9. Reese #2
It’s only through prayer that I found the strength to climb the steps onto Weston’s porch. Aside from the repaired railing and sturdy porch boards, the cabin looks nearly exactly like it did all those years ago when my family moved here.
Yet there’s a heaviness to it now.
Or maybe that’s just me.
Lord, please help me.
After taking two Advil and lying down for half an hour, I’m functional, but the pounding in my head is still present. I nearly skipped out on coming over here, but he’d looked so worried about my mom earlier, and I feel like I owe him an update, given all he’s done for her.
I could have called. Probably should have. But would he even answer?
Maybe I can still try to call first.
No. I’m here now. I can do this.
Before I can convince myself to run the other way, I raise my fist and knock. You worked side-by-side with Phil for months after you broke up. You can face Weston. Except what I felt for Phil was never even close to a quarter of what I felt for Weston. He was always so much more.
He was always…everything.
The door opens, and Weston comes into view. He’s wearing dark sweats and a black tank top stretched across a broad, muscled chest. It reveals more of his tattoos, as well as some scars I’d really like to avoid looking at, but I can’t help it.
I drink him in.
My mouth dries.
My pulse hammers.
How is he this gorgeous? How is it fair that he aged the way he did?
“How is she?” he asks, his deep baritone a reminder of better days.
The emotional toll today took weighs on me, and I fight the urge to lean into his strong arms and let him hold me like he did after we lost my dad. He was a rock for me, a steady reminder that I wasn’t alone in my pain.
And now—we’re nothing.
Tears prick the corners of my eyes, but I tell myself it’s likely just from the migraine. It has to be.
I clear my throat and meet his gaze. “The doctor ran a full toxin panel and discovered benzodiazepines in her system.”
“I didn’t realize she was on any medications.”
“She’s not,” I reply. “She has no idea where they came from and swears she hasn’t ever taken one. Of course, things only got more awkward when the doctor accused her of buying drugs.”
“Your mother would never do that.”
“I’m well aware.”
“Then what does that mean?”
“I’m not sure. I got her home and settled, and went through her pill organizer, but there was nothing but her normal supplements inside.
I still tossed them all just in case. She has more on the way to replace them.
” The throbbing in my head beats back the relief from the Advil, and my vision swims. I cross my arms. “Can I come in, or are you going to make me stand out here all night?”
Weston moves out of the way, so I step into his cabin.
The living room has certainly changed, even if the outside hasn’t. Where there was once a floral couch, a leather three-seater has been added. The small TV he had growing up has been replaced with an impressive flat screen mounted on the wall.
There’s no trace of the pictures or decorations that had once adorned the walls, and the mirror his mother once hung over the fireplace is gone as well. Did he remove all of it because it was too painful to have the reminders? Or was he just looking to spruce things up?
He shuts the door and heads into the kitchen where he’s been cutting up an apple.
“My mom told me that she hit some financial trouble a few years ago.” When he doesn’t respond, I continue, “She said that she was going to lose this place to the bank until you stepped up and made a major payment on the loan.”
Never one for words, Weston sticks an apple chunk into his mouth and chews. I try to ignore the warmth in my stomach as my gaze momentarily flicks to his lips.
Get it together. Thankfully, the desire is short-lived, due to the pain of this migraine that just won’t quit.
“She said that you refused to let her add you to the deed for this place and that you only agreed to be her business partner when she asked you to take over a lot of the business-related responsibilities.”
He eats another piece of apple.
“Ugh, why are you making this so hard?” It infuriates me to see him standing there, cool as a cucumber, while my brain is aching and my heart feels like I’ve taken it out and beat it with a stick.
“Making what hard?”
“This!” I gesture between the two of us.
“I’m the one who was blindsided to find you back in town.
I’m the one who had no idea you were still living and working at my mother’s ranch.
So how can you stand there, staring at me, as if I have no right to deal with this the way I need to deal with it!
” I pinch the bridge of my nose, hoping to alleviate the pain, but it only makes it worse.
I need to get home before the Advil fully wears off and I end up falling over right in this beautiful savage’s living room.
“I never said you couldn’t deal with it however you need to deal with it.
But if your entire intention here is to beat me over the head with how disappointed you were to find me here, then I’m not interested.
” He stands exactly where he is, eating another piece of apple as though he can’t be bothered to care that I’m clearly upset.
“Did you ever even care?”
“Did you?” he demands, expression turning furious. At least it’s a change from the coolness on his face moments ago.
“Of course I cared.” A tear slips down my cheek, and I quickly wipe it away. I’ve cried enough tears over Weston Hayes. I won’t start again. Reaching out, I steady myself on the back of his couch, close my eyes, and count to ten, controlling my breathing as I go.
One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.
When I open my eyes again, the migraine having subsided just a smidge, Weston is standing less than two feet away from me.
“You have a migraine.”
I should have known he’d see it.
“It’s been a long day,” I snap.
“You need to sit down.”
“I need to go home. I only came here to tell you what I found out at the doctor’s because I had this crazy idea that you would care.” I’m lashing out now, trying to hurt him because I’m hurting. Is it fair? Absolutely not. Can I figure out how to stop? Also, a no.
His gaze narrows on me, expression shifting from concern to that unreadable mask once again. “Thanks. I do care.”
“Sure you do.”
He shakes his head and takes a step back. “I’m not getting into this, Reese. Say what you want to say. Hit me. I don’t even care anymore. Just stop pretending like you weren’t the one who moved on a long time ago.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I went to Charleston,” he snaps, jaw tight. “I saw you getting dropped off at your apartment by some guy in a suit.” He clenches his hands into fists, and I take a step forward. “I saw him kiss you. Saw you smile afterward. The entire night is burned into my memory like a bad tattoo.”
“What are you—” And then I remember. Lyle Winslow. We’d been friends when I was in veterinary school. He’d tried to move us into something more, but I wasn’t interested. That was over ten years ago. “You came to Charleston?”
“I guess I thought there might still be a chance to fix what was broken. I was clearly wrong.”
“How could you have known? You didn’t even try!”
“Reese, I’m not doing this,” he repeats. “Not tonight. Not ever. Say what you want, and get out. Go home and lie down before you pass out from the pain.” He tosses what’s left of his apple into the trash, then marches past me toward the front door.
When he pulls it open, I force myself to leave his cabin.
I’d wanted to thank him.
Wanted to tell him how much I appreciate everything he’s done for my mom, but I can’t make any of the words come out.
They’re all trapped behind walls I’m too terrified to take down.