Page 86 of Where Broken Wings Fly

Pinning her shivering body against my side, I guide her into the unlit cabin. It’s pitch black inside, and I deposit Willow on the sofa before flicking a couple of lights on.

“Sit down. I’ll find towels.”

I slip into the bathroom and take a second to glance in the mirror. My long hair is wet and windswept, framing a mouth pinched with frustration. This is what she does to me—drives me absolutely fucking insane with need.

Walking back out into the open-plan living room, I find the lights turned back off. The glow of freshly lit flames from the open fireplace illuminates the room instead. Willow is crouched in front of it, adding kindling to the fire.

“Here.” I toss her the towel. “Dry off.”

She catches and wraps it around her shoulders. “Thanks.”

“What’s your poison?”

“Whatever you have.”

Filling two glasses with one of my favourite bottles of whiskey, I sink down next to her on the soft fur of the rug, stretching my long legs out. Willow swigs a mouthful, coughing as the liquor slips down.

“I really hate this stuff.”

“It’s good for the soul.”

She winces. “Not my soul.”

Placing the glass down on the tiled fireplace, Willow begins to unbutton the wet linen shirt stuck to her body. I choke on a mouthful of whiskey and quickly avert my eyes.

“I have a t-shirt underneath,” she mutters.

Unable to stop myself, I watch her wring out her wet locks, the swell of her breasts stretching the thin material of the tank top covering her chest. I don’t think she realises how fucking beautiful she is the most natural way possible.

My fingers spasm with the need to reach out and stroke her soft skin, despite everything telling me not to. One glimpse of her naked wasn’t enough. I want to worship her body at every available angle.

“How’s Micah?”

“Hiding from us,” I answer with annoyance.

“Still?”

“He goes through phases of seeming to get better, then it’s like the brakes slam on, and we have to watch him fade away all over again when another depressive episode hits.”

“These things take time, Kill.”

“I’m supposed to look after him and I’m failing.”

Her eyes dart up to mine. “It’s not that simple.”

“I tried to convince him to go back to therapy the other morning,” I find myself saying. “He told me to get lost and slammed the door in my face. Hasn’t spoken to me since.”

“I think you’re being too hard on yourself.”

I swallow another mouthful. No matter what she thinks, I can’t afford the luxury of letting Micah’s behaviour hurt my feelings. Someone has to watch over him, even when he’d rather I let him self-destruct.

Willow stares into the fire. “It was my fault he went hiking in a bad mindset. I tried to apologise a few days ago, and he wouldn’t even answer the door for me.”

Driven by an overwhelming desire that’s too intense for me to quench, I slide a fingertip beneath her chin to tilt her eyes up to meet mine. Willow freezes, her lips parted.

“Why is it your fault, baby?” I drag a thumb over her bottom lip, briefly dipping inside her mouth for a second. “Did you two do something?”

“No,” she breathes.

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