Page 40 of Hideaway Whirlwind
Like Russell, I don’t have to pause to think about it after having decades of practice coping, living, and breathing pain. “I’d wait a lifetime for her.”I already have.
He blows out a long breath. “Ain’t got much of that left.” A smile tugs at the corner of his lips with the joke.
I huff, wishing it really was a joke. I don’t need a reminder of my age and how much I’ll miss out on when it’s my time to be put in the ground. It’s enough to bring tears to my eyes. I wish I had been born in a different decade so I could have more time with Birdie, as ashamed as I am thinking such a thing, tarnishing the memories of my wife and the life and love we shared.
Russell’s smile falls flat as concern takes over. “Not gonna lie, I was worried about what I’d find when I got here.”
I grunt. “Feeling sorry for myself won’t convince Birdie we should be together.”
I did plenty of that for the first hour or so after they’d left, crawling onto the spare bed and hugging their pillows to my face, breathing in their various scents, missing them so much I thought I’d die of a broken heart in that bed. Then I got my shit together because I refuse to waste another second of my life. I’m going to go after what I want—the missing half of my heart. My family.
Russell says, “You know what people will say about your agedifference once they find out about the two of you if you get her back.”
I raise a brow. “When,” I stress. “Notif. And not to my face, they won’t.”
He clicks his tongue, his expression darkening. “Not to yours, but they will to hers. Layla can tell you that.”
“No,” I say, opening my jacket to flash my shotgun that I’ll never let out of my sight again. “They won’t.”
“Alright.” Russell slaps his knees and stands, then rubs his hands together. “So, what’s step one? I assume you have a plan.”
“‘Course, I do.” I stand with a groan as my aching back protests, digging my brown Bronco’s keys out of the front pocket of my jeans to twirl them around my index finger. “I’m not going to let another man drive my family around.”
“Even Davis?”
“Especially Davis.” I crush the keys in my palm when I curl my fist. If Davis hadn’t shown up, I would have had more time to win Birdie over, and my family would still be here. And there I go again, imagining shooting him for the second time in as many days. Slamming my walls down in front of that dark, dangerous line of thinking, I tell the best stalker I know, “I need another favor.”
Chapter 19
Teagan
Although Davis had set up a toddler bed for Kendall to share Lily’s nursery, she’s asleep on top of me, having refused to let me put her down, reminding me of her newborn stage. Davis had also set up a bunk bed for my older kids, squeezed in next to a full-sized bed for me in their spare bedroom. Dustin, however, is tucked into my side. I’m not sure who he’s more upset at losing—the dogs or Elliott—having hardly touched his dinner and never giving more than a grunt when spoken to, which he picked up from Elliott.
Sydney had resolutely turned her back on the bottom bunk and cried herself to sleep, refusing to let me comfort her. She was friendly enough with Lily, playing with Lily’s stuffie collection after we had unpacked, but she hasn’t spoken to me since I carried her out of the cabin. I scratch my neck and hope that when she’s older, she’ll understand why we had to leave.Please let me be right. I’ve put her and the others through enough as it is.
From beneath the crack at the bottom of the door, a dim light flicks on farther down the hallway. I ease out from underKendall and tiptoe into the large kitchen of warm neutrals with red gingham curtains, where I find Marigold sifting through the pantry.
“Want to share?” she asks, holding up a package of mini chocolate chip muffins when she spots me in her periphery.
“Sure.” I reach under the collar of Davis’s navy blue sweatshirt with a big silver star on it that Marigold said I could borrow, scratching my chest. It’s not nearly as comfy as Elliott’s flannel. Neither does it smell as nice. Clean, but the scent doesn’t have that comforting quality I’ve grown accustomed to. “Couldn’t sleep?” I ask around a bite of my muffin when we plop onto her couch, leaning back against opposite armrests, sharing a blanket over our outstretched legs.
“I’m starving twenty-four-seven. Between Rowan and Davis, I still have to eat for two to keep up my milk supply,” she says, motioning to her breasts that tent her long-sleeved T-shirt, which I suspect also belongs to her husband.
I nearly choke on my muffin, my eyes watering as I cough until I can clear my throat. “Davis drinks your milk? You’re into that sort of thing?”
Even with the low light, I can tell her pale, freckled cheeks have gone flaming red. “Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
“Ha. Not likely.” I snicker and pluck a second muffin from the package. “Guess he’s not lactose intolerant.”Is Elliott? Might he be into that sort of—stop it, Teagan!
“Oh my god, don’t make me laugh like that or I’ll pee myself.” Marigold crosses her ankles, cupping a hand over her mouth so as not to wake the household.
Everything about this new chapter of my life is so strange. I haven’t simply hung out with a friend, another girl, alonein years. Not since elementary school, when I was invited to all the fun pool parties and sleepovers. Now, I’m not sure if I even remember how to swim.
We chew in silence while I glance around the room. There’s hardly an inch of space between all the giant framed family photographs hanging on the walls, like a personal art gallery or museum. It’s a meticulously curated timeline of their growing family and wonderful life.
“I was so jealous when you came back to Vegas,” I say quietly, running my short nails over my left forearm.
Marigold frowns and shifts uncomfortably on the couch. “Because of Davis?”
