Page 155 of Crash Course
A really good day.
Cruz steppedthrough Cilla’s front door and nodded at her mother, a woman who’d not only opened the garage gate for him but once again thanked him profusely for being with Cilla in the hospital until she could get there.
Oddly, Cruz and Marlena clicked from the get-go, both on board with whatever Cilla needed.
As opposed to Darren.Thatfucker focused on what Darren needed.
All. The. Time.
After entering the short entry hallway that led to the open kitchen and living room, Cruz turned back to Marlena. "How’s the patient today?"
"Better. Her color is back and she said her head doesn’t hurt as much." Marlena stepped closer and leaned in. "Fair warning. She’s upset about the incident with Darren. Personally, I’ll love you forever, but I can see why she’s upset. She doesn’t want your fighting with people to be, well, a thing."
Ach. The humiliation of his teenage years, Dad screaming, Mom jumping to Cruz’s rescue, came flooding back.
Cruz let out a soft breath, pushed aside the memories and nodded. "I was wrong. I know it and I’ll own it. It’ll never happen again. I promise you. If Cilla will let me, I’ll always take care of her. Without using my fists."
For a few seconds, Marlena studied him, then reached out and patted his shoulder. "Thank you. I believe you, but I’m not the one to convince."
She pointed toward the living room. "She’s inside."
"Thank you for the warning."
"You’re welcome. From what I’ve seen so far, I like you. You stood up to my horrid ex-husband. That alone earns you points. Now go. I’ll be in the bedroom if anyone needs me."
Thankful for the support, Cruz walked to the end of the hallway and found Cilla sitting in the living room. They’d moved one of the upholstered side chairs next to the sliding doors so she could look out the window.
At least she wasn’t locked in a pitch-black room anymore.
She wore a pair of baggy jeans with a gray V-neck sweater. Her feet were bare, but a pair of fuzzy white slippers lay on the floor. How cute was that? She hadn’t struck him as the fuzzy white slipper type, but he kinda liked it. Enjoyed learning the silly, mundane things of ordinary life.
Slowly, she turned her head, spotted him and held his gaze while Cruz’s pulse went ape-shit. Was she happy to see him? Not happy?
As body language went, she gave him nothing. Zippo. No wonder she was a crack lawyer.
"Good morning, Cruz Blackwell."
And then she did it. Her lips slid into a full-on smile that nearly sent him to his knees. It wasn’t one of those you-poor-schmuck smiles. This was a I’m-happy-to-see-you deal.
At least, that’s the way he read it and he was pretty good with that stuff.
He walked toward her, his body moving faster than he’d intended and in the short time it took him to reach her, his thoughts froze. Kiss her? Don’t kiss her?
What would she expect?
Too much thinking. He shook it off. Paralyzed by his own thoughts, he went the safe route and dropped a kiss on top of her head. Gently, he ran one hand over her silky dark hair and the clean scent of her shampoo settled his rioting mind. "It’s good to see you," he murmured. "Really good."
Then he stood tall, peering down at her. Her mom was right. She did look better. The pale zombie vibe had passed. She still wasn’t the vibrant Cilla he’d met months ago, but she looked more like herself than she had yesterday.
"I’m glad you came," she said. "We should talk."
Ugh. The words of doom. At least in his experience. Come to think of it, he’d usually be the one saying them. Now, suddenly, he realized just how much it sucked to hear.
Totally taking that phrase out of his repertoire.
"I know." He pointed to the other chair. "Mind if I bring it over here? That way you don’t have to move."
"Sure. It has sliders. Just need to get it off the rug."
