Chapter 58
Chapter Fifty-Eight
NASH
It turns out the grand exit was quite the show.
There was a big hullabaloo when Uncle Jamie attempted to light his cigarette with his sparkler.
Aunt Shirley had to take it away from him, but he got the damn thing lit.
He looked like a cat who caught the canary the rest of the time we waited for Henry and Hazel to come out.
Their mom had decorated Henry’s truck, which was nearly twenty-five years newer than Wyatt’s, with a just married sign, as well as flowers in the truck bed and empty cans tied to the bumper.
It sat in the drive at the end of the walkway waiting for them.
When they came out everyone shouted over Hazel’s wardrobe change.
Gone was her elegant, flowing, yet fitted, floor-length gown.
Replacing it was a short number with tassels of pearl beads around the hem.
It glittered in the sparklers and the camera flashes as they walked down the middle, pausing only for another dipped kiss.
It was so sweet to watch as Henry helped Hazel into the passenger seat of his truck.
Wyatt had told me that the wedding coordinator had already packed up all their stuff and loaded it into the backseat.
They’ll go straight from here to the hotel in Milwaukee to catch their flight to their Florida honeymoon tomorrow.
After we could no longer see their brake lights, people broke off into small groups to talk and make plans for breakfast tomorrow.
Wyatt turns to me, and I can instantly read the heat in his gaze. “Ready to go?”
“I’ll meet you back at the farmhouse.” He seems reluctant to leave me even to drive his own car home, but I don’t think they want us leaving cars in the parking lot overnight.
I take my time driving back. I’m in a tornado of emotions.
The pull I had toward him this morning, the one I’ve always had for him, is still there.
His strong arms call to me, telling me that once I’m wrapped up in them, everything will be okay; he’ll make me feel good.
My kitty is being tugged in that direction.
My heart is beating a bruised rhythm. Every beat of it sounds like fake, fake, fake.
It hurts knowing that at one point, years ago, he was possibly in love with me.
When he purchased that chest, he wanted more from our relationship.
How could he have sex with me on the beach in front of the fire just two days ago when he knew his ultimate goal was to come back here?
Why did I kiss him back knowing the same?
The answer is easy, but disappointing. You don’t have to be in love with someone to have sex with them.
You can be attracted to their body and not interested in anything more than friendship.
I just have to decide if I can accept that from Wyatt.
Right now, we are fake dating with benefits.
Will I be okay to return to just being friends with benefits, or not even friends at all, when we go home tomorrow?
If we’ll be nothing when we return to Houston, what do I want from the rest of tonight?
Him.
His body.
One more time. I’ll take the feeling of his warm skin beneath my hands and keep it tucked away for the rest of my life. I’ll smile when he says, ‘this was fun’ and wait to let the tears fall until I’m back in my own room.
I start the car and pull out of the venue parking lot.
Let’s go get my one last time.
Before I know it, I’m pulling down the long dirt driveway to the farmhouse.
When I shut the door to the chartreuse disaster, I spot Wyatt leaning over the porch railing, his forearms thicker than the plank of wood they’re leaning on.
He watches me as I come up the steps, and greets me with a kiss when I’m in arm’s reach. “Are you hungry?” he whispers.
“No, I had my fill of wedding cake.”
He moves to open the door for us. “Ma and Pa already hit the hay. They’ll see us tomorrow morning before we go to the airport.”
“I hope they had fun,” I whisper back as we walk through the main area and to the stairs.
“I think they did. Maybe they’re in a bit of shock that their oldest is a married man, but I think that will quickly turn into excitement for grandbabies.”
I laugh and he shushes me. “Sorry,” I whisper.
When we get to the landing, we just look at each other for an eternal second.
Wyatt’s been trying to tell me something all night.
Now’s his time to fess up to whatever it is.
My stomach twists at the thought that he might be about to tell me he’s somehow already made a deal with the Butchers and is headed home to pack his bags.
He heaves a breath that’s big even for his size. “We need to talk.”
Okay, so we’re going to figure this out now. Perfect. “About what?”
“You know now is my chance to go back to the Butchers,” he starts.
“So you’ve said.” Anger rises up, choking me. After letting me fuck him, getting a taste of what it feels like to really be with him, he’s telling me—what is he telling me?
“But when I saw you tonight from the altar, I knew that’s not what I wanted any more.
I don’t have to come back to Wisconsin to be happy.
I’ve been chasing the wrong thing. I was so mad about the way I left Green Bay, I let it affect my relationship with my team,” he takes my hand and holds it, “and you. I won’t do it anymore.
I can’t. I thought I’d get clarity coming back here, but I haven’t. You know what I have thought about?”
“What?” Is that all I’m capable of saying in such a big moment?
“The way you fit in my parents’ kitchen. The way you laugh with my brother and his friends. How beautiful you look when the sun strikes you the perfect way. It’s the same sun here and in Texas. And it’s the same you.”
I want to sink into everything he’s saying. Take it all and shove it in my pocket, but something doesn’t make sense. “Layla told me what the cedar chest means. It’s more than just a common gift between friends.” I look at him, but he says nothing. “Isn’t it?” I urge.
“Yes. Like I’m sure she told you.” He looks at his sock feet. “My mom keeps the clothes Henry and I wore on the way home from the hospital in her’s.”
“You said you bought it years ago.”
“I did. At the end of our senior year.” His voice is rough, like the gravel road that leads to Vandergriff Farm. This is starting to all add up.
“So what? You loved me then, kissed me before I left, but didn’t love me enough to do anything about it for five years?”
“No.” There’s genuine hurt in his voice. Like it’s painful to think back on that time.
“Then you agreed to fake date me for six months,” I continue.
“It’s not like that,” he pleads.
“Now you’re saying you don’t want to come back to Wisconsin? What does all of this mean, Wyatt?” My eyes search his face, looking for signs of the truth. I don’t want any more miscommunication between us. I can’t do another five years of holding my tongue.
“It means I want this to be real, Nash. It means that it’s felt real to me this whole time. It means the years we were apart I was suffering without you.”
“The mixed signals are going crazy, my guy.” I try to laugh but it comes out weak.
“You already admitted that you felt something after we kissed and didn’t say shit about it either,” he says back, like that’s checkmate.
“You kissed me.”
“And you ran away.” He crosses his arms as if that helps him prove his point.
“I had a flight the next morning.” How dare he. My first instinct is to be mad, but there’s a small part of my heart that’s breaking at the idea that we’ve both lost five years because we were both waiting for the other to do something.
“You had time that night to stay and figure things out, but you took off,” he says accusingly. So what if my bags were already packed and all that there was left to do was wait for it to be time to head to the airport? I didn’t want to say a real goodbye to him.
“So, what? You agreed to fake date me because you’ve been in love with me this whole time?” I wave my arms around like a crazy person.
“Yes,” he whisper-yells.
“Oh.” I pull my hands back to my chest.
“I loved you when I got you the cedar chest, I loved you when I kissed you that night, I loved you the entire time you were in Italy, I loved you when you asked me to be your fake boyfriend, I loved you when we slept together after the championship game, I love you right now in the house I grew up in.”
“What does that mean for us? Tomorrow? When we’re supposed to go home and go back to being friends?” My instinctive anger is fading away, getting harder to hold onto in the face of my desolation.
He shakes his head. “I don’t want to go back to being just friends.
We don’t have to change anything we’re doing right now.
We can just stay the same and be real like we’ve been telling everyone it has been.
” I don’t remember what it feels like to have a hold on your emotions.
It seems like I haven’t for days now, weeks even.
The high of winning a league championship, the high of sleeping with Wyatt for the first time, the low of him telling me his plans to go back to Wisconsin remain intact despite everything between us.
If I had been honest with Wyatt at my going away party, would we have stayed together those five years?
Would I have made it five years being long distance with him?
Or would I have cut it short and come back, possibly hindering my career?
It must have been a long time since he finished speaking because he says, “Nash? Say something.”
I can’t yet. I don’t want to break this moment with what if’s and what about’s.
Yesterday I was thinking maybe I could see myself leaving and coming to be with him in Wisconsin, and now he’s telling me he’s ready to give up on coming back?
What does this man actually want? And can I trust him when he says he wants me?