Page 29 of Wake Me Up
“Can I give you a hug?” he whispers. “Please?”
Everything inside of me is telling me to say no. To back away from this man and ask him to leave. There’s only one man who is allowed to help me through times like this, and he’s dead. But as I stand there, frozen, without answering … slowly, Tripp wraps his arms around my body and holds me tight.
“It’s going to be okay,” he whispers against my hair. “I promise.”
Huge, pathetic tears well in my eyes. For a minute—or five—I just stand here in his arms and let myself feel the calming effect he brings as my eyes flutter shut. But when a car horn outside starts sounding and my eyes snap open, I quickly back away from his touch and wipe my eyes with my sleeve.
“I can’t do this,” I say with a sniffle. “My kid needs surgery, and you’re … you’re fucking everywhere, Tripp. You keep showing up and trying to help.” I shake my head, crying harder. “I need you to stop. Just stop!”
I start to walk back and forth in an attempt to calm myself down because my heart is beating so damn fast that I can hardly breathe.
He just wants to help. So,why can’t I let him?
Freya walks back and forth, pacing in the small bakery. The panic in her petite body is palpable, and for a woman who is fiercely independent and incredibly strong, it’s obvious she’s about to break.
“Marry me.” I blurt the two words out and watch the confusion fill Freya’s face.
I know I need to explain more. Aside from the lessons I’ve been giving her son, she and I haven’t spent much time together.
“I have good health insurance,” I say quickly, explaining my reason for suggesting something so bold. I act like that’s the only reason why I’d want to get closer to her, which is bullshit, but she’s in trouble, and this will help. “Great health insurance actually. Marry me, and Aviana will get the coverage she needs for the surgery. She can get all the medications and procedures to get her better.”
That stops her pacing, and after she stares at me in complete disbelief for a moment, her shoulders suddenly shudder with uncontrollable laughter. “You’re hilarious, Tripp Talmage,” she says, shaking her head. She grabs a rag from the table, gives the wood a few sprays of cleaner, and starts wiping down the tables in the bakery. “You ought to be a comedian, really.”
I take a few steps closer, stopping just in front of the table she’s wiping. Her movements halt, and her big brown eyes slowly lift to mine.
“I’m not trying to be funny, Freya,” I say, my deep voice echoing through the room. “I want to help you. And your daughter. That’s all.”
Unblinkingly, her wide eyes burn into mine. “Tripp,” she whispers, “you could get in trouble.Bigtrouble. We both could.” She swallows. “Forget it. I’ll figure something out.”
The door opens, and the bell attached to the top rings, alerting us that we aren’t alone.
Before turning away from her, I lean down closer. “You have my number. The ball’s in your court now.”
Gradually, I turn around and head toward the door, passing an older man as he makes his way toward the counter.
The simple truth is, I do want to help her and her daughter. Her daughter deserves to get the treatment she needs to feel better—to be a normal kid again. She, along with her two older brothers, lost their father years ago. They’ve been through enough. So, I do want to help them—that’s true.
But, sometimes, the truth isn’t so cut and dried because the thing is … deep down, I’ve had a thing for the girl’s mother since the first time I saw her at the arena. And every time I’ve seen her with her kids or spent time with her, my fondness only grows. But she lost her husband tragically, and the last thing she wants is another man in her life—aside from her two sons.
So, being her husband for a while?
Yeah, that sounds like it would be time well spent.
Sitting on the couch, my mom smiles at me, nodding down at a sleeping Avy in my arms. “Let me carry her into her room,” she whispers, standing up slowly and coming beside us.
As she reaches for her, I widen my eyes. “Mom, she’s seven. Not two or three,” I practically hiss. “You’ll hurt your back, trying to carry her up the stairs.”
My mom is in her mid-fifties and in fabulous shape. I need her to stay that way too. She always wants to do the most when it comes to my babies, and I appreciate it more than she could ever know. But she needs to not be Superwoman sometimes.
She gives me a look that tells me instantly to shut the hell up before rolling her eyes. She slides her hand under my daughter and lifts her up. It’s a bit of a struggle to stand with her, but once she does, she takes off for the stairs. Only stopping to look over her shoulder at me.
“You know, I’m not decrepit,” she sasses. “You’re not putting my ass in a nursing home just yet.”
“Oh, bummer,” I tease her before sighing. “I know, Mom. I just … don’t want you to hurt yourself.”
Ignoring me, she heads up the stairs slowly but surely, taking one at a time, until she makes it to the top. I hear the wood creaking under her feet. I’m impressed because I’ve carried Avy up there recently, and it’s no easy task.
Reaching for the TV remote, I flip through the channels until it lands on a picture of a familiar stadium, the home of the Bay Sharks. I stare at the television, wondering where my dad, Gramp Frank, and the boys are sitting in the arena. Even when the boys have a game on, I hardly pay attention. Since Aviana just came home yesterday, I promised Cash and Cane I’d put the game on once she fell asleep.
