Chapter 29
TWENTY-NINE
AMELIA
“First things first,” Rory says sharply.
Squeezing my eyes shut tight, I try to ignore the dip in my stomach. The anxiety at not knowing what’s going to come out of her mouth, if it’s about Weston or my father, and not knowing which truth would hurt worse right now.
I open one set of eyelids and peer at Lexi, seated next to me in the van, and she gives me a nod for strength.
The icy tone of Rory’s voice comes through loud and clear over speakerphone. “You do realize you crushed Weston’s heart, right?”
Yep. That definitely hurts worse.
Eyes stinging, I screw them tighter for a second until I can open them both again and blow out a big breath. “Yeah,” I croak. “I do.”
Lexi folds her lips in, like she’s biting them down to keep her mouth shut—something she’s not known for doing—but her sister doesn’t hold back on me.
“Mmm, I’m not sure you do. That man is like a brother to me, and not just because I married into his family. I love you both, but I need you to know how hard it must’ve been for him to let you confront your brother all on your own. He stood outside and waited with my husband the entire time, not letting himself jump in to make sure you were safe. And from what Wyatt has told me, there were a lot of times they both wanted to. You two are going to need to talk your own shit out, but you’re going to need to look at things from his perspective before you do. I can tell you for damn sure, Wyatt couldn’t have the kind of restraint Weston did there, the way he respected your wishes against his own instincts like that. West deserves some credit for that.”
Breathing through my nose, emotion swarms through my head, dizzying me. “Some credit, sure, but—” My voice cuts off with a hiccupped sob.
Lexi cuts in on my behalf. “Ror, I already talked about this stuff with her. Do we need to do this right now?”
“Yes, we absolutely do, Alexis.” Rory’s tone could shred paper. My heart gives even less resistance with all it’s been through this week. “I’m going to help get your story out there, Amelia, but you did some damage to my family, when all any of us have tried to do is help you.”
My head falls to my lap, into my knees, and I hold back a sob. No one in my entire life has helped me as much as Weston, Wyatt, Rory, and Lexi have these past three months.
“He did what he thought you wanted him to do—nearly killed him to do it, by the way—and instead of thanking him, of understanding and appreciating how hard that was for him, you left him in your literal dust.”
The visual hits me of Weston standing there, clouds of dust in my wake as I drove off. Did he deserve that? Hearing Rory’s take on this cuts me.
Did I overreact? Not hear him out?
Isn’t that exactly what my dad did to me?
Should I have stayed when things got tough?
I don’t have the mental capacity for this right now.
It feels like I’m breathing through a straw, and Lexi must notice, because she rubs my back in large circles.
“Breathe, Big Momma.”
The normalcy she brings with the nickname alone helps ease my airways and my lungs finally expand.
“That’s enough, Rory,” Lexi says to the speakerphone. “Let’s put out the fire before we rebuild the house, yeah?”
“I think that actually made sense,” Rory says over the phone, taken aback.
Sitting up now, I can see Lexi’s face pinch. “Of course it did, what’s that supposed to mean?”
“Phrases aren’t your strongest suit, Lex.”
“Well, excuse me if I don’t want to beat a horse to death, can we just get to the point of this call already?”
Rory stifles her laugh, lucky for me one doesn’t threaten to topple out of me right about now though.
“Is he okay?” It’s barely more than a whisper, but it’s all I can manage.
“He will be when you’re back.” Rory doesn’t mince words. “Which will be soon, right?”
“Please tell him I just need a day.” I can’t bear the thought of him being as miserable as I am right now, but I need to work through some shit on my own before I go back to him.
“Fine,” Rory says. “And one last thing before we dive in, I just want to extend an open invitation to you, Amelia.”
I look up, eyes blinking in surprise, but she can’t see me. “Yeah?” I whisper.
“If you ever wanna go kickboxing with me, it’s a hike to get to the place I like, but it’s one hell of a stress relief. Does my anxiety good.”
“Hey!” Lexi barks. “How come you never invite me kickboxing?”
“Pfft,” Rory scoffs. “Only one kind of cardio you’d say yes to, Lex, and it’s on your back.”
Lexi sputters, but her sister talks right over her. “Let’s do this,” Rory says. “Amelia, start from the beginning.”
I pack away everything with Weston, lock it down in that airtight space I used to keep my father and brother in, and focus on the task at hand.
We stayed up half the night working on the story for the publicist.
I didn’t expect very many people to care, to read what I had to say, or to take my word over the online magazine who did the hit piece.
But the girls had me open up a social media account and an email address as part of getting my story out and writing my own narrative, and I woke up this afternoon to countless messages, emails, and interactions online.
My stomach bottoms out when one notification in particular pops up on my phone.
@ jynx followed you
And below it, an email.
Re: Interview request
From: Jynx @ Vengeful Vixens
Amelia, you BADDIE!
I’m Jynx, I host a podcast called Vengeful Vixens where we dive into true crime stories and celebrate vengeance against evil and injustice, telling the stories of victims and survivors.
Full disclosure, we had an episode planned for next season on your father, but when I saw your article this morning, I knew we had to change the angle here.
You gave me chills, girl, CHILLS. Your voice is the kind I want to elevate with my platform, and I would be honored if you came on the show and told your story. We have an audience of roughly ten million listeners per episode, and I think it could touch a lot of people to hear what you have to say.
You could come out to the studio in New York, or I could come to you, at your convenience.
Text me anytime.
212-555-4969
XX,
Jynx
I’m practically floating on the ceiling of Van Gogh after the email, and her following me on social.
Did I want to be outed? Fuck no.
Is the optimist in me going to make the most of my new reality, now that I have been?
Obviously.
Looks like she didn’t take a bath with her toaster after all.
My brother gone for good. No need to keep running and hiding, the truth is out there now. Rory is already working on a plan to get my mom to the Heights, and she and I had a long, long call a little bit ago. A surprisingly large portion of the world is listening to my story, what I have to say, and I have the chance to be on Vixens (while I’m still alive).
I could pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming.
The one thing that’s keeping me from being on cloud nine is this rift in the ether, this fight with Weston.
I have missed texts from him that I haven’t brought myself to look at yet. I just needed a day to myself.
Had he not shown up, dick swinging, ready to piss on me in front of my brother to stake his claim, I would’ve gone to his house last night and we could be together right now.
But no, he had to explicitly disrespect my wishes, showing up to protect me when I didn’t need him to.
Did he even stop to think after everything I shared with him why I wouldn’t want that?
Does he even realize what it means for me to trust him at this point in my life?
Breathing deeply, I take a sip of my Alani and let the memories flood me. All the reasons I have to trust him. The ways he’s earned my trust, time and again these past three months.
Rescuing me from the side of the road, offering to help fix Van Gogh when I couldn’t afford it, bringing me along on the paint jobs. Everything we shared with one another in our late-night chats, the closeness we developed over weeks of spending day after day together.
And then, the physical aspect. How he knew what I needed—not just what I liked, but intuited what I was comfortable with, and what I wasn’t. Sex with him is incomparable to anything I’ve experienced before. It’s just one more way he showed he really knew me, he got me in ways no one else ever has.
Then there was how he went up against his brother for me. Repeatedly.
My stomach swoops at the thought of him working so hard to repair his relationship with his brother but being willing to burn it all down for me.
Without a doubt, my feelings for Weston haven’t gone anywhere, which makes this all the more annoying.
There’s just this disappointment, this unease bubbling in me at the way he disregarded what I needed and the boundaries I set. But this knot in my stomach is because I love him so much. Having this disturbance between us is killing me.
A voice in my head—my conscience can be a real bitch—points out he really hasn’t done anything to break my trust, other than to try back me up when I’ve had an opponent. First Wyatt, then Randall. He went to bat against his own brother for me, then mine too.
Somehow, in the daylight, that seems more sweet than overprotective prick. Or maybe that’s just me sleeping on the perspective Rory jammed down my throat.
Am I the asshole for the way I’ve reacted?
The man has been one green flag after another.
It’s my own issues that are the problem, isn’t it?
I hate when I’m the problem.
I need fresh air.
Locking Van Gogh, I trek through the woods on the side of the lot I’m parked in until I find a spot to sit down on a large, flat boulder.
The air is balmy, even after dusk it’s humid. Summer is here. I breathe in through my nose, out through my mouth, appreciating the warmth after the chill of spring.
How long am I going to punish him?
What will it take for me to be able to go back to him, talk out what went down, and work out how to not have this happen again?
I thought time alone would help, and I guess it has in a way. I needed to process, and I have. But I miss him so much it hurts. This emptiness inside me feels wrong after all the ways we’ve grown so damn close.
But then again, that’s why this hurts so bad isn’t it?
I did finally trust him.
And like my dad, he didn’t respect me enough, didn’t trust me enough, and had to handle it his own way.
My talk with Lexi comes back to me, along with Rory’s harsher words, and I shut my eyes against the truth that’s staring me in the face.
I know Weston is nothing like my dad in those ways. I’ve known it since the first night we met.
He’s healthy, well-adjusted, comes from a loving family where he’s the apple of his parents’ eyes. Of course he’s going to think he can just show up for me.
That’s what his family does, right?
Wyatt, Rory, Lexi. They all show up for one another when they’re struggling or in need.
It’s me. I’m the asshole who wants to do it all alone, but only because I’ve had to. It’s the only thing I know at this point.
My thoughts are interrupted by a burst of feminine giggles and a voice too low to make out the words, but it doesn’t take long for the bodies that go with the sounds to appear on the path coming out of the woods.
A couple are walking together, she’s probably around Weston’s age, long blonde hair and a curvy body that’s noticeably pregnant. The man with her looks to be even quite a bit younger than I am, mussed, slightly curly reddish-brown hair, his heavily tattooed arms wrapped around her and wandering freely as they go. There’s gotta be at least ten years between them, but it’s clearly not stopping them.
Cheeks flushed, she giggles, leaning harder into him as they walk until her eyes fall on me sitting on the boulder on the side of the path.
Abruptly the woman stands up straight and pushes her partner’s hands off of her baby bump, where one hand was going north and one south.
He murmurs something into the curve of her neck, not realizing yet that they aren’t alone—or maybe just not caring—and I almost blush from the intimacy of it.
“Stop,” she giggles. “We’re being inappropriate, honey bunny.”
“If you want inappropriate, I can show you?—”
The woman reaches backward to place one hand over his lips and stops him mid-sentence. With her free hand—can’t miss that ring on it, even in the twilight—she points at me.
“Oh,” he says, straightening, wrapping his arms around her in a move that looks casual, like touching her every second he gets is just what’s normal for them.
“Sorry to interrupt you guys,” I whisper, eyes starting to water at how easy and evident their love is.
The curvy blonde giggles again, voice high-pitched, soft and feminine as she speaks again. “No, I’m so sorry. Newlyweds,” she gives me a knowing look with a shrug. “He can’t keep his hands to himself.”
“Never gonna change, Ell.” He whispers the words against her temple, but I hear them even over here. “Married a couple months or going on fifty years.”
She shushes him again, swatting at him, but that radiant smile on her face doesn’t dull for even an instant.
“I’m sorry again, hope you have a good night.”
“Don’t apologize,” I say, waving in their direction. “Please. If you’ve got a love like that, don’t waste a minute of it.”
The younger man winks at me before wrapping his arms around his wife even tighter and shuffling back toward the parking lot with her.
“Good advice,” I hear him say to her in a low voice, but it’s my own words that punch me in the gut as the couple falls out of earshot.
For the first time I have a chance at a love like that. And here I am, wasting precious moments of it.
Staring into the trees, listening to the soft whistle of the wind as it blows between the leaves, now full and deep green, I startle when I see a light.
Yellowish green, so tiny that at first I think I imagine it, but then there’s another. And another. In minutes I’m surrounded by fireflies.
A million magical reminders of the love I share with Weston.
And I’m the one that left him when he tried to show me that love by being there for me.
Dropping my head in my hands, I shake with the realization that I’m the one who fucked up. He tried to do this together, I pushed him away and handled it like I always have. On my own.
But I’m not on my own anymore.
Every single firefly lighting up around me is another reason I have to go back and work this out with him, rather than wallow by myself.
Isn’t that the point of love after all?
To share in the good, the boring, and the unthinkably horrible?
That things are just that much better when we’re together?
“Fuck,” I say to the empty clearing.
Sprinting back to my van, I know what I have to do and I send a text I shouldn’t have to because I never should’ve run.
Me
Meet me at our spot in three hours.
And then I get out my laptop.
If I was more patient, maybe I’d have had a better idea on how to show this man what he means to me. How all in on him, and us, I am. Maybe I would’ve gone and bought some paint for our place together, some other demonstration of the kind of permanence I want with him, our friends, the Heights period.
But now that I’ve realized where I belong, who I should be with, talking this out with… I did the best I could with the lack of patience I have, then tested the acceleration on the new engine and transmission to get back to him.
When I pull up to the empty field where we made memories to last a lifetime, I grab the extra blanket I keep in one of the wooden drawers and race to the grass to set it up before he arrives.
Placing the laptop on the ground, I prep myself for his arrival, trying to quell the butterflies in my stomach. More than nerves, it’s excitement to share with him the things I realized in the thirty or so hours we spent apart.
When I hear another car in the distance, I turn to where I parked, breath held to see if the headlights bounce across the grass lot or pass by. As the beams of light illuminate the field, I run to where he’ll stop and park.
Weston makes it before I do, hopping down from his pickup and jogging toward me, stopping to brace himself in the beam of the headlights that silhouette him in the quiet night air.
Those strong arms are open and ready for me. He wraps me in them as I collide into him, enveloping me in his woodsy, masculine scent and that feeling of safety I’ve never found with anyone else, not since I was twelve. I didn’t think I’d ever feel it again, but this man has shown me so much I thought I’d never get to experience.
“I’m so sorry, angel,” he whispers into my hair.
“I am too,” I murmur into his chest.
Lips pressed to the top of my head, Weston apologizes wordlessly.
“I shouldn’t have left,” I tell him.
“I’m sorry I made you feel like you needed to.”
Shaking my head, I step back, pulling him by the arm to follow me to the blanket where we can overlook the mountain range I’ve come to associate with a place to call home. Friends that feel more like family. Love.
We sit on the blanket, nestled close to one another but still facing each other.
Taking a deep breath, I go first. “I’ve been on my own for so long, only worrying about protecting my identity, staying safe. I haven’t had to think of anyone else but me in all this time. But I can see now that you do. You always think of me in your actions, Weston. We might handle things differently, and maybe we have some work to do in some areas, but you’re the only one I want to do this thing with.”
“This?” he asks, waving a hand between us.
“This,” I say emphatically, nodding my head. “Life, living, adventures, love, all of it.”
His throat bobs with a heavy swallow, and a weight leaves my shoulders.
“I have something to show you.” Pulling the laptop in front of us, I wake the display and the screen comes to life on a Pinterest page.
A new board, called “Finally Home.”
I hear him suck in a breath as he reads the title, his eyes—the color of the woods all around us—taking in picture after picture I’ve pinned to the board already.
A converted van that looks a lot like mine.
A close-up of a dirt-streaked masculine hand holding a wrench, working on a car.
Cold cans of beer, condensation dripping down the sides, like we shared that first night we stayed up all hours talking.
Fingers clenching bedsheets, the way he’s made mine do, even before we gave in to each other’s pull.
Paint rollers, cans of paint, and specific shades that we used as we brought the town back to life. The black and white stripes of the bakery. The pale pink of the cafe. An aqua that shouldn’t work in a pizza place, but it does somehow.
A bed that looks a lot like his, the one we shared our first night together, when we weren’t allowed to touch.
The Welcome to Downtown Smoky Heights sign that I found a picture of on the New Heights website and saved to my Pinterest.
A tater tot hotdish, so similar to the one I made for us our first night we were together, when we were just a hundred feet from here, over by the wildflowers.
Sunrise over the Smokies, for a morning I’ll never forget.
Bowling pins, for the night I never left.
A dark, gritty shot of some chains hanging that makes me blush when I look at it.
The synchronous fireflies.
A motorcycle that looks suspiciously familiar.
Places we both still want to go, like Maine, Rhode Island, and that cute ski town out west he was so interested in.
Dozens of other pictures of adventures we’ve discussed, plus some things we haven’t yet.
A small house out in the woods.
Wedding rings.
Maternity photos.
And a neon sign that says happily ever after.
By the time I stop scrolling, my eyes are so wet I can barely make out the blobs on the screen.
“Fuck, Amelia.” His voice breaks, thick with words unsaid, and he dips his head down to pinch the bridge of his nose.
“I’m ready for life with you,” I tell him. “Whatever adventures we chase, I want them together from here on out.”
“Thank God,” he says, relief flooding his voice. “Because you’re it for me, Amelia. There’s no one else out there for me but you. But I need you to know how much I respect you too. Maybe I need to do better when it comes to your boundaries after what you’ve been through, but?—”
I place a finger over his lips, silencing him.
“I overreacted, and I see that now. I need to learn how to do life with you, not all alone.”
He nods against my finger, and I drop my hand down into his lap so he can speak again.
“It’s not that I think you can’t do it on your own. It’s that you don’t have to.”
My eyes fill with tears at the trust he has in me, the confidence in me, and the love to be by my side through it all. The permission to share my burden, when I need to. To be stronger together than we are apart.
I don’t have the words for what that means to me, but I try anyway. “I love you, Weston. I don’t want to do things on my own anymore. I thought being independent was what made me strongest, but I was wrong. I’ve never been stronger than when I’m with you. Neither of us needs each other, but we’ve chosen each other, and that’s more beautiful than I ever knew love could be.
“I want to do this with you, together, as a team. It must’ve been so hard for you yesterday and I’m sorry for the way I reacted. I’ve had time to think and one thing I realized being away from you is when you have a love like this, you don’t waste a minute of it.”
One of his thick fingers catches the tear that’s escaped my left eye, and I let my face rest in his cupped hand.
“Don’t tell my Charger, but Van Gogh is my favorite vehicle I’ve ever worked on, Amelia, and that’s because it led me to you. I’ll be thanking the cosmos and the entire damn universe until I die for picking that spot out of every highway in the country to have you break down on that night. The way you talk to yourself, your obsession with gory podcasts, your ridiculously morbid sense of humor, the way you’re so unbelievably resilient, and let’s not forget those magnificent tits. You’re all I could ever want and more. Let’s do this shit together, darlin’.”
I laugh through my tears, resting my forehead against his as he grins at me.
“The good, the boring, and the unthinkably horrible,” I reply with a soft smile that feels like it’s glowing.
His lips crash down on mine—soft, then passionate—thanking me, teasing me, promising me a lifetime of love.
When we break for air, I bring up my one concern. “Promise me we’re not going to become that boring couple who settles down and just stays home with their goldfish. Tell me we’ll still have adventures, we’ll still be us, no matter what else changes.”
“First of all, I’ve heard goldfish are, like, really hard to keep alive. I don’t think I want one either.” A smile twists his roguish, handsome features. “But you and I could never be boring, darlin’. Together, you and I are magic. But if you want to settle down and make a home with me, I promise we’ll still make it fun.”
“Wherever you are is home now, Boy Scout. But if it’s okay with you, I’d kind of like it if we stayed here.”
His grin is electric and it lights up my insides.
“I was hoping you’d say that. I have just the place in mind for us.”