Chapter 25
Chapter Twenty-Five
WYATT
“This was your father’s band.”
My mother slides a ring across the table, right past the box of trinkets and the photo album of her and my father’s wedding day.
Brinley is currently napping in my old childhood bedroom, so our voices are low and hushed.
I take it, rolling the band between my fingers, but then setting it down with a shake of my head. “I can’t wear it, Mom.”
She smiles, leaning back in her chair. “Your dad used to make that same face when something was plaguing him.”
I huff, the memory of my father stinging. I came by this morning because I felt like I needed to. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed to see my mom. “He is so proud of you,” she adds.
“How do you know that?” I ask, running my eyes over my father’s gold band.
I have a lot of my father’s stuff from when he passed.
An old baseball glove, hats, tools. But nothing like this—nothing this sentimental.
Not something he cherished with his soul.
I haven’t done anything amazing with my life.
I’ve always done what I needed to do. What others needed me to do.
And I’m fine with it. But would he have wanted me to do more, be more?
“Of course, he’s proud of you.” My mother’s face softens, her blue eyes a mirror to my own.
“He loved you boys more than life. You grew up too fast, Wyatt. Took care of me and your brother when we needed you most. And now you’ve given a broken woman her spark back.
You’ve shown her what love is supposed to look like for her and her little girl.
I’m proud of you, and I know he is, too. ”
Do I love Whitney? Is obsession equal to what love feels like?
I don’t know what it means to be in love.
All I know is that she’s wormed her way into a once empty spot in my chest. That I’d walk over hot coals for her.
Rip my heart out and give it to her if hers stopped beating.
I know I’ll fight for Brinley like my own.
I know I… I love both her flaws and the way she never tries to hide them.
Maybe I do love her. But it doesn’t matter, does it? Not if she doesn’t love me. I’m not any different than Andrew if I didn’t fight for her when I had the chance.
“Do you know why I gave her that ring, Wyatt?” my mom asks.
“Because dad asked you to.” I mutter back. That’s what she told Whitney, at least.
“Yes and no.” She tilts her head back and forth.
“I promised your dad I’d only ever give up that ring to a woman who was as worthy as you.
Who worked hard but loved harder. Who matched you in spirit and wildness.
Someone that challenged you, because you’ve always been the kind of person who needs a little extra push. That’s why I gave it to her.”
I don’t respond, still mulling over her words.
Some days it’s easy to forget how similar Whitney and I can be, because she has a strength I don’t think I’ll ever be capable of.
An ability to smile even after walking through hell.
My lips part, but my mom speaks again. “If you think I don’t know there’s something odd about a rushed wedding, you’re undermining how smart your mother is.
” She gives me a pointed look, and I have to fight from shrinking in my chair.
It feels like I’m seven years old again.
“I don’t know what truly is going on between you and Whitney, but I do know that you look at her the way your father used to look at me. ”
A burn lights under my nose, and I have to blink to control it. “I wish he could have met her and Brinley.”
“He’s watching over them now, my boy. That’s what matters.” She leans forward and picks the ring up again, shoving it onto my finger. “So, take it. Wear it. But wear it with pride son, because it’s so much more than a plain old ring.”
I reach across the table, and I hug her. For the first time in a long time, I hug her, and let myself appreciate the life she’s supported me through. Maybe that’s why I love Whitney, because she reminds me of the same strength my mother poured into Wesley and me for our entire lives.
I pull into the driveway in front of the house when Whitney’s making a beeline for my truck. The sight of her hurried steps makes my heart race in panic, and I’m ripping my door open “What is it? What’s wrong?”
I scan her head to toe for any injuries. Nothing visible. She comes to a stop before me. “It’s fine-”
She stops, eyes catching the new accessory on my hand. “Is that a ring?”
I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose at her attention span. “Whitney, just tell me what’s wrong.”
She eyes it, but rolls back her shoulders and holds her hands up like she’s telling me to wait. “Now, don’t get mad.”
“It sounds like you’re gonna make me mad.” My brows raise, and my pulse jumps. What? Did she run over a fence trying to pack up one of the work trucks again?
“Andrew stopped by.” She says it so quickly it nearly gives me whiplash. That’s so, so much worse than a broken fence. Or a battered truck.
“What do you mean Andrew stopped by?” I try my best to keep my voice level and my temper down.
I don’t think it works because she narrows her gaze at me. “Do I need to spell it out for you? A-N-D-”
I cut her off, taking a step towards her. “Why didn’t you call me?”
He was here? On my ranch? Alone with Whitney? I would be setting up a security system today. No one will be coming and going without me knowing from now on. I could’ve been there when he was here, if she had just fucking told me.
“Because I handled it just fine.”
“You handled it?” I have a hard time believing that. “What did he want?”
“I- well,” she stutters, “I actually don’t know.”
I roll my chin, feeling my knuckles tighten. Whitney frowns. “You said you wouldn’t get mad.”
“No, I didn’t,” I remind her.
“Okay, well I told you not to get mad.”
“If someone shows up threatening my wife-”
Whitney’s light laugh does little to ease my sour mood. “I hate to break it to you, but I’m not technically your wife until tomorrow.”
I take another step towards her, pressing the palms of my hands into my eyes. If I get another headache from Whitney’s typical antics, I’m positive they’ll become permanent. “Why are you so difficult?”
“Why are you so moody?” she fires back.
“When did he leave?” I ask.
“Maybe fifteen minutes ago,” she shrugs. I don’t waste any time whipping around to my truck. I motion to the passenger seat with my head. “Get in."
“What? No.” She parts her feet like she’s ready for a fight and crosses her arms.
I glance back, ripping open the door. “Whitney, I swear to God-”
She stomps towards me, slamming shut the door of my truck. I gape at the balls on this woman. She hisses, “You- no, we are not going to go hunt Andrew down right now.”
“And why wouldn’t we?” I ask, barring my teeth right back at her. I might get a headache from clenching my jaw so damn hard.
She reaches her arm up to knock, literally knock on my forehead. “Because your head is clouded by rage and not rational thinking.”
My mother’s words suddenly ring in my ears.
The ones about finding someone who evens me out, who balances my senses and puts me in my place.
Suddenly, I really, really hate that I went to my mom.
Otherwise, I probably would have let rage overcome me and beat Andrew to a pulp like he deserves.
But Whitney, unfortunately, is fucking right.
I pull a deep breath in through my nose and close my eyes. “Get inside.”
“You could ask a little nicer-” I shoot her a glare. One that tells her my patience is wearing thin. She puts her hands up in surrender, backing away, “Okay. Getting inside.”
Men wander in and out of the house, shirts with a Hometown Eyes logo on every single one.
It’s the closest security company to town, and probably the only one with the dumbest name in the world.
But they got the job done in less than two hours, and I can’t help but appreciate that.
We had cameras installed in every corner of the house, inside and out.
“Isn’t this a little excessive?” Whitney asks, taking a bite from the toast I made her a few minutes ago.
“No.” I shake my head looking around. “I think we might need to add one at the gate, too.” She must realize how tense I am because she stands, chair scraping against the hardwood, and does the unthinkable—wraps her arms around me in a hug.
I don’t hesitate to do the same, arms crossing over her shoulders and pulling her in closer.
“I will call you next time. I promise.” She breathes softly against my chest. My heart squeezes.
Because for all her attitude and fight, I know this Andrew situation is bothering her more than she’ll let on.
“Thank you,” I whisper against her hair. I really do mean it. If something were to happen to her–to happen to Brinley–on my watch, I’d never be able to forgive myself.
“Maggie pissed on him,” she says quietly. My laugh is immediate, ears not believing the words she just spoke. It rumbles against her, and she shakes when her low, flirty laugh joins mine.
“No, she didn’t.” I protest, not believing it. Now I really wish I had cameras up at the stalls before.
“She really did.” Whitney laughs again, nudging her head farther into my chest. “I love that damn horse.” I nod in agreement.
She’s growing on me, too. Whitney pulls back slightly but doesn’t let go of me yet.
Her doe eyes look into mine, and all of the emotion swirling in them hits me like a battering ram. “I’m scared, Wyatt.”
My brows furrow at the shake in her voice, and I tug her closer, if that's even possible. “I know. But I’m here now.”