Chapter 36
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
NOW
T he next day, we get up before sunrise.
Wells wants to take me on a long horseback ride, something I haven’t done in years. Champ whinnies from his stall when he sees me, nuzzling his long nose against my shoulder, and I laugh. There’s a sense of gratification in knowing that, even after all this time, he still remembers me.
We ride fifteen miles to Wells’s secret spot by the river, draped by the trees that hide us from the rest of the world. As the horses get their fill of the cool water, he kisses me long and slow against a wide tree. He does a good job of not showing his panic, but I know it’s there. I feel it in the way he licks into my mouth, savoring every taste. In the way his fingerprints mark my face and neck.
I do everything I can to stay present, trying not to let my impending departure ruin any second of our time together—but it’s almost impossible. In twenty-four hours, I’ll be over a thousand miles away, trying to sort through the mess of my life. And Wells will be here, on this ranch that I love so much, forcing himself to give me the space that I’ve asked him for. That we both know we need.
Soon, we make the trek back, both of us near silent the whole ride home. By the end of it, my legs are sore and my knees ache, but there’s an immeasurable contentment that I intend to hold on to for as long as possible. I kiss Champ on the nose before turning him back into his stall to rest, and my eyes well with tears as I walk back out of the barn and wait for Wells to finish turning in Lady.
He follows me to my house in his truck so I can return Barry’s car and grab my suitcase—I packed it before I left yesterday. I tell Wells to wait before I run inside to find Annie.
Her eyes catch mine over the book she’s reading, and she tosses it onto her nightstand. “You leave tomorrow,” she says matter-of-factly.
I nod, forcing a watery smile. “Yeah.”
She gets up from her bed and throws her arms around me. “Will you call me every day?” she asks. She must be able to sense that I’m not staying here tonight, and it makes me sad that things are so broken between me and Mom.
I kiss the top of her head and squeeze her to me. “I promise I will,” I say. “I love you so much.”
I find Barry in his home office and thank him for letting me borrow his car before heading out the door, not bothering to look back.
Back at the cabin, Wells sears two steaks in a cast-iron pan as I roast potatoes and green beans in the oven, and we eat under a blanket in the bed of his truck beneath the stars, drinking from an old bottle of wine he found in the cupboard.
As I lean back against him, I try to ease my racing heart. It feels like everything is closing in, like the sky might fall on top of me and swallow me whole. It isn’t long before my breaths saw out of me and the edges of my vision begin to blur.
Wells notices immediately and pushes our plates to the side. “Breathe, Layla,” he orders gently, pulling me into his lap to face him, and I’m transported right back to that dark night only weeks ago when my entire world tilted on its axis for the second time in a matter of days. I try to fill my lungs with air, but my brain is moving too fast.
“Look at me,” Wells says, cupping my face in his hands. I turn my focus to the slope of his jaw and the column of his throat. He pulls my hand over his chest, over his heart. “Feel that?” he asks. I nod, the pounding against my palm leveling my own pulse. “That’s it,” he praises. “Now breathe.” He inhales deeply, his chest rising as it fills with air, and I close my eyes and do the same.
“No.” His hands are back on my face. “Look at me.” I do, and he breathes in again. This time, I focus on the golden flecks in his eyes as I pull air into my chest. Oxygen floods back through me, such a sweet relief, and I follow Wells’s lead as he exhales and takes in another breath.
“Good girl.” He smiles, kissing my cheek. “Keep going.”
For the next five minutes, we watch each other as I breathe, the panic inside of me lessening in intensity but never leaving.
“I’m scared,” I finally admit after my heart slows back to normal.
His brows pinch. “Of what?”
I chew the inside of my cheek. “Of losing you, too.”
He shakes his head vehemently, sliding his hands to my waist and pulling me in closer so that my hips are flush with his. “I’m not going anywhere, Layla,” he murmurs. “I’ll wait here forever if I have to.”
And when he leans in to capture my mouth, I’m enraptured by the feel of him all around me, enveloping me in so much love and care that I can’t possibly walk away from this for good. Not when he’s everything my heart craves, everything my soul needs to feel like this again.
“I have to leave first thing in the morning,” I say as his fingers graze under my shirt.
“How about second thing?” he whispers, kissing me again, like our impending goodbye isn’t clawing at him the way it is me. But I know he feels it.
When we move to his room neither of us sleeps, lost in the weight of each other and our mutual fear of what tomorrow brings. And when the morning light finally shines through the window, he makes good on his promise to distract me for as long as he can before we finally rip ourselves from his bed.
On the way to the airport, I ask him to drop me off at the curb—I can’t bear to keep this going any longer. If he comes inside and walks me to the security checkpoint, I don’t trust myself to go through it. It’s obvious he wants to protest, but he holds himself back and relents.
For me.
His face is tight as he parks at the terminal, jumping out to grab my suitcase from the back. He meets me on the sidewalk and buries his face in the crook of my neck as a low, guttural sound escapes from somewhere in his chest.
I wind my fingers through his messy hair as my tears begin to fall. “We got this,” I whisper, holding him close. “We can do this, Wells.”
He pulls back to look at me, his eyes red-rimmed and lashes damp, before disentangling himself from my arms. “Call me when you get there?” he asks as he shoves his hands into the pockets of his Carhartt jacket.
“Promise,” I say, giving him one more smile before I turn to walk through the automatic doors.
And I cry the entire trip back.