14. Weston
Weston
“You and Reese are both okay?” Vivian asks me for the third time over the phone.
“We’re fine. She’s getting cleaned up now.” I peer out of the bedroom window into the stormy darkness. “The horses will be safe and secure tonight; we can only hope this storm blows over sooner rather than later so we can get them back to the main barn.”
“Radar says the worst of it will pass in a couple hours.”
“Good.”
Vivian is quiet for a moment. “You okay, kid?”
“Fine.”
“Seeing Reese get hurt must have been hard.”
Understatement. Years of my life were taken off, watching her fall. “She’s okay.”
“That’s what she said, too.”
“I’ll get her back home first thing tomorrow.”
“Thank you, Weston. Take care of my girl, okay?”
“Always.” The word is out before I can stop it, but even as vulnerable and foolish as the declaration makes me feel, it’s one hundred percent true. And Vivian knows it. There’s not a single thing I wouldn’t do for Reese.
“Call if you need me. Goodnight, kid.”
“Night.” I end the call, then place both hands on the top of my dresser.
Reese is here.
In my shower.
I can hear the water hitting tile even from here, a deafening roar in my ears.
In the years following our split, I would wake in the middle of the night, imagining she was still with me and I was here, rather than in some undisclosed location around the world.
I would see her here in the living room, curled up with a book, or lying in bed beside me, curled on her side and pressed against me.
Then reality would set in, and I would find myself cold and alone.
Those were the moments I hated myself the most.
It got worse when I came home, and more than once, I considered going to Charleston to find her again. But that image of her being kissed on her doorstep always stopped me because I knew that, if she were remarried, it would destroy me.
So I let myself linger in the past. Where she was mine, and I was hers.
“Shower felt great.”
I jerk up, my mouth drying at the sight of her standing in the doorway, hair in red wet ropes over her shoulders, my clothes drowning her slight frame.
The sight of her hits me like a punch to the gut. A jolt of electricity shooting straight through my body.
This is going to be a problem.
“I’ll toss your clothes in the wash.” I start to move forward, but pause before I get too close. Because she’s staring up at me. Those gorgeous blue pools daring me to jump right in and drown.
Man, what a way to go.
“Thanks.”
“Yeah.” I reach out and take her hand so I can help her out of the bathroom, then leave her to lean against the wall while I go in and grab the pile of clothes and blanket she left on the floor.
With them in hand, I head back out and wrap my free arm around her waist so I can guide her out into the living room.
I hate that I’ll have to let her go in a minute because holding her—even for an instant—brings me far more peace than I deserve.
“Sit here, and I’ll get these started.” After helping her down into the armchair in my living room, I take the clothes and toss them into the washer, along with her jeans and what I was wearing.
Then I slip back into the living room as quickly as possible. Since my couch has dried mud caked to it, I grab the cleaner and some paper towels on my way in. Kneeling beside it, I spray and wipe, swabbing up the mud so I’ll have somewhere clean to pretend to sleep later.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Don’t worry about it.” I put the cleaner away, toss the paper towels, and wash my hands, then return to the living room. She’s still sitting there, staring into the fire, looking far too gorgeous to be real.
“How do you feel?”
“Not too bad, surprisingly.” She laughs softly. “Though I imagine I look like a drowned rat. You didn’t have a mirror in there, so I couldn’t check,” she raises her gaze to look at me. “What happened to all of your mirrors? I noticed the one over the fireplace is gone, too.”
“I didn’t see the point in keeping them,” I reply. It’s a lie, but I’m not entirely sure how to tell her the truth.
“In keeping mirrors?” she presses.
I take a deep breath. “They’re not really helpful when you can’t stand to see what it is you’re looking at. I’ll be out in a few.” I don’t wait for her response as I move around her and head down the hall toward my bedroom.
After I got home from helping my mom move to Florida, I stood in the living room and just stared at that blasted mirror she’d hung over the fireplace. I could clearly see myself in it, the reflection of a boy who’d had to become a man way too soon.
But I didn’t recognize him.
See, he’d lost everything and everyone who ever really mattered to him.
I hated him.
So I removed all traces of him I could think of. I took down each and every mirror and hid them away in the cellar since throwing them out would have brought too much attention. Not seeing myself made it easier to breathe in those months following burying my sister and losing Reese and my mother.
Especially when every waking moment was dedicated to trying to destroy the broken shards of the man they left behind.
I finish changing the sheets and cleaning up the bathroom. These few minutes give me time to breathe. The distance made it easier to gather the strength needed to face Reese again. But by the time I’ve gotten into the living room, she’s not sitting in her chair anymore.
Instead, she’s standing in the kitchen, finishing up two mugs of tea.
“Hey, hope it was okay, but I really needed something warm. Chamomile?” She offers me a steaming mug.
“You shouldn’t be moving around yet. We don’t know if it’s broken.”
“It’s not. And I need to move around to stretch it out. Otherwise, I’ll end up with a tight hip and even more pain.”
“How do you know?”
“Because, if it were broken, it wouldn’t feel better yet.” She smiles, and I can’t tear my gaze away from her. How could I have been stupid enough to let her get away? Why do my feelings seem even stronger now than they did back then?
Reese breaks eye contact first. “I haven’t added anything to it yet. I know that’s how you used to drink it, but if you want—”
“No. I don’t add anything to my tea.” I take a sip of the hot liquid, trying not to show just how much it burns as it slips down my throat.
Then again, pain has always served as a great distraction for me.
She puts the honey back into my cabinet, then clears her throat and meets my gaze. “Listen, I know this is awkward.”
Awkward? Nah.
Painful? Gut-wrenching? Makes me want to take my chances outside with the storm? Sure.
But definitely not awkward.
“It’s fine. I talked to your mom.”
“That’s what she said. I called her to check in again, too.” She purses her lips together, then takes a deep breath. I can sense the firestorm of things she wants to say, and I can’t decide if I want to hear them or if I’d rather sleep out on the porch just to avoid her.
“Look, say what you want to say so we can move on.” I set the tea down and cross my arms. Seems we’ve moved on to the difficult conversation part of the evening.
“Where is your mom?”
Her question catches me off guard. My mom? Why does she want to know about my mom? “What?”
“She’s not here. Did she move into town?”
I stare at her, reading the question she’s not asking: is she alive?
“In Florida. She left the week after we buried Violet.”
“What? She left you?” Reese’s horrified expression is enough to make me wish I’d downplayed it. Pity is one thing I really, really don’t need.
“Why are you so surprised? Seems like that was the thing to do after Violet was in the ground.”
The words hit their mark, and I regret them the second they leave my mouth. Her expression darkens, and her bottom lip trembles.
Running both hands over my face, I take a deep breath. “Sorry. Yes. She left. Said living here was too heavy a reminder that she didn’t have anything left.”
“But she had you.”
I snort. “According to her, I was a reminder of my dad, and she couldn’t stomach looking at me anymore, knowing that he’d cost her everything.”
“Weston.” My name is spoken softly, each syllable dripping with pity.
“Look, it’s fine. I dropped her off in Florida, and that was that.”
“Does she come visit?”
“I haven’t seen her since.”
“Do you talk to her at all?”
“Once a year. Though that’s ending, too.”
“That’s horrible.” I can see her trying to process what I’m saying, picturing what it must have been like for me in those days. That’s what Reese does. She’s empathetic to the core, putting herself in someone else’s shoes is second nature for her.
“At least I didn’t have to deal with her being so high she didn’t even know my name.” I start to turn away.
“I’m so sorry, Weston.” Eyes shimmering with tears, she stares at me.
I close my eyes, the words hitting me square in the chest. Taking a deep breath, I try to slip a mask into place as I turn to face her again. “For what? It’s not your fault that she left.”
“I left you, too.” Her eyes glisten with tears, and I flex my fingers at my sides, desperate to reach for her. Would she come into my arms? Or lean back in disgust?
Needing the slight distraction, I run a hand over the back of my neck. “Yeah, well, I wasn’t the greatest support.”
“I should have been there for you. You were hurting, and I was selfish.”
Selfish? Is she serious? “Reese, I really don’t want to get into this.”
“But I do. I need to move forward, Weston, and I can’t do that with this weight between us.”
Move forward.
Those two words are an anvil dropped on my head. They hurt worse than any bullet I’ve taken, any blade that’s sliced through me. Because as much as I don’t want to admit it, her return was something I hoped meant repairing what was between us.
Not moving on from it.
“Then say what you need to say.”
Reese comes around the counter, keeping a hand on the edge to steady herself as she moves, stopping with only a few feet of distance between us. “I was weak, and instead of facing you directly, I ran. So, I’m sorry, Weston. You needed me, and I wasn’t there.”
You needed me, too. It just took you leaving for me to figure it out. “It’s in the past.”
“For me, it’s not.” She takes a deep breath. “Every year, I’m reminded of what we lost.” She presses a hand to her stomach, and I have to take a step back. I’d been so excited to be a dad. Which surprised me because I had such a terrible one growing up.
But I truly believed I’d be better.
That I’d be the father Violet and I should have had.
And then that was taken from me, too.
“Reese, I can’t do this. You need to move on?
Then fine. I’m sorry, too. I was so wrapped up in losing my sister that I wasn’t there when you needed me.
It was another hit, and I wasn’t sure how I was going to get back up.
By the time I surfaced, you were gone.” Saying it out loud somehow feels like another blow.
Reese nods, then wipes tears from her cheeks. “I realized that what I did was wrong. No matter what, I should have been there for you, and I wasn’t. You were my husband.”
“Yeah, well, it all turned out fine,” I snap. “I need sleep, and so do you. I’ll take the couch; you can have my room.”
“I wasn’t fine,” she says.
I close my eyes, fighting with everything left in me to keep from completely losing my head.
My jaw locks so hard it aches, but I can’t let her see.
She can’t know how bad it was. How lost I felt.
How badly I wanted to join Violet in that dirt.
Because giving her that power to wield over me again is a mistake I don’t intend to make.
No matter how badly I want to.
“You’re fine now, and you’ve said what you wanted to say, so let’s move on and put it behind us.”
“Weston—”
“I’m tired, Reese. You’re injured. It’s been a long day. Let’s get some sleep.”
She wraps an arm around herself and nods, silent tears slipping down her cheeks.
“I can help you—”
“No, thanks. I can do it. Goodnight.” She starts down the hall, keeping one hand on the wall to brace herself. All while our two mugs sit on the countertop, the steam curling into the silence.