Chapter 47
THATCHER
I’m pacing the office like a caged animal.
Up. Down.
Past the desk.
Past the window.
Back again.
Willow should’ve called by now.
I know she went to the Supercenter—I checked the business card log, saw the timestamp myself.
Which means she’s on her way back.
Which means this shouldn’t feel like my chest is being crushed from the inside out.
But it does.
Because she didn’t call when she said she would.
Something’s off.
I’ve lived on this mountain my whole damn life. I know when a storm’s coming before the forecast says a word.
I know when a tree’s about to fall.
I know when something’s wrong.
And this feels wrong.
My palms itch like I want to put my fists through a wall. My lungs won’t quite fill, no matter how deep I breathe.
It’s like watching a foreign film without subtitles—everything’s happening right in front of me, and I can’t understand a goddamn thing.
The phone rings.
I grab it so fast I nearly knock my coffee over, heart already sprinting.
“Willow?”
“Thatcher?”
Kelly.
“Fuck,” I mutter, dragging a hand down my face.
“Well, that’s a greeting,” she snaps. “Nice to hear your voice too, baby brother.”
“Sorry,” I grind out. “I’m just—”
Waiting. Worrying. Losing my damn mind.
“Never mind. How are you?”
“How am I?” she echoes. “Healing. Bored. Trapped in my house with daytime TV and your brother-in-law’s terrible cooking.”
I exhale. Just a fraction. “Good.”
“Uh-huh. You’re wound tight, Thatch.” Then her voice shifts. Sharper. “You waiting on Willow?”
My gut twists. “Have you heard from her?”
“Well, I heard about her.” She pauses, lets it land. “And I heard what she heard.”
My spine goes rigid.
“Kelly.”
“Don’t take that tone with me. I’m not the one who let my girlfriend—thanks for telling me about that, by the way—walk into the bank at the exact moment Darla Stern waltzed back into town.”
My heart drops straight through the floor.
“What?”
“Two of the biggest gossips in the county were there,” Kelly continues, merciless. “They had plenty to say. About Darla. About you. About the engagement. About why it ended.”
The room feels too small. Too tight.
Fuck.
“She heard all that?”
My voice is rough. Dangerous.
“She walked out, Thatch.” Kelly softens just a notch. “Didn’t finish her business.”
Images slam into my head—Willow standing alone in that bank.
Confused. Hurt. Hearing whispers she shouldn’t have had to hear. Seeing her.
And she had no warning.
Because I didn’t tell her.
I was so busy learning everything about Willow—every smile, every fear, every soft sound she makes when she sleeps—I never told her the ugliest parts of me.
The parts that could make her doubt this.
“Thatcher?” Kelly says. “You still with me? I know hearing Darla’s in town must be upsetting—”
“What? I don’t give a fuck about Darla,” I snap. “I care about Willow. Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” Kelly admits. “But the real question is why do you care?”
“Because,” I answer. “I love her.”
“Oh, Thatch.”
My chest tightens.
“She’s not leaving.”
“You sure about that?” Kelly presses. “Because if she thinks you hid something—”
“I didn’t hide it,” I cut in, even though the words feel thin. “I just… didn’t get there yet.”
Silence.
Then, softly, “You do love her.”
“Yes.” No hesitation. No doubt.
“Does she know everything?”
I close my eyes.
“No.”
Kelly exhales. “Then you need to fix that. Now. No more secrets. No more assumptions. Women hate that shit, Thatch.”
The truth hits hard.
She deserves all of me. Not just the parts that feel good.
“I’ll tell her,” I say, voice steady but my hands shaking. “Everything. Before she ever hears it from someone else again.”
“Good,” Kelly says quietly. “Because that girl’s been through enough.”
The line goes dead.
I stare at the door, heart hammering, fear clawing up my throat.
Please come back, Baby Girl.