Chapter 19
CHAPTER NINETEEN
NOW
I wake with a start, my body jerking and stomach sinking as the sensation of falling washes over me. But I’m not falling—I’m in bed, tucked between a heavy comforter and foreign bedsheets that smell like Irish Spring and faint hints of cigarette smoke.
On impulse, one eye snaps blearily open, and I take in the room around me: an ugly taupe wall with a vintage portrait of a rodeo arena hanging in a wooden frame, an old pine desk and chair set, and a brown leather belt with a bright silver buckle hanging over the back of it.
Wells .
With a second jolt, the memories of last night come crashing back and I quickly turn to look behind me, searching for the six-foot-three source of comfort whose tenderness surprised me last night. But the bed is empty on the other side, the comforter pulled up and tucked underneath the pillow. I reach a hand out to find it cold.
Turning back to the other side of the room, I eye the large metal door that opens into the parking lot, as if it might clue me in on where he is. Thankfully I don’t have to wonder long, because just as I’m peeling myself out of bed, that metal door pushes open, and Wells walks in with a bakery bag and a carrier of coffees. “Hey,” he says when he spots me, his mouth curving into a soft smile.
“Hey,” I say.
“How’d you sleep?”
I shrug. “Really good, I think. I hardly remember even going to bed.”
He arches a brow. “Well, it was kind of a tough night.”
“Yeah . . . thanks for that,” I say, and I mean it. “I cried all over your shirt.”
His smile widens. “Trust me, I’m not offended.”
I laugh, shifting on my feet.
And then I realize I’m not wearing any pants.
My head falls as I visually assess this new and confounding update, and I see that I’m wearing an oversized Wild Coyote T-shirt that falls mid-thigh. Then I remember.
“Here,” he says, picking up my bag. “I’ll bring this to the bathroom.”
I throw a hand out to stop him, pressing an open palm softly against his chest. “No, it’s okay,” I say. “I don’t think I have the energy for my usual before-bed routine. I’m just going to sleep in my clothes.”
Wells’s brow dips as he lowers the bag back to the ground. “You can’t go to sleep in jeans, Layla.” But the look I give him must be convincing enough, because he relents. “Here then.” He pulls out a dark green shirt from the top of his bag and holds it out for me. “Wear this.”
“Oh,” I say now. “I, um . . .” I look back up at Wells and find his focus caught on my legs. “I’m sorry,” I rush out as I dart away, face burning with embarrassment. “I need to give this back to you!” I march toward the bathroom, praying last night’s clothes are still where I left them. I shut the door behind me with a soft thud.
“I’m just going to run a coffee to Kasey,” I hear him call from the hallway. “I’ll be back in five.”
“Sounds good!” I shout, doing what I can to get out of this shirt. The back of my hand hits the wall with a loud whack , and I hear boots shuffle closer.
“You okay?” Wells asks. His voice echoes like it’s mere inches away from the door.
“Fine! Just . . . hit my hand.” I tug on my own shirt from where I found it folded and stacked on my jeans.
“Okay,” he says. And then I hear him move away as he leaves the room. The metal door clicks shut, and I let out an exhale.
By the time he comes back in a few minutes later, I’m seated at the foot of the freshly made bed with my bag ready and waiting at my feet. “Hi,” I say cheerfully, doing my best to stamp away any awkwardness that sharing a bed or wearing his shirt might produce. I take a long sip of the coffee he left behind for me and try not to make a face at how bitter it is.
His eyes bounce to mine, warm and yet . . . distant. “Hey. Kasey’s ready to go whenever we are.”
“I’m ready.” I nod.
“Okay.” He scoops up my bag and I stand to follow him out the door, but just as he reaches for the handle he pauses, turning around.
“I think you should find someone to be there for you,” he says quickly, as if he’s rehearsed the line all morning.
“What?” I ask, my brain working to assign meaning to the words.
“I think,” he repeats, slower and a bit more carefully, “you should find someone to be there for you. And I’m not sure that it should be me.”
I frown. “Why not?”
“Because I . . .” He pauses, eyes falling to the ground. “I don’t think I can be what you need. Not right now, at least. And I-I need some time. To deal with everything.”
Just like that, the wounds reopen.
“I—I’m sorry,” I stammer, confused. “I shouldn’t have gotten so emotional?—”
“No,” he interjects, eyes rising back to mine. A morning sunbeam lights up half his face, and I notice how tired he still looks, and I’m worried it’s partly because of me. “I’m not saying that, Layla. But I think we’re both going through a lot right now, and it’s all really heavy and hard and . . . I think it might be better if we processed it apart.”
I nod, hoping he can’t see the shame burning bright beneath my skin. “Yeah, okay,” I agree, even though the sentiment carves new fissures in my already fractured heart. “I totally get what you mean.”
The lie rolls easily off my tongue, and it must be all he needs to hear because he turns back toward the door and pushes through it.
Outside, the sun blinds me, and I throw a hand up to shield my eyes as I follow behind Wells. Kasey is already waiting by the truck, sipping on his own coffee. “Morning,” he says. “Ready to hit the road?”
All I can do is nod as I climb silently into the truck.
The drive home is mostly quiet, which only increases the anxiety churning in my chest. Wells keeps his focus out the passenger window, careful to keep his legs and arms from touching me despite being smashed together on the bench seat. Thankfully Kasey doesn’t seem to notice anything amiss; he’s been singing along with old Hank Jr. songs since we left Dallas.
Now that we’re approaching Saddlebrook Falls, my nerves have also ignited thoughts of my mother. I know she’s probably furious with me for skipping town and leaving her with nothing but a note—she’ll be even more outraged when she finds out that I spent a night in a motel with Wells and Kasey.
But when Kasey pulls up to the curb, I realize I might be having another stroke of luck—Mom’s car isn’t in the driveway.
Wells makes quick work of unbuckling himself and jumping out on the sidewalk, giving me room to scoot myself out. Just as I reach the edge of the seat, I turn around to look at Kasey. “Thanks for letting me tag along.”
He smiles. “Anytime, Layla. You’re always welcome.”
Warmth blooms in my chest at the unexpected words. I smile back at him, then jump down onto the cement where Wells waits with his hand on the frame of the door. His face is unreadable, and my chest cools at the reminder that I might not be welcome anywhere with him , as Kasey suggested.
I grind the toe of my shoes into the ground and say, “So—” just as he says, “Thank you—” But it makes him smile as he nods for me to go first.
“So,” I start again, “for what it’s worth, I appreciate that you invited me to go with you guys. And I’m sorry I got emotional last night, but I really did love getting out of town for a bit.”
His earthy brown eyes stay focused on mine. “It’s no problem. Thank you for coming along, and don’t apologize for your emotions, Layla. There’s nothing to be sorry for.”
I want to press him further, ask him why he’s pushing me away then. But I know it’s probably not ideal with Kasey waiting patiently in the truck. So instead, I just say, “I’ll see you around,” and head up the front walkway, back to reality. I hear the car door shut behind me, and though I don’t look back, I still notice that Kasey doesn’t pull away until I get through the door.
Just as I turn around to peek from a safe vantage point behind the curtain, I’m startled to see Annie’s already there with her face glued to the window.
“Was that a horse trailer?” she asks curiously.
I clutch my chest as a laugh spills out of me. “Yeah.”
“Was there a horse inside?”
I smile at her. “Yep, a big beautiful white horse named Ghost.”
“Wow,” she breathes.
“Maybe I’ll take you to see him someday,” I say, though I regret the words as soon as they come out. Mom would never let Annie come with me to Bennett Ranch, and I’m not even sure I’m welcome there after what happened this morning.
“Mom’s pretty upset with you,” Annie confides, looking up at me with worry splashed across her face.
I keep an easy smile plastered to mine—I don’t want Annie to worry about Mom and me. “I figured she would be,” I say. “I’m sorry I left like that, but I needed a little break from my own mind. And being here sometimes doesn’t help, you know?”
She considers this. “Where did you go?”
“To Dallas. For a rodeo.”
Her eyes light up like the Christmas tree behind her. “A rodeo ?”
“Yes,” I laugh again. “Some of my friends are cowboys who work on a ranch. That was their horse.”
You should find someone to be there for you.
And I’m not sure that it should be me.
“Since when are you allowed to be home alone anyway?” I ask, forcing all thoughts regarding Wells Bennett from my mind.
“Since I turned thirteen,” she declares with pride. “But only for, like, an hour at a time. Mom just went to the grocery store.”
“Ah, I see,” I say. “So on a scale from one to ten, how mad is she?”
She tilts her head, as if appraising me. “Well, you didn’t say where you were going. And you weren’t home for church this morning.”
I nod. “So, like an eleven?”
“At least a fourteen.”
“Shit,” I say, wagging my eyebrows. “That sounds pretty serious.”
She giggles, and we hear a car pull up outside. “She’s home,” Annie says ominously. I know she worries about Mom and me getting along—she’s witnessed more strife between us than I’d ever want. But as much as I want Annie to respect her parents and enjoy her relationship with them, I also feel a quiet sense of pride at the opportunity to teach her to find her own voice. To uncover her own hopes and dreams for her life.
I’d hate for her to fall into the belief that who she marries will make or break her life’s success, and I want her to know there’s so much more out there than simply growing a family. She’s at the age now when my mother started to drill those things into my head; I can only hope she finds a way to be more accepting of Annie.
I realize my sister is holding her breath as my mother walks in the door, eyes immediately landing on me. I lurch toward her to grab the grocery bags from her hand. “Here, let me help,” I say.
Mom hands the bags off without argument as she studies my face. “Where were you?”
A quick glance at Annie shows her worried expression. “I was invited to a rodeo with some friends,” I say. “And, to be honest, the distraction of it sounded really good.” I silently beg her to let it go. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you ahead of time.”
She nods. “What friends?”
My heart stutters because I know exactly where this would go if I gave her the truth, and I hate that I have to lie about Wells and Kasey. The Bennetts are good people—they don’t deserve the level the distrust the rest of the town extends toward them. But my mother is hardly one to be agreeable, and Wells did ask for space after all.
“Regan,” is what I settle on. “And David.” I catch Annie’s expression change in my periphery, but I keep my focus trained on the way Mom’s face lights up.
“Oh, how are they doing? Gosh, I haven’t seen either of them in a while.”
“They’re good,” I say smoothly, eager to end this conversation. “Anyway, I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’m . . . going to put these groceries away.” I turn toward the kitchen.
“Thank you, bug,” Mom says from behind me. And I let out a breath of gratitude.