Page 56 of Whirlwind
“I don’t want to rush you,” I say, glancing toward his family.
“It’s all good,” he says. “I’m spending the whole day with them tomorrow. Let me take you home?”
My instinct is to say no. But it’s silly to refuse—especially when Damian and Willa would have to go out of their way. Tyson hasn’t done anything wrong. I’m the one feeling weird.
“If you’re sure you’re ready,” I say, linking my pinkie with Willa’s before I stand and turn to the Murphy family. “It was so great meeting all of you.”
“You, too, sweetheart,” Francine says. “I hope we see you again before we head home.”
“I’d like that,” I tell her.
“We’ll make it happen,” Tyson’s dad says, while Lottie throws her arms around me in a big hug.
“I’m so glad you like my brother,” she says, making me grin.
“I like you, too,” I say, squeezing her back. “Not just him.”
“That makes me happy,” she says, as Cillian finally comes out of the locker room and takes Sadie from Tyson. He doesn’t show any sign of distress that Isla’s ex is cradling his daughter or chatting up his wife.
Further proof that I’m the fucking weirdo here. When the rest of the group starts to say their goodbyes, Willa pulls me aside.
“You okay?”
“Yeah, it’s…new. I’m struggling to keep my head on straight, is all.”
“Because you met his family?”
“No, that went great. I don’t even want to say the words, Willa.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s stupid to feel jealous. I’m not sure that’s even what it is, but I think it is.”
“Over his past with Isla?”
“Yes, and I hate myself for it.” I drop my head to stare at my scuffed up Doc Martens.
“Oh, honey. It’s a normal response,” she says. “I even had some moments with Zander and Damian early on because they were already together, and I didn’t know if I fit.”
“My brain understands that. My stomach has a different opinion.”
“It will catch up, I promise.”
“I’m putting my faith in that,” I say, pointing at her. “And thank you.”
“Always, Kit. I love you.”
“Love you, too.”
Tyson clasps my hand in his and leads me out of the arena to where he’s parked. We don’t say anything until we’re settled in his SUV and driving down the street. He reaches over again, taking my hand in his. I stare at our fingers—his larger and rougher, mine darker. I like the differences between them, even as they cling together as one.
He probably doesn’t realize tonight is the first time a man has ever held my hand—whether to guide me, comfort me, or simplytouch me. When he did it leaving the arena, I was surprised by how much I liked the quiet ownership in it. Not that I want to belong to him—or anyone—but it’s nice to have someone who wants to look after me.
I should start writing down all the new things happening in my life. I don’t want to forget them or take them for granted. They should be cherished. Well, except for dumb stuff, like jealousy. Maybe journaling would help me process it all. I’ve never been in the habit, but I know it works for some people.
“I’m sorry if that was all too much. My family can be a lot.”
“No, they were very kind and welcoming. I didn’t feel nervous around them, at all.”
