Chapter 27
Jett
Iknock once.
Then I shift my weight.
Then I knock again, lighter this time, because my hands don’t know what they’re supposed to do.
It’s ridiculous to feel this nervous. I’ve seen her in cutoffs and muddy boots, bloody from losing her first tooth, hair sticking on its ends from sleepovers.
Still, my pulse is hammering like I’m fourteen again, standing on her parents' porch before our first homecoming dance.
It doesn’t help that my brain has been replaying her nightmare from a few nights ago.
Hearing her screams and feeling her body fighting the demons in her sleep only confirmed my suspicions that more has happened to Wren than she’s let on.
My stomach twists in knots every time I think about it.
I’ve seen evil, and it makes me sick to know she’s been through something she never should’ve had to endure.
I want answers, but I won’t press her. Not when she’s been slowly opening up to me.
I tug at the knot of my tie like it’s trying to strangle me. Hell, it might be. I don’t wear suits and ties. I haven’t dressed this formally since my dress uniform days.
The sound of the lock turning has my head snapping forward.
As the door opens, every thought evaporates.
She’s breathtaking in a deep, glossy emerald satin dress.
It catches the light like it was made for this exact moment.
Skimming her body instead of clinging, the fabric drapes over her barely-there curves with an ease that feels criminal.
Thin straps sit at her shoulders, bare skin warm and glowing against the rich color.
The neckline dips enough to make my throat go dry.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
Her hair is down, soft waves brushing her collarbone. Makeup subtle, making her whiskey eyes glisten. She’s no longer the wild, spunky girl I fell in love with nearly fifteen years ago.
No, now, she’s a woman—one who’s far more beautiful, given how cruel the world has been to her.
“Hey,” she greets, lips curving into a shy smile. “You’re right on time.”
I blink, unable to form words.
Realizing I’ve been silent for too long, I shake my head out of my daze.
“Goddamn,” I mutter, honestly and helplessly. “You… Wow. You look beautiful.”
Her smile grows, pleased but still bashful, and that somehow wrecks me even more than the dress. Is she unaware of how stunning she is? How has no one been telling this woman that fact every single day?
“You clean up pretty well yourself.”
I glance down at myself, hyperaware of how different I feel from my usual jeans and boots.
Tonight, I traded them in for dark tailored slacks and a crisp button-down, sleeves rolled enough to show the ink and muscles of my forearms. No baseball cap.
Instead, I styled my hair with some gel my sister gave me.
Boots swapped for polished leather shoes that still feel somewhat like me.
I have a jacket in the truck; it’s too damn warm out here for one, but I’ll put it on when we get to the hall.
I don’t look like a farmer tonight. Or a soldier.
I look like a man taking his woman out.
It’s been a while since I’ve been just a man. Not a veteran. Not a farmer. Just Jett Riggsby. It’s fitting it’s happening with Wren, when she’s never given me a reason to not be myself.
“Figured I should at least try to match you,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck.
Her eyes sweep over me. Slow. Appreciative. I feel her gaze everywhere. The quiet way it lingers and the faint hitch in her breath, making my own catch. For a moment, we’re both standing there, drinking each other in, like we’re afraid one of us might disappear if we blink.
“You ready?” I ask and offer my arm. Glancing down at her sky-high gold heels, I wonder how the hell she manages to walk in them. With the added height, she’s only a few inches shorter than me.
With only a moment’s hesitation, she slides her hand into the crook of my elbow. Satin brushes my sleeve.
And I know.
Walking into that fundraiser with her on my arm isn’t going to be simple.
It’s going to be everything.
The drive into town is quiet at first, but it doesn’t feel awkward.
It’s comfortable. Familiar. Wren fidgets in her seat, flicking through songs on my playlist until she finds one she’s vibing with.
Fleetwood Mac fills the cab. Not any song, one of the songs that feels like summer. A lost memory of the two of us.
Her face lights up instantly.
“I love this song,” she breathes, like she’s found a lost treasure. “You have this on your playlist?”
How do I tell her I have all her favorite songs on my playlist? Even though we haven’t been together in ten years, I still find myself listening to her favorites, wishing she were riding shotgun, begging the world to give me another chance with her.
She turns it up and settles back into her seat, hands waving through the air as she vibes along with the rhythm.
I try my damndest to keep my eyes on the road, but it’s impossible not to glance over.
She’s riding shotgun the same way she always used to—window cracked, chin slightly tipped toward the breeze, hair shifting with the movement of the truck. For a split second, I’m not driving into town as an adult with scars and regrets.
I’m a teenager in love with my best friend. Windows down, sunburned arms resting on the wheel with my girl beside me. Her laughter loud and reckless as she sings along, getting half the words wrong, her body thrown out the open window as she lived carefree.
Summer days felt endless.
Back to a time when the world hadn’t broken us yet.
My chest tightens as I watch her for longer than I should, memorizing the way her mouth moves with the lyrics, the way her body shimmies to the beat like the song lives in her bones.
She feels it. I know she does, because her eyes flick to mine, catching me watching her.
“Eyes on the road, J,” she teases with a smirk. God, I love my nickname on her lips.
“Can’t help it,” I admit. “You always had good taste in music.”
“Have.” She laughs, warm and easy, turning the music down to a low hum beneath us, rather than filling the space.
I ease on the brakes as we drive along Main Street, turning onto a side street as I navigate us to the hall. The music fades as I turn down the volume.
But the feeling lingers.
Pulling into the lot, I kill the engine as the June sun sits high enough to wash everything in its golden glow. Wren reaches for the handle, but I place a gentle hand on her forearm to stop her.
“Stay,” I say, soft but firm.
She stares at me as I step out and round the hood, opening her door. The sunlight catches the green of her dress, and for a second, I forget how to breathe. As she looks up at me, something unreadable flickers across her face before she smiles.
“Thank you,” she says quietly.
I nod, offering her my arm. She hesitates for the briefest of seconds, but it’s long enough for me to recognize the concern in her eyes.
She’s worried about who’s watching and what they’ll say.
This damn town and their gossip. Is this what her life was like in California?
Being on a reality show, in the spotlight, wouldn’t have been easy.
And here she is, in a small town with busybodies who rival paparazzi.
I’m close to opening my mouth and reassuring her when she slips her hand into the crook of my elbow. Heat blossoms at our contact like a shot straight to the heart.
I guide her across the lot, aware of how effortlessly we move together. I admire the way her dress glows in the sunlight and how a few people near the entrance glance our way, not bothering to look away.
By the time we reach the doors, the talking around us has softened to curious whispers.
Betty Jones is stationed inside the door at the welcome table. Wire glasses sit perched on the tip of her nose as she checks people in. Her eyes flick up when we approach, her mouth tightening into something that isn’t quite a smile.
“Names?” she asks.
“As if you don’t know who we are,” Wren sasses, and I love seeing this side of her appear.
Betty scoffs, looking offended. “I didn’t realize this was…a joint appearance.” She looks us up and down, homing in on where Wren’s hand is still clutched in the crook of my arm.
Wren stiffens at my side, tugging her hand slightly, but I place my opposite one on hers, halting her retreat.
Betty marks us off the list, then looks at us again. Judgement laces her glare. “I thought tonight was about athletics and not rehashing old history.”
The nerve of this woman. I don’t raise my voice. My mom would have my head if I talked disrespectfully to my elder.
“Tonight is about the athletic programs, but it’s also about celebrating what she built,” I say calmly and clearly, eyes steady on Betty.
“Jett,” Wren starts, but I shake my head.
I gesture past us, toward the open hall. “Those dice stacked by the door? Her idea. The color palette, the whole layout, every inch of this room is hers.”
Betty blinks, pursing her lips. “It’s not like she was the only one who thought of a casino night.”
“No, but she took an empty hall and turned it into this. And she did it for the kids, the programs, and the community that has talked behind her back for years, including you.”
I glance at Wren, at her mouth slightly parted and eyes shining. It pains me to know how much this beautiful woman was missing praise.
“And it looks incredible.”
The silence that follows is brief, but noticeable. Finally, someone has left Betty Jones speechless. I bet Joe Whitley would pay to see this moment.
“Enjoy your evening, Ms. Jones.”
We step past her, and Wren nuzzles closer to my side. “Who knew you had it in you, Riggsby?”
I roll my eyes. “Back to the last name?”
She flashes me a devilish smirk. And I can’t help myself. Before I know it, I’m leaning down and pressing a chaste kiss to her temple, relishing how she gasps.
“Jett…”
“Don’t overthink it, baby.”
Stepping through the archway, the space opens up into a large room. The soft glow of overhead lights mixes with the string lights strung across the ceiling, reflecting the gold accents and emerald green-covered tables. Everything feels alive, humming with anticipation of a fun night ahead.
“Why does this feel like deja vu?”
“Feels like senior year prom, doesn’t it?”
She nods, a small smile playing on her lips. “Play your cards right, and you might end the night the same way.”
My eyes widen. “Wren Drummond, are you saying what I think you’re saying?”
She shrugs, and I huff a laugh. We stand there for a moment, our eyes locked as we both replay the memory of our senior prom.
I realize whatever is said about us, whatever people think, none of it matters. Because right here, right now, this moment belongs to us.