Chapter 17
Wesley
We’re less than an hour away from where we’re picking up the chute, and if it wasn’t for all the stops, I know we’d be there by now.
But that’s just how it goes with a trailer, traffic, and a girl who’s gotta pee or eat every hour.
Although…she did take a nap for about forty-five minutes.
I’m not complaining; I’m thrilled she wanted to come along and keep me company.
This would’ve been a boring trip by myself.
I reach to turn down the radio. “Once we get off, I’m gonna have to start paying attention to these back roads,” I tell her.
She nods and adjusts herself in the seat, sitting up straighter. “I know. I’m ready to help.”
“Oh, well, you’re not really the best with directions, so maybe I’ll just handle it,” I suggest playfully.
I watch her mouth fall slack. Her eyes narrow at me and she lets out an offended scoff.
“What? Did you forget about the rodeo incident?” I give her an eye and she sits back in her seat, arms crossed, trying not to smile.
It was two years ago. We went to this rodeo with some friends—the rodeo she met Brantley at actually—and long story short, she had the GPS. I was driving and she somehow managed to get us eighteen miles in the complete opposite direction.
We laugh about it all the time now, and she’s a good sport, but good Lord, I still to this day don’t understand how it happened. My family teases me, say I was just lovestruck. While I know that’s true, I’ll still argue that wasn’t the reason until I don’t have to anymore.
Our laughing is interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing on the empty middle seat between us. I see Brantley’s picture on the screen for a split second before she swipes to answer it.
I hear his voice, but I can’t make out what he’s saying. I keep my eyes on the road in an attempt to look like I’m not listening.
“Tonight?” she asks. “I won’t be home in time, we’re still on our way.” Her voice sounds nervous.
She tucks her other hand between her knees and presses them together. All I hear is Brantley rambling about something. It sounds a little aggressive, which I don’t like.
“I told you—” she starts, but he cuts her off. My grip tightens on the steering wheel, knuckles whitening. Dread swirls in my stomach. What happens after they hang up? Will she handle it on her own like we agreed, or am I about to get put to the test on keeping my opinion friendly.
“Are you serious?” Her voice cracks. My ears perk even more and my heart skips before it quickens. Her face is blank, but she huffs, not angrily but like she’s exhausted. She stares at the phone screen, the call ended now, and I don’t hesitate for even a beat.
“Everything okay?” I look at her, though her hair is blocking me from seeing her face. Her reply consists of a sniffle and my stomach drops.
“Addison.” I reach over and push her hair out of the way. Tears are racing down her face faster than I’ve ever seen. “Hey, hey, hey, what’s wrong?”
“He just broke up with me.” Her voice shakes, her hands trembling when she reaches to wipe her tears.
I’m rocked. I wasn’t expecting that. This really puts a wrench in the day.
“Seriously?”
She nods in response, as if words are too heavy or hard to put together. She tucks in her lips, closing her eyes, but tears still break through.
Realizing I can’t possibly focus on the directions right now, not when she’s having a mental breakdown, I pull off to the side of this back road we’re on and shift my truck into park. Each sob coming from Addison is wrecking me more than the last.
I drop my voice to a steady, gentle tone. “Did he say why?”
She shakes her head. “We were in the midst of a fight, but he said couldn’t deal with my anxiety anymore.”
My heart hurts for her but my anger also builds around his reasoning. Breaking up with her because of her anxiety is the stupidest thing you could do. Plus, to be mad at her for it? He didn’t even let her talk.
I hold my hand out. “Give me your phone.”
I’ll give him a piece of my mind. Not that I think he deserves her at all. But I still have some things that come to mind I’d like to say.
“No.” She shakes her head.
“It wasn’t a suggestion.”
“Wes, stop! You wanted this anyway. Don’t act like you actually feel bad!” she snaps.
I know I hated them together, but now I wish I could hit rewind. I don’t think I’ve ever seen her this upset. I would’ve remembered it ripping my heart out like this.
I let my truck idle and get out.
Opening her door, I pull her out and into my arms. I feel her let go, her body getting heavier, like she wants to fall to her feet and she knows I won’t let her.
“I’m sorry he’s a jerk,” I mutter, brushing my hand down her hair.
“I hate this,” she cries and pulls away from me. I almost don’t let her, but then I remember she might not be able to breathe if she’s anxious at all. “I feel stupid that I’m this upset over it.” She wipes her cheeks. Failing to meet my gaze still.
“He told you he loved you, Addie…it’s not stupid.”
“I just feel blindsided. I didn’t know he was having second thoughts.”
“Would you have changed something if you did?”
“Huh. I don’t know. I tried my best. I tried to push myself, but it just didn’t always work out and wasn’t always worth it.”
“Clearly he didn’t see the full picture like we all did.”
“What do you mean?” She looks at me, her eyes red and broken. I take half a step back, the cold wind picking up and blowing through my sweatshirt. I tense.
“Let’s get back in the truck first,” I suggest.
I pull back onto the road before I answer her question, trying to brace myself for the rest of the drive, and then the entire way home… It might get interesting.
“We all saw it—you were trying really hard. And anyone who couldn’t see that isn’t worth it,” I say. She wipes her eyes with the tips of her fingers and her nose on the sleeve of her sweatshirt. “Don’t cry over an immature jerk, Addison,” I say.
* * *
We get to the guy’s house ten minutes later. It’s almost 1 p.m. Addison’s been pretty quiet and I’m not pushing her to talk about anything if she isn’t in the mood to.
She stays in the truck while we load the chute onto the trailer.
When I get back in the driver’s seat, I notice she’d just gotten done crying again but is trying not to show it. I don’t say anything. I’m not sure if I should. Like I said, I’ve never seen her this upset before.
“You hungry? We can stop for lunch,” I say.
“At, like, a restaurant?” Her brows knit.
“Yeah, unless you don’t want to.”
“We don’t have to sit down somewhere. We can just eat in here,” she responds, as if it’s a burden to share a meal with her in public.
“I just thought…we’re out, might as well make it worth it? Cheer you up a little? You can pick the place,” I offer.
She looks out the window. “So many options,” she jokes, pointing to all the trees. A smile tugs at the corner of her mouth before she picks up her phone. “There’s a Texas Roadhouse not far off from the way we came.”
“You sure it’s the way we came?” I ask, “Let me see. I don’t trust you after the rodeo incident,” I tease. She rolls her eyes and shows me the map.
After twenty minutes of silence between us again, I get an antsy, unsettling feeling.
This drive home is going to be really long if this is how it goes.
I know she can’t just ignore the feeling of being hurt.
They were together two years. I get it, and I don’t want to force her to talk about it.
But I’m also worried about her thought process towards it.
I don’t want her to blame herself for his actions.
Because if I know her like I think I do, I know she’s already doing just that.
“What are you thinking about?” I try to ask gently. It’s a sorta stupid question and it might piss her off.
She slumps down in her seat more, adjusting her feet up onto my dash. “Just trying to figure out how I’m going to fulfill my dreams of getting married and having kids if I can’t even manage to keep a relationship. They kinda go hand in hand.”
“Oh, is that how that works?” I joke. But her glare says she doesn’t think I’m very funny. “I’m sorry,” I say immediately.
“I just don’t think I’m in the mood to talk,” she mutters, turning away and looking out the window.
“That’s fine. We can listen to music.” I reach for the dial. A Morgan Wallen song takes over the cab.
“Are you serious?” she says, her voice cracking. I look over at her, tears emerging from her eyes while she’s staring at the radio.
“What?”
“This was our song!” she cries.
“Damn it…” I hit the power button. I try not to laugh, saying, “If you think I had anything to do with that…”
“Obviously I know you didn’t,” she mutters.
“Okay, because—”
“I’m just so mad at him!” she shouts. “I’m mad at myself!
Why can’t I just be a normal person! Ya know, I used to think, like, ‘Oh, I’m a good person, I’ve got my head on fairly straight, I try my best to be a good Christian.
’ I really, genuinely, didn’t think I had much wrong with me.
I don’t think I’m ugly or anything, but this anxiety, throwing up over a simple nervous breakdown, just ruins it all, doesn’t it?
All of it! Nothing else seems to even matter!
” Her voice ricochets off the walls of the cab, but then it’s silent. Painfully silent.
“Addison,” I murmur. “There’s nothing wrong with you.
You’re an amazing person, you’re funny, you’re smart, you’re witty, you’re beautiful.
” My throat dries but I press on. “You have it all. Any guy would be lucky to have you,” I admit.
The words are coming out of my mouth so naturally that I feel a slight shift in the air between us.
“I wasn’t asking for a pity party, I’m just pissed off. You don’t have to try and talk me up to be some great thing when I’m not, Wes.”
Her negativity about herself makes me suddenly angry. My blood actually feels hot. I wouldn’t lie to her, and I know she knows that.
My voice finds an edge. “I’m not lying about a single damn thing I just said.”
“Yeah, well, you’re my friend. You might think differently if you were my boyfriend,” she utters, and a lump forms in my throat.
If she only knew.
I swallow and feel a little relieved when I see a sign for Texas Roadhouse three miles away.
“Three miles,” I point out.
She starts to put her shoes on and clean up a little. Not having a clue about the conversation I just completely pushed off to the side.