Chapter 14
Wyatt
Present Day
The daggers from Willow's glare sink deeper into me. I try not to stare at her, but I can't help it. My cock's aching, my blood's vibrating through my veins, and every second she spends loathing me, I hate myself deeper.
A sharp, metallic, and unmistakably nostalgic clang fills the air, tearing me out of my obsession with Willow.
"I'll get it," Alexander's son, Wilder, cries out, jumping up and grabbing the receiver off the wall. "Hello, Cartwrights."
I glance at Willow again, but she won't look at me.
"Hold on a second, he's right here. Wyatt, phone for you," Wilder relays, holding the receiver out.
"Who's calling me here?" I glance at Jagger.
He shrugs.
"Maybe it's the police station," Willow mutters.
"Maybe it is," I retort, just to get under her skin, then grin at her.
She glares at me harder.
I push my chair back, rise, and go over to the phone. I grab it from Wilder and answer, "Hello?"
A gritty, old cowboy's voice comes across the line. But he doesn't just speak. His gravel-packed and sun-dried tone scrapes into my ear. It's the sound of dust-choked trails, too many cigarettes, and years of hollering over the wind.
It's a voice so ingrained in my memory that I sometimes hear it in my sleep. But now, there's a deeper rasp in his throat, like barbed wire dragging over pavement. Yet somehow, his low drawl stretches vowels like molasses on a cold morning.
Like always, when he talks, it's not just conversation. It's history. Grit spun into a voice born of broken bones, busted boots, and more regret than he'd ever admit.
It's been years since I've seen him, and after our last encounter, I never thought I'd speak to him again.
He booms, "Wyatt, I heard you made quite the commotion coming into town this time."
My chest tightens. Jax McCoy was clear he was finished with me. No more coaching. No more advice. No more bailing me out of the consequences of my bad decisions.
I turn toward the wall to avoid the stares of the Cartwrights, and quietly admit, "Surprised you're calling me."
He starts to chuckle but ends up coughing. I hold the phone several inches from my ear, cringing from the harsh sound. When he finally calms, he declares, "I think it's time we talked, son."
Son.
I used to be okay with him calling me that. Now, it turns my gut rancid. I stare at the crawling vine pattern on the wallpaper. My tone is as sour as my gut when I reply, "What about?"
I can hear his arrogant smile. "Best we speak of these things in person. Don't you think?"
My heart pounds hard against my chest. Besides Jacob, Jax was the closest thing I had to a father. But he was also my coach, and I disappointed him.
It wasn't just when he moved me to the Tennessee team that got us to where we now reside. Years of stirring up trouble, making bad decisions, and not listening to him, finally led him to release me from his teams.
But my years of looking for his approval are over. At least, I thought they were. Yet the slow boil of need perks in my stomach, and I loathe it almost as much as I hate Willow detesting me.
The Cartwrights always preached to forgive and forget, yet I've never been good at it. Whether I was right or wrong, Jax tossed me aside. Maybe I deserved it. Maybe I didn't. But he knew I had nothing except riding and the Cartwrights, and he tried to take both of those things away from me.
Luckily, after he kicked me off his teams, the rival team in Tennessee was happy to sign me. But now I have nothing, and the last thing I want to do is go back to Jax with my tail between my legs.
He taunts, "What's wrong, son? Bull caught your voice in the dust?"
I clear my throat. "I'm pretty sure there's nothing for us to talk about."
"Ah, but there is. From what I hear, you've got nowhere to go. All the connections you made won't touch you."
The air grows thick around me. I growl, "You know nothing about my business, so stay out of it."
He chuckles. "Don't get your panties in a twist."
Irritation fills me. "What do you want?"
"Seems to me that you don't have a lot of options right now. We'll talk when you get here."
Confused, angry, and curious, I close my eyes and grit my teeth, hating that he's right.
What does the old man want?
"I'll see you in an hour," he says, and hangs up before I can say anything else.
Frustration coils in my gut. I hang up the phone, take a moment to collect myself, and then turn.
Jagger asks, "Who was that?"
The saliva in my mouth evaporates, and the sour taste intensifies. "Jax."
Jagger arches his eyebrows. He's the only one who knows the full story about what happened between Jax and me. He asks, "Really?"
I nod. "Yes."
The phone rings again. I reach for it. "Cartwrights."
"Need to talk to Willow," Jax demands.
My eyelids instantly lower to slits. "What for?"
He asserts, "It's none of your business, son."
I anxiously glance at Willow, then say to her, "Jax wants to talk to you."
She's surprised at that, but she stands and steps toward me. She avoids my gaze and takes the phone from me. In a sweet voice, she answers, "This is Willow."
I stare at her.
She pretends not to notice me, but a flush rises in her cheeks. She listens and then questions uncomfortably, "What do you mean?"
What does he want with her? I wonder.
She glances at me uneasily and states, "I'd rather not."
Though the way she's looking at me isn't positive, just having her attention on me causes a new round of chaos in my pants.
Her expression turns hard, and her tone matches it when she says, "Not to be disrespectful, but that's a bad idea, Jax."
What is?
I pin a questioning look on her.
She glares harder at me and then turns toward the wall, shaking her head. She must cave to his request because she sighs and tells him, "Okay, I'll see you in an hour."
A spark of hope lights in me, but I don't know why.
Willow hangs up but doesn't move for a moment, releasing a deep breath.
A little too eager, I question, "Are you coming with me?"
Exasperated, she answers, "Yeah, apparently I am."
I attempt to hide my excitement as I ask, "What does he want?"
She shrugs. "How do I know? And I thought he wrote you off."
The silence of those behind us is deafening.
Shame fills me as I stare at her.
She softens but doesn't apologize. "You don't have any idea what he wants?"
"No." I shake my head.
"Well, this ought to be fun," she snarks, then retakes her seat at the table.
"If Jax wants to see you, it has to be good news," Jagger says, and I wish he'd shut up.
Everything he's saying today seems to irritate me, whether it's about his sister or my old coach. They're both sore spots, and his comments are just rubbing salt in my wounds.
Willow smirks. "Maybe Wyatt owes him money too, and he wants to collect."
I blurt out, "I told you I'd pay you back, and I will."
"Sure you will," she mutters.
"He will. Stop being nasty," Jagger scolds.
"Stay out of my business," Willow reprimands.
He replies, "Then get over yourself."
"Jagger…" I warn.
"Enough," Jacob interjects.
Everyone goes quiet.
"Finish breakfast," Jacob orders.
Within a few minutes, normal breakfast conversation resumes. We finish eating, but I'm not paying attention to what's going on around me.
The last time I saw Jax, he made it clear he never wanted to see me again. He's not the type to have a change of heart. So I'm not sure why he's insisting I go to his place.
And why does he want Willow to come?
I hold the dining room door open for Willow, teasing, "Didn't know you and Jax were buddy-buddy."
She turns a scathing look my way. "You've got a lot of nerve."
I chuckle. "I was just teasing. You don't have to get so upset."
"Just keep your comments to yourself, Wyatt." She pushes past me and into the foyer.
I follow her, put on my jacket, and step out into the cold, blistering air.
I pace near the porch. Jax is the last person I thought would be on that line. And I can't help but feel like I'm stepping into a trap.
Willow finally comes out, bundled up, and continues to ignore me. She trudges through the snow and over to an SUV.
I hold out my hand. "Give me the keys."
She scoffs. "No. I'm driving."
The snow blows around us. "It's bad out. You should let me drive," I insist.
"I'm more than capable of driving through snow. Now, get in or I'm leaving you," she warns, then opens her driver's door, and slides into the seat. She slams the door hard.
I begrudgingly get in the passenger side, then drawl, "You've lost your manners, sugar."
"Don't call me sugar," she spouts, and turns on the engine.
Her perfume flares inside the cab. I slide the seat toward the back with a groan, confessing, "You always smelled so damn good. Are you trying to punish me more?"
She doesn't look at me, keeping her eyes on the road ahead of her, her fingers gripping the wheel as she accelerates. She orders, "Stop acting like I mean something to you."
"You do. Always have and always will," I assert.
She scoffs. "Can you stop saying stuff like that?"
"You mean the truth?"
She blinks hard, staring at the snowy road.
I turn toward her and question, "So you're never going to forgive me?" My voice is as hollow as my heart feels.
She floors it through the gate a little too fast, and the SUV skids.
"Whoa, slow down," I say.
"Don't tell me what to do," she replies and then turns the music up louder so neither of us can hear the other speak.
I turn it down. "Willow—"
"Don't start with me, Wyatt. Just don't," she says, her voice shaking.
I freeze.
She blinks rapidly, keeping her attention on the road, and an ill feeling attacks me.
I soften my voice. "I'm sorry."
"I don't want to hear it," she says with more control.
I study her for several moments and then decide to honor her wishes. "Okay."
A long time passes. The roads are treacherous, and I hate sitting in the passenger seat while she drives. My job is to protect her, not let her navigate the snowy conditions.