Chapter 21
Mellie
I rush to the bunkhouse and wait until I’m inside before allowing myself to cry. Wes totally brushed me off. He talked to
me as if I was a nobody, like I was some random acquaintance of his wife. I know he was acting that way for the benefit of
Lucy, who I know was watching us from the window. All I want is a few minutes. A few minutes to ask him what I did wrong.
Why can’t he even give me that?
I lie down on the lumpy cot and press my face into the pillow. Maybe it is time for me to leave. If I can’t even get Wes to
look at me, what’s the point? I hear a soft tap on my door and groan. I ignore it. I do not want to see Trent or Madeline’s
creepy sister. The door creaks open, and Wes steps into the room. I sit up, prepared for the onslaught of anger I’m sure is
coming my way.
“What are you doing, Mellie?” he asks, angrily. “What could you possibly think you would accomplish by coming here?”
I have a speech all prepared. I want to tell him that I am not disposable, that I can’t be simply tossed aside, but I know
that’s not true. He already has. But that doesn’t mean I have to go down without a fight. “Your sweet wife invited me,” I
say breezily.
“You stay the fuck away from her, do you understand?” Wes growls. “I want you out of here.”
“I guess that’s up to Madeline,” I say, examining my fingernails. “She told you, didn’t she, how much we have in common?”
I lay a hand on my stomach.
A storm of emotion spreads across Wes’s face. I search for something that looks like happiness but don’t find it. Wes turns,
and for a moment I think he’s going to leave without a word, but instead I hear the click of the dead bolt being turned into
place. “I don’t believe you,” he says, turning back to me. I shrug, going for casual indifference, but my heart is ready to
pound right out of my chest. “You know this isn’t the way to get what you want,” Wes says.
I give him my sweetest smile. “Oh yeah? Tell me the right way,” I say, getting to my feet and burying my face in his chest.
I breathe in the scent of him.
“Mellie,” he murmurs into the top of my head. “Don’t.” His hands grip my shoulders, and he takes a step back, creating space
between us.
I lift my chin to see his face, and there it is—the way I’m used to having Wes look at me. “Don’t worry,” I say, moving my
fingers to his zipper. “I’m not going to say anything to her. I just want to be close to you.”
“We shouldn’t,” he says, but there’s less conviction in his voice. “I have to go talk to the police, and then I’m going to
my brother.”
“Ten minutes,” I whisper. “That’s all I need.”