Chapter 25
BOBBY
Idrive all night, fueled by endless energy drinks and total terror.
I can only imagine what Jeremy must’ve said to her.
That’s what was wrong, why she pulled away from me and told me to go to Nashville.
She knew I’d turned Jeremy down for her, and for some damn reason, she thought sending me away and running back to the city was what needed to happen.
His cocky predator’s grin, enjoying breaking her heart, flashes in my head. Her face falling in hurt shock. I create scenarios again and again of how that conversation might’ve gone and get angrier with each replay.
How did I miss this?
Because while Jeremy fucking Marshall deserved that punch, the person who should be getting his ass kicked is me. I was the one who fucked it up by not being honest with her. I ruined it. I didn’t protect her.
Instead, she protected me. From myself.
Fuck that.
I’m going home, gonna grab her by that sweet little ass, kiss the fuck out of her, and show her what love is. For the rest of our lives, if she’ll let me.
Don’t give up on me. Surrender to us. Nothing else matters outside the world we create.
I finally make it back to Great Falls and Hank’s late on Thursday afternoon, my hand still aching from punching Jeremy.
I’ve driven straight through and feel like hell, but I couldn’t stop, wouldn’t stop until I made it to Willow.
The gravel in the lot crunches under my boots as I stride toward the door, my heart frozen in my chest.
“Willow!” I yell over the door’s creak.
Inside, my eyes adjust from the sunlight, and I see a few faces looking at me in shock from the sudden and loud entrance. The customers don’t matter to me, and I run for the bar, looking for her.
She’s not there.
Hank calmly and casually sets his Louisville Slugger on the bar, a quiet threat.
“You’ve got a lotta nerve showing your face in here.
Think you’re some big-shot deal now? Come to rub our faces in your record deal while I’ve been here cleaning up the mess you left behind you on your way to Nashville?
” The slow drawl is not a sign that he’s calm and casual.
It’s designed to give every barbed word accurate aim for maximum destruction.
He succeeds, and my heart bleeds out into my chest, making it tight enough to choke me.
The mess I made? I would’ve never left if she hadn’t left me!
Fury boils up. He’s standing between me and Willow and I can’t allow that.
I don’t want to hit Hank, so I do something more difficult than relaxing my clenched hands.
I search for words. “She told me to go! Said she was going back home to the city! I didn’t know Jeremy had told her fuck-knows-what about the deal. ”
He eyes me, cool as a cucumber for a long second where he holds my fate in his hands.
“Fuck!” I roar but immediately deflate, all my fight draining away until I’m nothing but an empty shell. “I didn’t know. I turned it down for her. I love her.”
Hank releases his grip on the bat and rests his hands on the bar. He doesn’t even have a bandage on the cut from the screwdriver anymore. It’s healed over. I don’t think this gash in my heart will ever heal, though. It’s too deep, too wide.
“All that girl ever did was love and support you,” he tells me, blue eyes narrowed as he studies me like he doesn’t get what she sees in me.
“You ever see her do one single thing for herself? No,” he scoffs, “that ain’t who Willow is.
She’s got the prettiest, kindest, most giving heart I’ve ever seen.
She’s a damn angel, and you . . .” He gives up on that description, just growling at me instead.
I’ve never felt like less of a man, less worthy of even breathing the same oxygen as Willow than I do right now.
“I know! I don’t deserve her, but fuck, I want her. I love her,” I repeat uselessly, sagging to the closest barstool.
Every eye in the place is watching me fall apart. I don’t give a shit. They’re gonna see way worse if I don’t get her back. This is the beginning of my end.
Ironically, I feel like the one person I never understood.
My dad. He was ugly, mean, raging at the world, and empty inside after Mom died.
Now I understand all too well because I could burn everything down, myself included, and it would be a relief to stop this sharp, never-ending pain.
The only cure is her or death. And if she’s not an option . . .
I slam my fist to the bar. The thunderous sound echoes through the room, which has gone utterly still and quiet.
Hank hollers to the people, waving a hand dismissively. “Go on about your business and leave us to ours.” Their heads drop back to their plates, but you can be damn sure they’re still peeking up to watch the show.
Quieter, just between us, he confides slowly, “She left her whole life behind to come here and take care of my grumpy, grudge-holding ass because that’s who she is.”
He looks at me pointedly, and moments fall into place in my cloudy mind. I realize what he’s saying by not saying it. Just as quietly, I ask, “You okay?”
He dips his chin. “Getting there. But this ain’t about me, it’s about you.
Willow told you to go, did that for you, you dumbass.
She shoved a knife in her own gut, broke her heart and yours, so that you could have the dream she knew you wanted.
Because that’s what she does . . . everything for everybody else.
She dips into her own soul and scoops it out so everything around her is damn near glittery with her shine. ”
I nod morosely. “I know.” He makes a snorting sound of disbelief, and I find the balls to look him in the eye and repeat stronger, “I know.”
“I thought maybe, just maybe, you’d be the one person who would see what she does and take care of her for a change. Lord knows, I haven’t had the energy to. I’m as bad as you are—take, take, take. At least I had a respectable reason.”
The judgement is clear. I’ve lost Hank’s respect. But I’ll earn it back the same way I’ll earn Willow back. By doing whatever it takes.
“Where is she?” I beg.
“Gone,” he sighs. “Went home to her parents.”
“Tell me where. Please.”
Following the directions my phone calls out, I turn through street after street. It’s not as big as Nashville, but there’s so much of everything. The sights, sounds, and smells are overwhelming.
How could she have left this when I know what it all means to her? This is the foundation of her work and what she’s always known.
On the other hand, how could she have left Great Falls?
It’s beautiful in its own quiet way. I know she sees that because it’s reflected in her photography.
Oh, yeah, I’ve been creeping on her blog like an addict looking for a fix.
I damn near jacked off to a picture of her ankles the other day because I could imagine my hands working their way up from those bony bits to the lush, firm muscles of her legs and the heaven between them.
But I’d forced myself to keep scrolling, needing more and more of her, wanting to know where she’d been that day, what she’d done, and who she might’ve seen.
And the way she captures my hometown is truly special.
How could she leave that? And Hank? It sounds like he still needs her.
Most of all, I fucking need her!
“You have arrived at your destination,” the phone drones. I pull into the driveway of the single-story house in the middle of a suburban street. This is definitely Willow’s house.
All the other ones are white, beige, bland and nondescript to the point of being interchangeable.
This house is blue with pale yellow shutters, a standout in sea of blah, just like Willow.
The yard is pristine, a lush green lawn and flower beds with layers of shrubbery and flowers.
That must be her dad’s doing. And the house numbers are modern, skinny metal but inlaid in a mosaic tile backing. Her mom’s artistic touch?
As soon as I can throw the truck in park, I’m out and running for the front door. She’s here, I know she is because her little Subaru is parked in the drive too.
I bang on the door too hard, unable to hold myself back when she’s so close I can almost sense her. “Willow!” I holler through the wood door, wishing it had a glass window so I could press my nose to it and see inside. I need to see her now.
The door swings open, and I get a quick glimpse of an older version of Willow with longer hair, but then I see her . . . my Willow. She’s standing in the living room, a mere six feet away. It’s too far by a mile.
I lose all control, and any words I thought I was going to say float away like dandelions in the wind. I rush her, grabbing her in my arms. A sound of surprise squeaks out of her, but I don’t give her time to say no, covering her mouth with mine.
I steal her breath, wanting it as my own. I take her lips, wanting their brand. I claim her mouth, wanting to kiss only her for the rest of my life.
Completely forgetting where we are and not giving a shit about who else is here, I spin her and push her up against the nearest empty wall. I cup her cheeks in my palms, holding her steady so I can mold her mouth to mine.
I’m proving to myself that she’s real and promising her that she’s still mine and I’m still hers. Nothing will change that. Not even Jeremy-Fucking-Marshall or any record deal.
“Willow,” I murmur against her lips, a plea for her mercy.
Behind us, a small laugh sounds out. “So you must be Bobby?”
I don’t move to shake her mom’s hand, though I know it’s rude.
I can’t take my eyes from Willow, can’t not touch her, though I do drop my hands to her waist, feeding my fingers through the beltloops of her shorts so I can brush along her soft skin.
“Yes, ma’am,” I answer, my eyes searching Willow’s face for some sign of what she’s feeling.