Page 13 of Ruthless Protector

Silence, which meant she was brushing fast. She’d had the day off school yesterday, still recovering from her migraine. But today, she was back to her old self, and I hoped like hell the next attack wouldn’t come anytime soon.

I had plans for today. First up, picking up my check from Alf, followed by begging for my job back—and if that didn’t work? I had some serious job hunting to do.

I turned at the sound of Tilly running down the hall, her dark ponytail streaming out behind her.

“Lunch box,” I said, and she opened her bag for me to put it in while still heading for the door. “Kiss,” I called after her, and she stopped in her tracks, backed up, and I bent down.

She smacked a kiss on my cheek.

I held out my hand. “Let’s go, kiddo.”

She frowned at me, looking a little horrified. “You don’t need to wait with me.”

I gave her ponytail a light tug. “Yeah, poppet, I do.” I hadn’t mentioned that her dad showed up, and I didn’t plan to, not until I’d talked to him again. And I sure as hell didn’t want that bastard approaching her without me. The school had made all the right noises when I called, and as for right now, the law was on my side. I had custody of Tilly and he wasn’t to go near her without going through the proper channels, but where Tilly was concerned, I could never be too careful.

She rolled her eyes. “Uh, why?”

“Do I need a reason?” I said, rolling my eyes back at her, teasing. I usually watched from the front door since the bus stop was less than half a block away.

She crossed her arms, pouting. “Is this about my migraines? ’Cause if it is, I’m all better.”

I shoved my feet in my boots. “No, I just like the idea of a stroll to the bus stop, is that okay with you?” I lied, then forced a smirk. “Hey, you’re not even a tween yet, and already you’re too embarrassed to be seen with me.”

Her eyes slid shut and she shook her head in disgust. “You did not just say tween.”

I cackled. “So, what? Does that make you a pre-tween?”

She stomped toward the door. “Ew.”

I was grinning when I joined her outside and we started toward the bus stop.

“Aunt Willa?” she said, after a little while.

“Yeah, baby?”

“I was wondering, can we bake a cake after school?” She looked down at her feet, like it was crucial she watch every step.

“A cake?” I wasn’t sure we had everything we needed for a cake. I sure as hell didn’t have the money to buy more ingredients. “I’m not sure I can swing that, hon.”

She bit her lip, sucked in a breath, and looked back at me. “It’s just, it’s Mom’s birthday tomorrow, and I want to celebrate, you know, like if she was here.”

How could I forget? I’d completely lost track of the days with Trent showing up, then losing my job and Tilly being sick. I grabbed her hand and pulled her to a stop. I had to tread carefully here. Tilly had not long ago been using denial as a way of dealing with her mom’s loss. Pretending Rebecca was still alive, that she was on holiday, or coming up with fantastical stories of where and what her mother was doing and why they couldn’t be together. I was worried celebrating like she was still here would be a backward step for Tilly.

I cupped her precious face, so like my sister’s, and brushed my thumb across her freckled cheek. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea, poppet.”

“I know she’s gone, Willa. But you said she’s watching over me from heaven, right?”

“Yep,” I whispered, my eyes starting to sting. I needed to be so damn careful how I handled this, how I handled her.

Not for the first time, I cursed Trent for what he did to my sister, and I hated myself for it, but I cursed Rebecca as well, for leaving me with the responsibility of raising this perfect little human being. For entrusting me with her wellbeing. Failing her was my biggest fear, the thing that kept me awake most nights. I constantly second-guessed myself, was positive I was fucking everything up.

“I want Mom to see that we haven’t forgotten her. I think she’ll know if we make her a cake.”

How could I deny her that? “You’re right, Tils. I think that’s an excellent idea.”

Tilly had been through a lot in her young life, more than any child should, and because of that, she was far wiser than any eight-year-old had a right to be. My niece was smart, funny, loving, and somehow, she’d retained all of it, even when her messed up world fell apart. I vowed the day Rebecca died that she’d never have to go through anything like that ever again. Her life was going to be easy from now on.

She had school, she came home, did her homework, hung out with her friends; no drama, no worries. I hadn’t been entirely successful on that front, especially with the way things were right now. So, if making a cake would help make her feel closer to her mother in some small way, then I’d give that to her, even if that meant I skipped a couple meals to do it. “What kind of cake do you want to make?”