Page 5 of Written with You (The Regret Duet 2)
“I’ve got ’em,” Jenn chirped.
I ground my teeth. “I meant napkins.”
She lifted a stack of pink and purple unicorns left over from Rosalee’s interrupted party. “Got those too.”
Tilting my head with waning patience, I pointedly flicked my gaze to Hadley. “A knife?”
Jenn’s eyebrows shot up in understanding, and she quickly tucked the one in her hand into her back pocket. “Oh, right. Yeah. We’ll need a knife. Hadley, you don’t mind if Rosalee and I lick the icing off your candles, do you?”
My girl squealed when Hadley replied, “Have at it.”
Jenn winked at me, and I spared one last glare at my brother before guiding Hadley inside. If he’d felt its heat, I couldn’t be sure because his eyes were locked on Hadley, a satisfied smirk pulling on his lips.
Asshole.
When the door closed behind us, I wrapped my hand around hers. She started toward the hall bathroom, but I guided her up the stairs.
“Privacy,” I mumbled, closing the door to my bedroom.
She’d never been in there before, but her eyes didn’t wander with curiosity. She stared at me. A trapped urgency showed on her face without a single word exiting her perfect lips.
I rested my hands in the shallow curve of her hips. “Talk to me.”
Her teeth trapped her bottom lip, but not like they had all the times she’d stared at me from across the room. This was different—a physical verbal blockage of sorts.
I went for humor. It wasn’t a cure-all, but she’d always responded well to a distraction.
Using two fingers, I tugged her lip free. “Go ahead. You can dry-heave on me if you need to.” I rocked her toward me. “Hadley, come on, babe. Spill it. Is it Trent? Did he say something? Help me out here. I’m shit at mind reading.”
She pressed her lips together as though it were a last-ditch effort to keep the words filling her mouth from escaping.
She probably needed space.
A little air.
Time to gather her thoughts.
But even knowing that, I couldn’t convince my arms to let her go.
What the fuck was it about this woman that overrode my brain’s ability to process common sense?
Sliding my hands around to her lower back, I encircled her waist, bringing her delicate curves flush with my front. “You can talk to me. He’s my brother, but trust me, no one understands that Trent’s a hardass better than I do. If he was slinging shit at you for whatever reason, I want to know.”
She shook her head.
No words.
No explanation.
No way for me to beat back the hurricane brewing in her eyes.
“Daddy!” Rosalee yelled from downstairs. “Where’s Hadley? It’s time for cake.”
Shit. I dropped my forehead to Hadley’s. “I hate to say this, but there’s sugar involved. She’s going to be kicking that door down like the FBI in a matter of minutes. What do you want to do here? I can go stall her and buy you some time to collect yourself? Or I can make up an excuse if you want to leave? I could also drag Trent out back and beat him like a rug. It wouldn’t be our first or last brawl. You say the word—whatever I can do, I’ll make it happen.”
It was a joke. Sort of anyway. But she gave me nothing. Not even the hint of the smile that always caused my lips to curl as well.
Giving up on me altogether, Rosalee shouted, “Hadley!”
I sighed before calling back. “I’m coming, baby. Go wait outside.”
“Is Hadley with you?” she asked on another yell from downstairs.
“Yes. Go wait with Jenn.”
“Why is she in your room?”
“She…uh, had to use the bathroom. Go back outside!”
“Number one or number two?”
“Go!” I boomed, my voice echoing on the walls of my bedroom.
For such a serious situation, talking about number one or number two was awkward at best, but that was Rosalee. And I’d never been so grateful for her lack of etiquette as when I felt Hadley’s shoulder shake and a soft giggle escape.
Tipping my chin down, I caught her gaze. The pressure in my chest eased at the sight of her ghost of a smile.
“You know, if we wait up here any longer, you’re going to have to tell her number two, right?”
Her smile stretched, and I breathed a sigh of relief when the color began to return to her face. Unable to stop myself—or, at the very least, unwilling to try to stop myself—I dipped low, pressing my lips over hers.
She didn’t kiss me back. Instead, she rested her forehead on my chin, effectively hiding her face from my view.
“Caven,” she breathed, the two syllables merging into one.
“Tell me what’s going on. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.” I kissed her forehead. It was too close to resist.
She sucked in a deep breath. “I’m going to stay for a piece of cake and long enough to open her present. Then I think I need to go.”
