Chapter 21 – Wilder
When Teagan had texted me her address for our date tonight, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. The home she’s renting is one of several rental properties that my brother Cody, our cousin Georgia, and I had purchased five years ago together to generate passive income at a time when our town was being developed and growing rapidly.
It’s paid off handsomely the past few years and we’ve since purchased a few more homes that we’re working on fixing up in between my job, Georgia’s commuting and Cody’s touring.
Georgia, in addition to juggling her nannying gig in San Angelo, has taken on the role of pseudo-property manager—and, as fate would have it, she also happens to be Teagan’s new roommate.
I figure now isn’t exactly the best time to bring that up to Teagan.
She seemed skittish enough when Willow and I ran into her at the clinic earlier, like a deer ready to bolt at the first sign of danger.
Dropping the bombshell about how intertwined our lives already are might send her running for good.
Especially since she’s apparently seeing someone new.
Someone she might bring home to the house I own.
My hands grip the steering wheel tighter, the leather creaking beneath my palm as the thought burrows into my mind.
The idea of her with another man—laughing with him, touching him, loving him—under my damn roof makes my stomach churn.
A hard knot of jealousy and frustration builds in my chest, threatening to suffocate me.
Not if I have anything to say about it.
I know I don’t have the right to be upset.
She owes me nothing—not a phone call, not an explanation, not even her time.
But logic has never been great at taming emotions, and right now, mine are running riot.
It’s not just jealousy—it’s deeper than that, raw and bitter, a potent mix of anger and longing that I can’t seem to shake.
She came back to town without a word. No heads-up, no attempt to reconnect. And now, knowing she’s out there with someone else, living in a house that’s blatantly mine, well, it feels like a punch to the gut.
I exhale sharply, my grip on the wheel loosening as I force myself to focus on the road ahead.
This isn’t just about jealousy. It’s the years that have slipped past, the years she’s been a constant in my thoughts while I did nothing about it after that first attempt, and it eats away at me.
I make a mental note to ask Georgia if Teagan’s had any guests since she moved in with her but before I can spiral any further, she steps out of the house.
The screen door slams shut behind her and holy, hell she’s a vision.
My chest tightens at the sight of her. She’s wearing those tight Levi’s that hug her curves just right, paired with a tucked-in red tank top that shows off all the ways that she’s grown up and become even more of a woman.
Classic Converse sneakers, her long brown hair woven into two perfect braids that fall over her shoulders, making her look way too cute for her own good.
“Hi,” I say, hopping out of the driver’s side of my truck and holding open the passenger door for her to slide inside.
“Hey,” she smiles, her eyes sparkling as if she can read my thoughts. And I hope she can’t because none of them are pure right now.
I walk around to the driver's side, fighting the temptation to playfully tug on one of her braids while I try to calm my mind.
“You told me to dress casually. Is this okay for what you have planned?” she asks, gesturing to her outfit.
I nod. “You look great. We’re having dinner back at the ranch, so nothing fancy. Willow is staying at a friend’s house tonight.”
She nods silently, nervously fiddling with a loose string on her tank top.
I want her to feel comfortable again, like we had that weekend we’d spent together long ago, but I understand that five years is a long time, and a lot has happened since then.
I’d tried one time that first year she was in school to reach out, but she hadn’t answered, and it’d gutted me.
Did she ignore my call and text when I was in Houston because she was seeing someone at that time?
Who's the new guy she's found in Lonestar Junction?
How was school?
I have so many questions, but know that I need to slow things down. We’d only known each other for a weekend yet it’d felt like years when we were together. I wonder if she felt that way too.
“So, how long have you been back in town?” I ask.
“Just a week now.”
How could she already be dating after only a week in town? Then again, with Teagan, it shouldn't surprise me. With her brown hair, big round green eyes, full lips, and curvy body, she’s the woman of my dreams. Frankly, she’s probably the woman of every man’s dreams.
Damn Georgia for not telling me she had a new roommate.
The miles pass in tense silence, and with each one, the nerves intensify.
My palms are sweating around the steering wheel now, and my heart’s pounding like I’m about to face some kind of life-or-death moment.
I’m terrified that if I screw up this first date, it’ll be the last one.
She’s back in my life—by her own choice, not mine—and that means I’m carrying all the risk.
.. and all the potential reward. She didn’t return for me.
She came back for her sister, for work. If I make even one wrong move, she’ll slip through my fingers and back into whoever it is she’s seeing.
Okay, I’m not usually this insecure but to be frank, I haven’t seriously dated anyone since Mercedes and the time since Teagan left for Houston and now, I’ve been working on myself so that I could be the best father to Willow and heal from the past hurts in relationships so that I could be in a relationship again without being a total fuck up.
I’m sorely out of practice when it comes to dating and I’m sure it shows.
Finally, that grounding and familiar gravel crunches under the tires of my truck as I pull into the driveway in front of my childhood home at Ashwood Ranch. I hop out and open the door to the passenger side, helping her down from the tall lift.
“Right this way,” I gesture to the path that leads inside the main house.
She raises a brow. “You moved out of the pool house?”
I nod. “Built my parents their own place on the property a few miles away so that they can stay close to Willow. My dad still works on the ranch, but I’ve taken over most of the management. It’s just Willow and me in the main house now, and Cody occasionally when he’s home from being on tour.”
“On tour?”
I nod. “Yeah. He quit the NFL. Ended up making it in Tennessee as a country music artist now.”
“Wow. Well, that’s quite a jump.”
I smile and nod and open the front door to the home, gesturing inside.
“I hope you like seafood and pasta. I made garlic butter shrimp pasta and a salad for us.”
“I love it,” she says, walking into the living room and taking in the space with admiring eyes.
Over the past five years, I’ve put my own stamp on this house, remodeling it little by little.
Most of the furnishings my parents left behind were outdated—faded patterns, creaky chairs, and a kitchen that felt more cramped than cozy.
While the kitchen was technically open to the living room, it wasn’t nearly big enough for my growing passion for cooking or Willow’s budding interest in baking.
So, I expanded it, knocking down part of the living room wall and creating an oversized island that now anchors the space.
It’s brighter, roomier, and perfect for us to experiment with recipes together.
Cooking became something I had to learn—not just for me, but for Willow. I wanted her to have home-cooked meals as much as possible, something steady and comforting to come home to and with the new layout, together we’ve spent hours working in here together.
“Dinner’s in the dining room,” I say, motioning for her to follow me.
She trails behind as I lead her to the room adjacent to the kitchen, where I’ve already set the table.
It’s nothing fancy, just simple place settings and a small vase of flowers I picked myself from my mother’s garden earlier today.
She sits, and I serve her salad and pasta before uncorking a bottle of wine, the pop of the cork breaking the silence that’s been hanging in the air.
I pour her a glass, then mine, before settling into my chair across from her.
Underneath the table, my palms are sweating, and I have to fight the urge to rub them on my jeans. The nerves are clawing at me, louder now that we’re sitting face-to-face. Five years of silence stretch between us, heavy and unspoken, like a chasm I don’t know how to cross.
It’s an odd thing, sitting across from someone who feels like both a stranger and someone you once knew by heart.
Back then, we barely scratched the surface of each other, but it didn’t matter—it was enough for us to know.
And now, I can’t help but wonder if there’s still a chance to bridge the gap, to rediscover whatever it was that connected us in the first place.
I take a slow sip of my wine, using the moment to calm my racing thoughts. My eyes meet hers briefly, and there’s something there—something tentative, but not closed off.
She forks some of the pasta and places it in her mouth, chewing silently. “This is delicious. Thanks for cooking tonight."
“Guess I never really had the chance to cook for you when you were here last.”
She smiles and I hope it's because she's reflecting on the last evening that we spent together. That wild and carefree night underneath a Texas storm that had us both saying things we knew we could never come back from. “It’s been a while,” she responds.
I clear my throat. “You know, I called and texted you six months after you left for school. I was in Houston for a trade show.”
“I know,” she responds quietly.