Page 32 of Axe-ing for Trouble
She chuckled. “So you’re one of those. I performed surgery on dolls at that age.”
A chuckle escaped me.
“The more I dug, the more I uncovered about the criminal organization working around here. This is so much bigger than Hugo.” My throat tightened. I’d been in so deep for so long, and the weight of it was all beginning to hit me.
“So I let myself become Amy,” I continued. “No one had succeeded in stopping it, so I took it upon myself to infiltrate the ring and find the evidence and gain the access required to shut them down.”
Hugo was still my primary concern, but this was so much more now. It was part of me.
Willa continued to poke, prod, and massage in silence.
I was quiet too. There was nothing more to say, no way to make it make sense for someone like her.
Once she’d massaged every inch of me from my neck to my forearm, she put away the cream and helped me back into the sling. “Maybe you can’t do it all on your own,” she said softly.
My muscles locked up tight. “Did you just stare into my soul and articulate my greatest fear? Jesus, Doc.”
A warm smile spread across her face. “My mom is a psychologist. I get your thought process. For a long time, I thought I had to do everything myself, that if I wasn’t overachieving, I was failing.”
“Amen, sister. I’m the oldest daughter. My whole life, it’s felt as though the weight of responsibility has been placed directly on my shoulders. I was supposed to protect my little brother, but I failed him.”
She squeezed my hand. “You didn’t fail. Something terrible happened, and you have no control over that.”
Familiar guilt rose up within me. The feeling that I was so close to a breakthrough but still far enough away to worry that I’d never get there.
“How about I make tea?” Willa asked. “I brought treats too.”
I joined her in the kitchen where she filled the kettle and bustled around, pulling mugs from a cabinet and tea bags from a canister. “Jude’s a coffee guy, but I’ve been slowly building up a stash of tea here. And…” She reached into a cloth grocery bag. “I brought peanut butter cookies. My husband makes them. They’re life changing.”
“Thank God.” I barked out a laugh that had me wincing and clutching my ribs. “Everything in this house is made from spelt.”
With a snicker, she peeled the lid off the plastic container. “Try one.”
Without hesitation, I snatched the biggest I could find and took an enormous bite. When the flavor burst on my tongue, a loud moan escaped me. Sweet, salty, chewy, and rich. Damn, that was good.
“I know.” Her eyes danced as the kettle whistled. “Sinful. It’s my mother-in-law’s recipe, but Cole has perfected it.” She poured the scalding water into our mugs and nodded at the stools along one side of the island. “Sometimes a really good cookie can help heal a person.”
With a huff of a laugh, I eased onto a stool. “Is that your medical opinion?”
“Absolutely. Our bodies are complex.” She set both mugs down and picked up her own cookie. “The mind-body connection is so strong we still don’t fully understand it. You’ve been through some traumatic stuff, and while your body will heal quickly, it’ll likely take more time to recover emotionally. That’s why a really great fucking cookie can help.”
She lifted her cookie up to me, and I tapped mine against it in a toast.
“You’re kind of amazing,” I said.
She blushed, fidgeting with her steaming mug. “No. I’m a work in progress, same as everyone else. And you’re gonna be okay.”
Head lowered, I gave it a shake. “Probably not. I’m in a wild mess of my own creation, and right now, I can’t see a way out.”
She pressed her lips together, considering me for a moment. “You’re smart and capable. But I think patience and support are the key here. What did Parker say?”
I slumped against the counter. “To sit tight and heal and let the adults handle it.”
Willa burst out laughing. “So the odds of you listening are…?”
I rolled my eyes. “Zero. Like I’m going to sit around here, doing nothing.”
She hummed. “I figured. But…” Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Jude’s not bad company.”
