Chapter 6
Tasha
I climbed in my Beamer and pointed it toward the Wilson residence, Nurse Tunstill’s words echoing in my head. Moira couldn’t have been less enthusiastic if I’d asked her to eat a bowl of live earthworms.
I’d gone to her home, address courtesy of Veronica, to ask her for her insight on Cade. Or what little she’d gleaned before she’d stormed out of the Wilson house and left me to take over.
Moira Tunstill was a large German woman whose scowl appeared permanently etched on her aging brow. I wasn’t surprised that Cade hadn’t liked her—she was probably like looking into a mirror for him.
What I didn’t fully comprehend was how he’d scared her off. The woman was thoroughly unshakable. I mentioned Cade and “fixing him,” and to my surprise, Moira listened. Much like her former patient, her words were few. Finally she let me in on this gem: “Mental,” she’d said in her thick accent. “Wilson’s problems, mental.”
I thanked her and scuttled out of her house, teeth still aching from the hard-as-a-rock cookies she’d served. The word “mental” had been clattering around in my head as I drove on autopilot.
What if she was right? What if Cade’s being tongue-tied was in his head? An emotional state rather than a physical one?
The doctors at the hospital had been quick to point out a brain injury, and while I was far from a doctor, I hadn’t seen Cade have any motor skill issues. He’d physically recovered at warp speed, and given the progress he’d made on the car and his video game prowess in the previous months, I hazarded a guess his hand-eye coordination wasn’t lacking. The only issue existing now was the gap between the words he wanted to say and the words he attempted to say.
I had a feeling there was more going on in his head than the one- to three-word responses he managed.
When he showed up at my house the other night he’d said the word “fix” with a hesitant F. We ate pizza and listened to music, and I talked about school. He slid me a smile every once in a while, or interjected with the occasional “yeah” of agreement. It’d been a while since I spent time with a guy doing anything nonsexual. My ex wasn’t much for conversation. Maybe that was why when I saw Cade out, walking him to the front door, my eyes had zoomed to his lips.
Vixen that I was, my mind on the almost kiss at the restaurant, my hand had curled around the doorknob, wishing he’d lean close again, because this time, there would be no interruption. Instead, he’d spoken three words: “See you, Tasha,” and each syllable was as plain as day.
No kiss. No more conversation. He’d left after that.
I turned onto his street and parked in the driveway. Cade and I had decided to do our usual session today, but on the drive over I’d been admiring the sunshine and warm breeze, and decided to experiment with environment.
Yes, our session would happen outside of his room today. Maybe the disconnect was his house. Was living at home holding him back?
Only one way to find out.
Cade
Tasha entered the main kitchen, her smile bright, a big, dark pair of sunglasses hiding her eyes. “I wondered where you were when I didn’t find you in your new room.”
Because there was no food in my new room, I’d wandered in here. I cocked an eyebrow.
“I don’t think you’ll need a jacket,” she said.
What is she talking about?
She flipped her keys into her palm and continued grinning. She might not have dimples, but she was damn cute when she grinned.
I’d just climbed out of the shower and was wearing my typical wardrobe of sweats and a sleeveless tee. She’d caught me eating a sleeve of Girl Scout cookies I’d found in the freezer. Sorry, Dad. Finders, keepers.
Her eyes went to my sock-covered feet. “But you will need shoes.”
Before I could ask where we were going, or wait for an answer, she snatched the cookie out of my hand and ate it in one bite. With her cheeks filled to chipmunk capacity, she pointed to the front door.
I fought a smile and lost.
Tasha tipped her head, sending her honey-blond hair over her shoulder. Then she followed that head tip behind her to the garage, leaving me alone and so curious I couldn’t stand it.
Sleeve of cookies in hand, I blinked at the now-empty space on the other side of the counter where she’d stood a second ago. I woke up in a shitty mood today, regretting my stammered request of “Fix me” from last night. I was hoping she’d forget I said that and we could go back to our former routine of her doing homework and me watching her.
I could likely get away with never speaking again. I mean, who cared if I did? There wasn’t much talking required in the field of “head busboy” or car mechanic, so I figured I’d be good.
No such luck, apparently.