Reckless (Mason Family 3)

The thought terrifies me—for theoretical me and Coy’s kid that doesn’t exist at the moment.

“You’ll figure it out,” I say. “You don’t really have a choice.”

A pop of disbelief is shot through the air. “Gee, thanks.”

“Want me to lie to you?”

“Right now? Yes.” She laughs. “Please lie to me. Tell me I’ll know what to do. Tell me that I’m going to have all the answers and can find a place for us to live and a car and a job and health insurance …”

Her breathing takes a quick leap, her chest rising and falling like she’s running a mile.

“I’m fucked. I’m so fucked,” she says, teetering on a wail.

Her panic drives my panic. I watch her slowly unravel in front of me, and I don’t know how to stop it. I just know I have to try.

Without thinking, I stand and then squat down next to her. I wrap an arm around her narrow shoulders and pull her gently into me.

She stiffens for the briefest of seconds before letting her head rest against my shoulder.

A lump settles in my throat, and I’m not sure why.

I’m not sure what to do or say, nor do I know what happens next. What I do know is that I put myself into this situation, I’m not mad about it, and I just have to figure out how to help.

“Wade would say to start at the top,” I whisper to her, wrapping my other arm around her too.

I close my eyes and try to stay focused on helping her and not the way she melts into my body. I fight the urge to breathe in her raspberry scent and stroke the small of her back. Instead, I just try to show her that she’s not alone.

“We handled Libby’s stuff,” I say. “The next thing is getting your sister’s daughter and dealing with the paperwork. Right now, you have a place to stay. Let’s just get through the day, okay?”

“I’m so sorry for bringing you into this,” she says against my shoulder.

“It’s not really how I saw my weekend going and not what I meant when I chose spontaneity on the online quiz that I took last week.” I grin against the top of her head. “But maybe it’ll be fun.”

She pulls back. The separation feels like pulling a magnet away from another, and I’m not sure how one woman can make me feel so many different things.

I’m not sure I like it either.

“You are probably the nicest person I’ve ever met,” she says, running a finger under her left eye.

“I’ll be sure to tell my brothers you think so.”

She grins.

Her mouth opens to speak again when the door squeaks. Our attention snaps to the doorway as Shera walks in. She steps to the side, and a little girl peeks around her legs.

Jaxi moves to the edge of her chairs, and I sit back in mine. We take in the wide-eyed, freckle-faced, wild-haired little girl clutching a glow worm in her arms.

Shera squats down. “Rosie, I’d like you to meet someone.”

Rosie bites her bottom lip and squeezes the Glo Worm even tighter. “You are Auntie Jaxi.”

Jaxi’s face wrinkles as she fights back a blast of emotions. “I am, sweetheart.”

“Do you know your Auntie Jaxi?” Shera asks.

Rosie shakes her head. “No. But my mommy keeps a picture of her by her bed. I know you like Easy Bake Ovens too. And had a dog named Piper. He was silly.”

Jaxi brings her hands to her face and covers her nose and mouth. Her lashes dampen as she nods her head.

Rosie turns to me. “My mommy didn’t have pictures of you.”

“No, because I didn’t know your mommy,” I say carefully.

What do I do? Do I ask her about her mom? Do I say something nice? Do I pretend to have known something about her to make her like me?

Rosie slowly, still clutching her Glo Worm, makes her way toward me. She stops a few feet away.

Her little chubby hand reaches out, and she touches the face of my watch with a short finger. Then she looks at me and smiles.

“My mommy would be your friend,” she says.

“Do you think so?” I ask.

She nods, her lips pursing together like she’s going to blow a bubble.

“Do you know how old I am?” Rosie asks me.

I pretend to think about it. “Sixteen?”

She laughs. Her eyes crinkle at the corners as she shakes from the force of her laughter.

“No, silly!” she exclaims.

“Twenty?”

“No!” She laughs again. “I’m four.” She holds up four fingers.

“Four is a good number,” I say.

She nods her head happily. “I’ve waited my whole life to be four.”

I laugh too. “I’m happy you made it here.”

As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I cringe. Rosie seems not to bridge the concept of making it to four and the current situation.