Chapter Twenty-Five #3
Three simple words, and yet there’s so much hope packed into them that my knees nearly buckle.
I should say something, tell him of course I kept it, cozying up to some version of him even in my hurt.
But I don’t have the capacity for words.
Not when Wes is looking at me like I’m the answer to every wish he’s ever had.
I launch myself at him, clinging to his shoulders and choking on a gasp when his arms come around me in an instant to crush me closer. His skin is hot from the shower, heartbeat steady if a little fast under my cheek. It’s so damn good my eyes burn.
Neither one of us says a word. The door falls shut behind me, cocooning us in the quiet of the hotel room. It’s a long time before I finally straighten. “Sorry,” I mumble, scrubbing a hand over my face and probably smearing mascara everywhere. “I—”
“Don’t.” Wes cups my jaw and gives me one of his intense stares, his entire focus centered on me. “Don’t ever apologize for needing to be held. I needed that too.” He swallows, his eyes dropping to my mouth before he adds softly, “You ready for that talk?”
After putting this off for so long, the direct question should stir up my anxieties. Instead it reminds me of the last serious talk we had. When you know, you know.
“I’m ready,” I whisper. I’m not just talking about the conversation, and I think by the way his eyes warm, Wes knows it too.
“I’ve made a lot of mistakes, Sloane. Especially with you.
” He settles his palm on my cheek and then continues, “There’s something I should have told you a while ago.
I need you to know that I wasn’t full of shit.
That when I said you were worth taking seriously, I meant that more than I’ve meant anything in my life.
It’s been killing me that I might have lost you.
That I’d have no one to blame for that but myself. ”
Tipping my face up to his, I shake my head. “That’s not entirely true,” I say softly.
“I’m not perfect. I don’t expect you to be either.
” Wes leans his forehead into mine. “We’re a lot alike sometimes.
I should have told you this earlier. I just didn’t want to admit that, despite having learned a long time ago who my dad really is, he can still get to me.
So I didn’t tell you that the day Carter went over the rules, we were arguing when the call started.
The same horseshit about photography not being a real career, but he didn’t hang up on me like he usually does when he gets tired of yelling. ”
Wes lets out a bitter, pained laugh as he straightens.
“He cut me off. I’ve avoided taking money from my parents for years, so that part isn’t a big deal.
He can’t do anything about the trust my grandfather set up, but he said that if I ever wanted to set foot on his property again, I’d better be prepared to man up. ”
The need to make sure Wes knows that his father’s narrow views are bullshit, that he’s loved just how he is, almost has the words spilling out—I love you I love you I love you—but he isn’t finished.
“Mom is planning her big sixtieth birthday party out at the ranch,” he continues, his fingers toying idly with my hair.
“He knows exactly how much it would kill her for me to miss it. I told him I would be there no matter what. He said he’d report me for trespassing.
Reminded me how close he is to the sheriff out that way. ”
My heart aches at the realization that the entire time Wes was helping me work through my own problems with my mom, he was dealing with this. Alone. We really are awfully alike sometimes.
“I wish you’d told me it was that bad.” I reach up to gently run my fingers through his damp hair.
“I get you were trying to help with the photo. I love”—my voice wobbles—“I love that you want to take care of me, but strength isn’t hiding your pain from me, Wes.
I’m sorry that I didn’t see what you were going through, and I’m sorry it took me so long to give you the chance to explain. ”
I press my palms to his chest, needing to feel the heat of him. Beneath my fingers, his heart is racing. “I’ve been so afraid that if I forgave you, I’d be no better than my mother. But I’m not her. And you’re not your father.”
The soft, tender expression on Wes’s face mirrors the gentle sweep of his thumb over my bottom lip. “Sloane, I—”
He’s cut off by the shrill sound of his phone.
Pink stains his cheeks as he twists away to grab it off the dresser, quickly stabbing the screen.
I drink in the familiar sight of his tattoos—only to realize there’s a new set of numbers running down his spine.
I’ve spent enough time punching coordinates into photography planning apps to know that 37° north and 100° west mark a spot somewhere in Tornado Alley.
“Sorry, I wasn’t sure how long you would be, so I set an alarm in case I fell—”
“You added one.” I blink hard against the burning behind my eyes. “Where?”
Wes goes utterly still before slowly turning around. “I did.” He rubs absently at a spot on his arm before adding, “I had it done when I was in Houston at the end of June.”
I have a surprise for you when you get here.
I hate surprises.
I think you’re going to like this one…
I gulp in air as the pieces begin to fit together. “Where?”
“I don’t want to pressure you into—”
“Wes. Where.”
“The place, the moment, I knew you were it for me.” He takes a shuddering breath and summons up a tentative smile. “Where I let myself hope, for the first time, that I could be the same for you.”
“Where?” I repeat, my voice cracking as emotion finally wins and a tear slips down my cheek. I move, not stopping until I’m close enough to tangle our fingers together and breathe in the familiar scent of his skin. “Tell me where.”
Wes gently brushes the tear aside. “The side of the road in Kansas where you put me back together.”
The enormity of it knocks the breath from my lungs. “But that was…We weren’t…”
“The thing I can’t stop thinking about,” he says, the words choked, “the thing I keep coming back to, that I should have told you months ago, is that my dad trying to take the ranch from me? All it did was prove that home isn’t there, or even my condo. It’s not a place at all. Not for me.”
Wes leans in to brush an achingly sweet kiss across my forehead. “You’re my home, Sloane. I love you.” His voice breaks, eyes shimmering in the low light when he pulls back, cupping my jaw in his palms. “I love you so much it’s hard to breathe without you.”
Tears slip down my cheeks. Wes is there to catch them, gently wiping away each salty drop. I let out a choked laugh, my heart brimming as I say the words we both need so desperately to hear. “I love you too.”
His mouth crashes into mine before I even finish my sentence.
It’s more emotion than finesse, the kiss desperate, his hands tight on my back, crushing me close.
I cling to his shoulders, just as frantic for the taste of him, the heat of his body against mine, the way we fit together.
Our lips chase each other’s, too needy to be parted.
Some dim part of me is aware of my back colliding with the wall, the ragged sound I make when Wes presses his weight into me, solid and so very real.
I relearn his textures in greedy touches. The smooth silk of his skin where his shoulder meets his throat. The flex of muscle beneath my fingertips. The delicate softness of the hair at the back of his neck, and the delicious sound he makes when I tug on his bottom lip oh so gently with my teeth.
If I’m greedy, Wes is a man at worship. The initial frenzy between us settles into slow touches, his fingers a delicious drag down my ribs and along the outside of my thigh. I’m left gasping as he drops kisses on my cheeks, my eyelids, my jaw, anywhere he can reach.
His chest heaves against mine when he reaches for my hands and laces our fingers together. “I was so terrified I’d lost you for good.”
“I’ve never felt this way about anyone else.
” I cup his jaw and brush my thumbs under exhausted eyes that shine with relief and love.
I swallow back rising tears and brush my fingers through his hair.
“I’m not sure exactly when I fell in love with you.
It might have been in a field under a sky full of lightning, or it might have been when you bullied me into resting when I had that migraine.
” I swallow hard. “It scared me, how hard I fell for you. I’m sorry I let the fear win. ”
When Wes kisses me this time, murmuring my name into each press of his lips, it’s softer, slower. “Just don’t run from me again, darlin’. Tell me if you get scared. Get mad when you need to. But don’t run. Please.”
“I promise to try. I’m not perfect either, but, Wes? If I do run…” I smile up at him through my damp lashes. “Chase me.”