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Well, relative peace; while she might remain silent, my brain certainly doesn’t. “Has, uh, Cass eaten yet?”
Something sympathetic curls Amelia’s mouths. “He has.”
“He’s avoiding me, right?”
The sympathy grows, confirming what I already know.
I stare at my empty bowl and try not to look as gutted as I feel. “Ah.”
“Has Cass told you about what happened to me?”
“No.”
When she exhales deeply, like she’s readying herself for something, I risk a sideways glance. The serious look on her face is so unnerving, so arresting, I wince slightly, bracing for impact. “When we were sixteen, I was in a car accident. I was okay but my boyfriend at the time—Cass’ best friend—died.”
Fuck, that’s not what I was expecting. “I’m so sorry.”
A dainty shrug, a sad smile. “I got in another accident in college. It was a lot worse and Cass took it pretty hard.” Something meaningful hardens her green eyes, piercing as they stare me down. “He doesn’t do very well when people he loves are in trouble.”
That freaking word again. Doesn't everyone know I’ve had a big day? I can’t handle much more. The fretting and the fussing and the ‘can’t make another you, Sunday,’ have already given my brain all kinds of notions; I don’t need verbal substantiation for my delusions, even if it is from a reliable, heavily biased source.
Amelia knows, I think. How much that word rattles me, and she sympathizes. Rising with way too much ease for someone who’s almost six months pregnant, she pats me on the thigh, says, “He’s in the nursery,” and then, she’s gone.
I wait until the sound of the front door shutting loudly echoes up the stairs before taking her oh-so-subtle hint. Exactly where Amelia said he’d be, Cass stands in the middle of the nursery, hands on his hips as he surveys the almost complete room.
“You painted.”
He startles at my voice, turning to me with the frown I expected, the words too. “You shouldn’t be up.”
“Is that your professional opinion?” I move to stand beside him, bumping my hip against his as my gaze wanders around the newly-painted room. “I love it, Cass.”
His defeated sigh is almost as adorable as the nervous side-eye he shoots me. “Yeah? I know we talked about keeping it plain but Jackson—”
“Cass,” I cut him off. “I really love it.” How could I not? Isn’t it every mother’s dream to have a beautiful, hand-freaking-painted nursery? It was certainly mine, back in the day, and apparently still is, I realize as I’m affronted by the delicate pale green leaves and intricate lilac flowers and tiny little suns decorating a so-light-it’s-almost-white gray wall. “Is this where you were hiding today?”
“I wasn’t hiding.”
“So you were avoiding me, then.”
“No, I wasn’t.”
“You were. I wanna know why.”
“Really, Sunday?” Weary defeat personified, he frowns down at me. “Last night was my fault.”
I swear to God, cartoon-esque blinking noises sound, my lashes all but creating a stiff wind as I gape at Cass. “Are you serious?”
He is—deadly. “You know what causes cervical irritation, Sunday? Sex.”
“Oh,Cass.”
“I put you in the hospital. I did that. I—” H abruptly cuts himself off, head cocked and eyes narrowed. “Are youlaughing?”
“No.” Or at least I’m trying not to. But…c’mon. “Your dick put me in the hospital. Nothing funny about that.”
“Sunday.”
“I’m sorry,” I wheeze. “I know it’s not funny.” Notthatfunny. Definitely alittlefunny. Not the hospital part, obviously; just the dick involvement. “Cass, darlin’, you did not fuck me into a hospital bed.”
