Page 23 of Bittersweet Redemption

“Yeah.”

He sighs. “Just be careful, Kai. Riley thinks Willa has learned her lesson, but you can’t be too sure. She’s the reason you ended up in prison.”

“You think I don’t know that?” I snap.

“I know you do. It’s just crazy. I still can’t believe she’s your damn neighbor.”

“You and me both.” I can’t believe a lot of things: that she’s my neighbor, that she lied under oath, and that she’s so damn beautiful I can’t get her out of my mind. I decide it’s best to change the subject before I rip my steering wheel off.

“You ready for the big day next weekend?”

“I’m ready for it to be done. I want to be married to her. I’m tired of looking at color swatches and seating charts. I don’t care about any of that shit.”

I laugh. “But your future wife does.”

“Yeah. She and her mom are really on top of everything. The only thing I asked was to keep the guest list fairly small, which they both agreed to.”

“I don’t envy you, man.”

“Just wait. You’ll be in this situation one day. And I’ll laugh when you have to decide between dusty rose and mauve.”

I laugh, but deep down, a part of me wants that. I’m happy for my brother. But I won’t pretend I’m not the slightest bit jealous that he’s found his soul mate, someone he wants to be with for the rest of his life. All I have is a string of unremarkable hookups. I can’t even remember the last time I went on an actual date. I want that. I miss that. And I wonder if I’m ever going to have that again or if women will always just look to me for a hookup.

We chat for a few more minutes until I’m parked in front of the tattoo parlor, ready for a full night of work that hopefully keeps my mind off my new roommates.

* * *

The next morning, I’m woken up too early by an unfamiliar sound in my house. Laughter.

My eyes crack open, trying to figure out where it’s coming from. Then I remember—Willa and the kid. In my house.

Groaning, I grab my phone to see what time it is. Ten-thirty. That means I got about six hours of sleep. I guess that’s enough. It’s gonna have to be now that I’m up.

After I shower and dress, I walk down the hall, following the scent of bacon.

“Hi, Mr. Kai.” Roman greets me as soon as he sees me. His smile is over the top. I can tell by his energy level that he’s been up for hours.

“Morning, kid.” I shuffle past Willa, who’s standing at the stove in a tank top and pajama shorts. I try to keep my eyes from staring at her bare legs, and I try even harder to stop myself from thinking about how I want to be between them. . . because I don’t. I don’t want to touch her. I think.

“I’m so sorry if we woke you up. We were trying to be quiet,” Willa says as she flips a pancake.

“It’s fine,” I mumble, even though I am annoyed I was woken up. But I’m the one who allowed them in here, so it’d be a real dick move to get mad at a kid who can’t stay quiet. I know I didn’t know how to be quiet when I was his age.

The coffee pot has fresh coffee, so I pour myself a cup and turn to face my houseguests. It’s fucking weird having people here, and I’m not sure how to act.

“Room ok?” I ask.

“Yes, thank you again for letting us stay,” Willa responds a little too stiffly, like she’s uncomfortable even talking to me. Which is understandable. I haven’t exactly been Mr. Rogers since she moved in, and I still wish she would’ve packed up her stuff and left when I told her to, but here we are. Fucking roomies.

“Mr. Kai, do you want some pancakes? Mommy makes the best pancakes.” The kid bounces over to me and looks up with his big green eyes. The same green eyes as his mom. Not that I’ve noticed or anything.

Willa looks over her shoulder and gives her son what I like to call “the mom eye.” She’s trying to tell him to stop talking without actually saying it out loud. That was a look my own mother perfected when I was younger. Whenever Kellan and I got the mom eye, we shut right the hell up. But Roman doesn’t seem to understand the meaning yet.

“They’re nothing special. Just boxed pancake mix. But there’s plenty if you’d like some,” she tells me as she transfers some to a plate on the counter.

“Alright.” I sit at the small square table in the kitchen, a table I hardly ever sit at unless Riley and Kellan are here. I sit across from Roman, leaving a seat for Willa between us. She walks over and places a giant plate of pancakes and a bottle of syrup in front of us.

Then she sits, and it hits me that this is what a family would do together. Enjoying a slow Sunday morning eating pancakes. It makes my palms clammy, and I almost stand up and walk away. These two are not my family. Not even close. And I don’t want to cross any lines that will make Willa think I don’t hate her. She’s not forgiven. I can’t forgive her. Can I? Do I want to?