Chapter 12
Chapter Twelve
Wyatt
I have to get some air.
I storm through the kitchen, the screen door clattering against the frame as I push through it.
The cooler evening air hits me like a bucket of water, and I take a large, ragged gasp of it, trying to settle the roar in my blood.
I stop at the edge of the porch, bracing my palms against the rough wood of the rail, and drop my head between my shoulders.
What the fuck is wrong with me?
I can’t seem to get a handle on myself around Emily Callahan.
The girl I’ve barely given a second thought to for twenty-three years, save for a few distant, dusty memories of pigtails and skinned knees.
She turns up here out of the blue, smelling like vanilla and looking like a dream I’m not allowed to have, and suddenly I can’t fucking function.
I inhale sharply, the scent of the early evening and dampening earth doing nothing to cool the irritation beneath my skin. I scrub a hand down my face, my stubble rough against my palm.
I was fucking horrible to her in there.
The words fell out of my mouth like I couldn’t hold them back. I couldn’t stop myself, but now, standing in the quiet of the porch, I feel like such an asshole. Truthfully, I am an asshole. I’ve been nothing but an asshole to everyone for four years ever since Charlotte died.
Emily did nothing to deserve that. She’s been here barely two weeks, and she’s already stepped in to save my ass in all sorts of ways.
She’s taking my kid to school, she’s fixing the bridge, she’s actually making Alex smile.
And all I can do is snap at her because she wore a skirt that made me want to forget every promise I ever made to stay broken.
I need to get away from the house, even if it’s for an hour to cool off.
I trudge down to the stable and find Dixie.
She’s stubborn, flighty, and doesn’t give a damn about my feelings, which makes her the only being on this ranch I can relate to right now.
I spend an hour in the pen breaking her, pushing my body until my muscles ache and my shirt is stuck to my back with sweat.
By the time I’m done, the edge of my anger has dulled, and I’m exhausted.
I look at my watch as I make my way back up the porch steps.
The sun is lowering, and I notice my shadow lengthening across the yard.
It’s 8:00 p.m. Alex won’t be heading to bed yet, and there’s no doubt he’s probably in there trying to convince his grandpa to teach him a card game so he can beat the guys down in the yard again.
I quietly slip into the kitchen. Thankfully, nobody is in there.
The house is humming with the distant sound of the TV and Alex’s laughter, but the kitchen is quiet.
I head straight to the cabinet and pour myself a glass of bourbon.
I shot the first one straight down. The burn of it sliding down my throat is unforgiving, proof that I can still feel something besides a constant ache.
I bring the bottle to the rim of the glass and pour another. I don’t normally drink like this. I’ve been strict on myself since I’ve been the only parent, but tonight…
Tonight, this seems to be the only thing that’s numbing the fucking noise in my head.
I grab the glass, jab it briefly under the ice dispenser, and find my way back to the wicker chair on the porch. I plan to watch the sun go down for a while and try to make sense of some of the insanity currently working its hell on my mind.
I sit here with my eyes closed for a while, the condensation from the glass chilling my palm as the bourbon does its work. I’m not sure how long I’ve been out here, but the world is starting to feel a little further away.
Then, the porch door creaks.
“Oh, sorry! I—I didn’t realize you were out here.”
I turn my head to the left, and every thought I thought I’d wrestled into submission comes back to clobber me. It’s like the universe is playing a sick joke on my willpower.
Emily is dressed in the tightest, smallest pale blue workout shorts I’ve ever seen in my life.
The bottom of them barely covers her ass cheeks, leaving almost nothing to the imagination.
They’re contradicted by a massive, navy oversized hoodie and a pair of silver headphones she’s wearing around the back of her neck.
Her legs are incredible—long, toned, and glowing in the fading light. She looks like a runner, like a city girl. She looks like everything I should be staying away from.
I take a slow sip of the bourbon, the burn of it a welcome distraction from the way my pulse is currently betraying me. I clear my throat. “You going for a run?” I ask, my voice roughened by the alcohol and yelling at Dixie for an hour.
“Uh, I was just gonna take a walk before the sun goes down. It’s a nice evening.
Thought I’d get more of my bearings in this place again.
” She shifts her weight on her sneakers, the movement drawing my eyes back to those impossibly short hems. “You’re, uh, you’re welcome to join me if you feel like it? ”
I hate how cautious she’s being around me right now. Like I’m a wounded animal that might bite or a fuse that’s a second away from blowing.
There’s nothing that terrifies me more than the thought of being alone with Emily right now. Because there’s nothing in this world I want more right now. I lift my glass, the ice clinking against the side. “Thanks…but I don’t think I’m the best company tonight.”
She smiles softly but tentatively. “Okay. Well, I’m not going far if you change your mind.”
She turns awkwardly and starts making her way down the steps, and Goddamnit if the view isn’t a direct hit to my self-control. Her perfectly round ass in those shorts makes my dick twitch.
The eager bastard is still alive, then. Great.
I can’t keep my eyes off her as her feet hit the gravel. The deep-rooted guilt bubbles to the surface again. The way I spoke to her in there, I’m surprised she’s even talking to me, let alone asking me to accompany her on a walk.
My grip tightens on the glass, and I’m surprised the crystal doesn’t shatter in my palm. I should stay here. I should go put Alex to bed and lock myself away in my room and wallow in silence. It’s worked for the past four years. Why break the habit of a lifetime?
But as I watch her head toward the trail, the golden light of the setting sun catching the sway of her hips, the distance increases, and I feel a pull I can’t ignore.
I need to apologize. I need to show her I’m grateful for her right now because I’m drowning.
Despite wanting to keep her at arm’s length, I don’t want her to hate me. Even if it’s only for Alex’s sake.
I drain the rest of the glass in one long, burning swallow and set it down on the wicker table with a thud.
To hell with it.
I shove off the chair and head down the porch steps, my boots hitting the dirt with a purpose. I’m not even sure what I’m going to say, but the distance between us is closing fast.
The sound of my heavy footsteps on the gravel makes her stop.
She turns around as I reach her, and the breath leaves my lungs all over again.
Up close, with the orange glow of the horizon reflecting in her eyes and her hair slightly tousled by the breeze, she is absolutely stunning.
It’s the kind of beauty that hurts to look at.
“Maybe a walk is a better way to clear my head than bourbon,” I answer sheepishly as we settle into a pace side by side.
The way the gravel crunches beneath my boots is a stark contrast to the light, graceful step of her sneakers.
“That, and the fact that I really need to apologize for being such an asshole to you earlier.”
I keep my eyes on the dirt path ahead. I can’t look at her, not when I’m this raw, and definitely not when she’s looking at me with that soft, expectant silence.
She reaches out, her delicate hand coming to rest on my shoulder. “Wyatt, you don’t need to apologize. Look, I get it. You have a lot on your plate.”
The touch is brief, but it’s like a live wire. A spark ignites where her palm meets my shirt, and I’m almost relieved when she slips it away.
“Yeah, but it wasn’t fair of me to snap at you when all you’ve done is try to help. I really am sorry.”
Her lips curve sympathetically, and she nods, accepting the olive branch. We walk in silence for a long moment, the only sound to be heard is the repetitive chirp of cicadas in the tall grass and the distant lowing of our cattle.
“He really is a great kid, you know? Despite all that’s happened,” she says warmly. The way she speaks about Alex with genuine affection tugs at a part of my heart I’ve kept under lock and key.
“Yeah, he is. I just…I feel like I’m letting him down. Constantly.”
“You’re not. You’re just trying to be too many things to too many people.”
I let out a short, humorless breath. “What other choice do I have?”
“Plenty. People want to help you, Wyatt, but I get the feeling you’re keeping everyone at arm’s length.”
“I’m just…I’m protecting us both.”
“From what?” she asks with a gentleness to her voice. “I’m pretty sure the worst thing already happened to you both. You know he keeps a photo of his mom under his bed?”
I stop dead in my tracks. The world seems to tilt on its axis. “What?”
“Yeah, he hides it under his bed. He told me when I picked him up.” Emily stops too, turning to face me. The evening shadows are darkening the trail, but her eyes are bright with a fierce kind of honesty.
“Wyatt, I don’t want to overstep here, but it seems like he’s crying out to talk about her. There’s a lot he isn’t processing because he thinks he has to be tough like you.”
A wave of cold, sharp grief bubbles up in my chest. I’ve spent four years trying to bury Charlotte’s memory because it was the only way I knew how to keep breathing. I don’t respond, but I can feel Emily’s gaze searching my face.