

Together, we walk through the dead grass and past the brown flowers, up to the front door. The second I step into the house, I understand two things real fast: Willow's been carrying far more than she should, and there’s no fucking way I’m walking away from this now.

Willow

Instantly, I’m hit with the familiar smell of home. Stale cigarettes, beer, and the damp that manages to creep into everything, and something that can only be described as sad.

Once familiar, now, the smell makes me gag.

It’s only been a few days that I’ve been away, but it might as well have been years for how different it feels.

My instincts take over, and I slip automatically into the familiar role I’ve spent almost my entire life in. Before I even realize I’m doing it, I’m picking up beer bottles, dumping their half-empty contents, and putting them in the bin under the sink.

Behind me, I can feel Cal taking everything in without saying a word.

He did say that he’s not judging me. I risk a glance over at his blank expression. If he has any opinions about what he’s seeing, I can’t tell.

“Dad?” I call, moving farther into the kitchen. “You here?”

A cough sounds down the hallway, and some of the tension I didn’t realize I’d been carrying slips from my shoulders.

Thank God.

At least he’s alive.

It’s a fear I live with every day, even when I’m not away. But having not heard from him for the last few days, that worry was only magnified.

With the way he drinks…never mind his health problems…and with no one to cook for him or make sure he’s looking after his basic needs…

I can’t even let myself think about what could have happened while I was—what? While I was what exactly?

Hiding? Yes.

Having wild sex with a mountain man? Yes.

Feeling lighter than I have in years?

Also, yes.

And that’s the part that guts me. The last few days with Cal have been some of the best I can remember, and I was too busy living them to wonder what was happening down here without me.

But I don’t have time to dwell on it. I move to the fridge, frowning at the almost empty shelves while I mentally start making a grocery list we can’t afford.

Maybe some bread and eggs.

Something besides beer and the leftover macaroni casserole that’s still sitting untouched exactly where I left it earlier in the week.

“Did you eat today?” I call.

No answer except another cough.