Chapter 37
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
FOUR MONTHS LATER
M y appointment with Professor Zhang only takes twenty minutes.
I sit in the same worn leather chair I’ve sat in four times now, my shoulders vibrating with excitement as we plan out classes for my next semester at NYU. It’s hard to sit still, hard not to beg him to just sign off on the damn paperwork so I can move on with my plan.
He looks at me from the other side of the mahogany desk, his eyes bouncing back and forth between my face and the piece of paper in front of him. “Are you sure about this?” he asks once more in his thick northeastern accent.
I turn to my copy of the paper—the same schedule he’s looking at—and nod, certain. “Yes,” I confirm. “More than sure.”
His smile is friendly as he sits back in his leather chair, his tweed coat shifting over his chest. “Okay, then. You’re all set, Miss Hayes. I’ll check in with you at the start of the new year and make sure things are going well—but, I don’t see any reason why they shouldn’t be. You’re a gifted student, and you’re doing very well for yourself. Keep up the good work.”
I beam. “Thank you so much . . . for everything.” I reach out to shake his hand. And then I stand to leave, eager to get back to my shoebox of a dorm and keep moving all of this along, knowing what’s waiting for me at the end.
Outside, the afternoon air is warmer than usual, and the smell of coffee wafts from all the cafés that line this part of campus. The street is crowded with students navigating to their last finals of the semester and there’s a collective anticipation of summer break that I feel deep in my stomach. I finished my last final this morning—a two-hour assessment on the ethics and practice of investigative journalism—and now all I can think about is getting out of this city.
I hurry back to my building on the other side of campus, pushing the elevator button with a wave of impatience. Sixteen more hours , I think. Only sixteen more hours until I board that plane home. When the elevator still doesn’t chime, likely caught in the traffic of students coming and going to make it to class, I exhale a frustrated breath and beeline for the stairs, taking them two at a time to the sixth floor.
By the time I reach it, I’m flushed and out of breath, but I don’t care. I have fourteen hours to pack up my life here and say goodbye to the friends that have turned into family. My stomach flips at the thought, knowing how close I am. I ache for the dust and spring wildflowers, for the thundering sound of running horses.
Growing up in Saddlebrook Falls, I always felt homesick for a place I didn’t yet know, desperate to make it somewhere else where I didn’t have to try so hard to be something I’m not. It’s what eventually led me to New York. But now . . . now I crave the one place where I’ve ever felt truly like myself. Where I can be needy and messy and safely fall apart without feeling like I’ll lose something in the process.
A place where a man with soft brown eyes waits for me, who never fails to remind me of all that I am and everything I’m capable of.
I’ve spent countless hours thinking about Wells over the last four months. I knew that leaving him would be hard, but I didn’t realize the fundamental wreckage I’d have to endure. It took six weeks for me to find my footing again, to ease back into what it’s like living in New York. I moved through my first two weeks of classes in a haze, unable to focus on anything around me. The anxiety I’d left Texas with continued to grow, and it was like trying to swim out of a riptide. It was exhausting, and I felt so helpless and alone.
When Chantal came home from class one day to find me on the floor in the middle of a brutal panic attack, she forced me to make an appointment with a therapist. It’s what led me to Anika, a grief counseling specialist, who’s been able to give me tools to manage my emotions. Those weekly online sessions have become my saving grace as I continue to work through healing the wounds I thought would rule my life forever.
I think the best part of therapy has been learning that I need to absolve myself of any blame for the things that have happened, and that the guilt I feel about my relationship with Wells is a normal byproduct of all the trauma I’ve experienced. It took many sessions to share the shame and anger I’d been holding tight to—the things that still flare up on the harder days—but with each new raw truth I handed over to Anika, she met me with patience and understanding. Eventually, I learned not to be so afraid of the process.
It breaks my heart that Jason never sought help for himself. That he never told anyone how hard he was struggling under the weight of pressure and expectation. I imagine it would’ve had an impact on him and the choices he made in the months leading up to his accident. But as much as I wish things had turned out differently—for all of us—I find comfort in knowing there’s always a way forward, that while I’ll always hold Jason close to my heart, I can still learn to let go of the disruptive and negative beliefs that bind me to his death.
There’s no denying the impact that losing Jason has left on my life. Grief shapes us, it changes us. For me, it shifted the trajectory of my life in ways that forced me to rediscover who I am, to reexamine the things I want out of life. It’s what shoved Wells and me back into each other’s orbit. What led to the realization that he might not be just a small piece of my story—he might be what helps shape the rest of it.
When I was younger, I believed that to love someone meant giving up parts of myself. That I’d have to make concessions in exchange for loyalty and devotion. Jason had proven me right with everything he asked of me, and even though I’d never intended for it to happen, I’d played right into a game that I never wanted any part of.
Over time, it eroded much of the confidence I had in myself to make choices that put my needs first. It’s what drove my feelings of betrayal when I learned about Emma, why I didn’t trust the choices I was making with Wells.
Now, though, I can look back and see that Wells completely disrupts any notion that I need to give up important parts of myself to make room for love. He’s championed my needs and encouraged me to be selfish about what I want for as long as I’ve known him . . . I just wish it didn’t take me so long to see it. And I wish I never worried so much about everyone else and what they would think about my feelings for him.
When it comes to Wells, I know how things look. I know the impossibility of it all, that Jason’s best friend and girlfriend would come together in grief and end up starting a fire together that burned as hot and bright as it did. To anyone, it might seem messy and irresponsible and a disgrace to the memory of Jason. But the truth of it feels a lot more like an awakening, a universal shift to a path that was there all along. In another life, maybe it would’ve been Wells from the start. Maybe we could have saved ourselves a lot of scrutiny and judgment from a town that thrives on both.
But I don’t regret anything that’s gotten me to where I am today. As flawed as all of this may seem, I would choose this path over and over and over again if it meant showing Wells how much he deserves this—because he does. He wants just like anyone else does, and after holding on to his secret for so long, I’m ready to love him out loud and in the open.
I unlock the door and walk in to find Chantal rolling a giant suitcase toward me, her magenta tennis dress a contrast to her dark skin. She finished her last final yesterday, putting her about twelve hours ahead of me on Operation Get Out of Dodge. “Hey,” I say, looking at the duffle and tote bags on the floor by my feet.
She pulls the suitcase up next to them and pushes down the retractable handle. “How’d it go?” she asks.
I smile. “All set.”
She squeals, pulling me in for a tight hug. “I’m going to miss you so much.”
My heart flips—Chantal has been a lifeline for me here. “I’ll miss you more,” I confess. “But I know I’ll see you soon, I promise.”
She pulls back, eyes watery. “Come visit me over the summer? I’ll take you to the Keys, it’ll be so good.”
I nod, smiling. “That sounds amazing.”
Bending down to pick up her bags, she says, “Text me when you land in Texas?”
“Text me when you land in Florida,” I parrot.
“You know I will.”
“Do you need help getting all this down?”
She shakes her head, smirking. “Billy’s on his way up with a cart for me.” Billy, the security guard downstairs, has such an obvious thing for Chantal he’d probably carry her to JFK on his back if she let him.
I laugh, giving her another hug goodbye before I shut the door behind her and head to focus on my own packing.
Five minutes later, there’s a soft knock on the door, and I look around wondering if Chantal’s forgotten something. Or maybe it’s Bernadette finally returning the curling iron I let her borrow over a month ago when she had a date with her TA. I pull open the heavy door, ready to tease whoever it is, but a loud gasp escapes my throat when I see Wells on the other side.
His hair is mussed, his eyes glowing like warm honey as they bounce between mine. “Hey, sunshine,” he says.
“Oh my god,” I say, throwing myself at him.
He wraps his strong arms around me and lifts me off the ground. “God it’s good to see you,” he whispers into my hair. He smells so good—so much like him—and it breaks me apart.
“What are you doing here?” I force out through a wave of tears.
He sets me back down and says, “I was in West Virginia for a rodeo, and I just couldn’t get on the plane home knowing I was only a few hundred miles from you.” He looks past me into my dorm room and grins. “I figured if I made it in time, I could help you pack and fly home with you. Your roommate heard me ask the guard where I could find you and sent me up.”
My heart nearly explodes. Wells has texted me every day since dropping me off at the airport in Texas, mostly to check in and see how I’m doing. To remind me that, even through the distance, he’s there. That he’s in my corner. It took me weeks before I finally started responding, after a few sessions with Anika when I’d finally begun to shed some of the guilt and shame I’d been carrying.
Since then, we’ve kept the conversation light. He sends me little updates on the horses and his family, and the occasional picture of things that remind him of me: a gorgeous sunrise over the ranch’s quiet pasture, a glimpse of the river under the trees. Two and a half months ago, he was officially sponsored by a boot brand based in Texas that saw him compete at the rodeo in Dallas, and for the last several weeks he’s been traveling in the professional rodeo circuit, competing in dozens of states. Our texts have been a little more infrequent as he travels, but he never misses a day.
“I’ve been counting down the hours to get back home to you,” I admit as a tear falls from my jaw.
He wipes away my tears with his thumbs, both hands cupped warmly around my face. “I’ve been looking forward to this since the day you left, Layla. Watching you walk away from me almost killed me.” The confession splinters through the ache in my chest. I almost forgot what it’s like to be at the center of his attention. The way he sees me in a way that feels real.
It’s always felt so real.
“Is it okay that I’m here?” he asks, the line between his brow deepening. And it’s one of my favorite things about him—how he’s so eager to prioritize me. My needs. My emotions.
I give him a watery smile. So much has changed in the last four months and it’s overwhelming that he’s in front of me right now—but I’ve never been more sure about what I want. If I can hold fast to the grace and honor I’m showing myself, to this tender and honest thing of light blooming between us, I might somehow manage to have it all.
There’s a sudden, burning need in my chest to tell him the words that I hope will smooth out the lines on his face.
“Wells,” I breathe. “I—I have to show you something.” I pull him in through the door, then turn to search for the paper from Professor Zhang. I find it on my desk and pick it up, handing it to him.
He takes it from me, mouth twisting, and reads.
“I’ve transferred my program,” I explain. “Starting next year, I’ll be enrolled in the online campus.”
Wells looks up at me, brow dipping. “You won’t be here?” he asks. “In New York?” I shake my head, smiling. But he still looks concerned. “Then . . . where will you be?”
I laugh. “Wherever you are, I hope.”
The look on his face quickly morphs into disbelief. “With me?” he asks, his voice quiet.
I nod. “I know what I want, Wells. And it’s you. It’s the ranch and the rodeo, the horses . . . I want to be a part of it. I’ve started taking photos again. I want to build a brand for the ranch and showcase what your family is doing. Try to help bring in more resources. It’s time people start understanding all the good you Bennetts do. I could travel with you to rodeos, or wait for you at home and help your brothers with the horses. I just . . .” I pause, nerves rolling through me at the look on his face, like he’s frozen, with no indication of whether his feelings are good or bad.
“You brought me back to life, Wells. I was at my lowest point, and you were right there to lift me back up. You are where my heart belongs, where my home is. And I don’t want to live for another moment without you knowing that I love you, too.”
“Goddammit, Layla,” he says quietly. Tears fill his eyes, and he wipes his hand over his face. And then his smile is so bright it catches fire in my heart.
I already can’t wait for another.
“Are you sure this is what you want?” he asks, his voice still laced with uncertainty.
If we do this, it’s going to mean something to me.
I need you to be sure.
I close the distance between us and wrap my arms around his waist, pressing my cheek to his chest. He snakes an arm around my back, winds his fingers through my hair. “Yes,” I tell him. “I just needed time to heal some of my wounds. But I knew you’d be the one I wanted in the end.” I reach to press a kiss to his lips and smile. “Take me home, Wells.”