Page 100 of Jay Bird

Willow stilled for a moment before she responded. “I know.”

“I need you to really know it.”

She nodded against his chest. “I do.”

His hand moved slowly over her hair. “You’re free here, Willow.”

A tear slipped down her cheek as she tightened her fingers in his shirt.

“Jay?”

“Yeah?”

“Can you hold me a little tighter?”

His arm tightened around her, just enough to make her feel held without making her feel trapped.

“Better?”

She nodded. “Much.”

For several minutes, Jay Bird continued running his fingers slowly through her hair.

Willow could feel herself relaxing more with every pass, her body gradually settling against his as the last of the tension began to leave her shoulders.

Then his voice broke the quiet.

“You don’t talk much about your family.”

Willow’s fingers stilled against his chest. “No.”

“If you don’t want to, you don’t have to.”

She smiled faintly. There it was again—a question followed immediately by an escape route. Jay Bird never demanded anything from her, not even an answer.

“My dad was my family,” she said quietly.

His hand resumed its slow movement through her hair.

“What was he like?”

Willow smiled before she could stop herself. “He was wonderful.”

The word didn’t seem nearly big enough.

“He was funny and ridiculously stubborn, and he thought every problem in life could either be fixed with food or a trip to a sporting event.”

Jay Bird chuckled beneath her. “Sounds reasonable.”

“You would’ve liked him.”

“Sports guy?”

“Obsessed.” Willow laughed softly. “Everything Pittsburgh. Steelers, Penguins, Pirates. If Pittsburgh had started a professional competitive knitting team, he would’ve bought season tickets.”

Jay Bird laughed. “That committed?”

“Oh, absolutely. Terrible Towels everywhere. Steelers stuff all over the house. Sundays during football season were practically a religious observance.”