Wrapped Up in You - Jill Shalvis Page 0,83

with Ivy. But unlike you, I don’t cut someone out of my life simply because they’re the hard choice.” He let out a mirthless laugh. “You’re an idiot, Kel. You could have a life here, a really great one that includes family, a job, and the love of a good woman. Instead, you’re . . . hell, I don’t even know. You need to figure out why you think you don’t deserve the good stuff.” Caleb’s phone buzzed. He eyed the screen and shook his head. “I’ve got to go. But I’m asking you, as someone who cares about you very much, to think about it, really think about what you’re doing.”

Kel did think about it. He thought about nothing else as he drove through the city. Did he really think he didn’t deserve love?

Maybe. Maybe deep down, he blamed himself for what had happened between him and his mom. For what had happened on the job.

For what had happened between him and Ivy.

Being alone had become easier than facing his own mistakes and regrets. Something he figured Ivy knew a little about, seeing that she was alone too, also by choice. She had friends, but she let them in only so far. They cared about her, but he wasn’t sure they understood her.

Kel understood her. An outsider always recognized another outsider.

Not that it had mattered. None of it was supposed to matter. But somehow, when he hadn’t been paying attention, things had changed. And now he needed her on a level so deep and basic it was primal in a way that felt dangerous to his heart and soul.

And he was tired of fighting it.

He’d made mistakes. A lot of them. He knew the only way to make things right was to start at the beginning and fix what he could. Which was why, thirty minutes later, he ended up walking through a mobile home park with his GPS app. Dark had fallen, but it wasn’t hard to find his way because most of the homes had been lit to within an inch of Christmas’s life. The park was a decent one. There were tiny little yards, most of them well kept. Clearly there was a sense of pride of ownership here.

His mom and Henry lived at the end of the middle row in a double-wide. There was a small living Christmas tree on the porch with a string of sparkly lights twinkling. He’d just reached out to knock on the door when Henry opened it.

“Hey,” he said to Kel in genuine surprise. He looked past Kel, obviously searching for someone, probably whoever had dragged Kel out here against his will.

“I came alone,” Kel told him.

Henry looked even more surprised at this. “You did?”

“Yeah. Do you mind if I come in?”

“Sure.” Henry nodded, but didn’t move out of the doorway, blocking Kel’s entrance. He paused a moment and then grimaced. “Listen, here’s the thing. Your mom . . . she’s . . . well, to be honest, you make her nervous, when all she wants to do is connect with you. And when she’s nervous, she feels she trips all over herself with you.”

“She has no reason to be nervous around me,” Kel said.

Henry gave him a long look.

“Okay,” Kel said, feeling like an asshole. He was starting to get used to it. “I’ve been hard on her.”

“I don’t need an apology from you, nor do I deserve one,” Henry said. “I just need to you to respect my woman of twenty plus years and treat her with basic kindness.”

“That’s enough, Henry,” Kel’s mom said, coming to the door, gently nudging her husband aside with a small I’ve-got-this smile.

To Henry’s credit, he stepped back, letting her take the lead.

“Would you like to come in?” she asked Kel.

Which is how he found himself in a small but warm and cozy kitchen accepting a mug of tea.

He hated tea.

“Go ahead,” his mom said, finally sitting across the narrow table from him, still looking calm though her hands were clenched. “Say what you’ve come to say.”

She was braced for him to continue to be an asshole, he realized, and he sighed, scrubbing a hand down his face. “I didn’t come here to fight with you, Mom.”

She blinked and straightened. “You didn’t?”

“No.” He sipped the tea and nearly scalded off his tongue.

“Here.” She moved to the freezer and dropped two ice cubes into his mug.

She’d done the same thing for him when he’d been little and she’d made him hot cocoa after school.