Chapter 44 #2
“I can be nearby without being on top of you,” he said quietly.
“Okay,” I whispered.
Wyatt’s gaze softened. “Okay.”
I went into my room, the small space that had once been mine and now felt like borrowed air, and I started packing on autopilot.
My hands shook as I folded. My stomach churned, empty and unsettled. Every few seconds, my mind flashed with images I didn’t ask for. The cabin door. Colin’s voice. Wyatt’s arms. The crunch of gravel. Holt’s shadow moving in the dark.
I breathed through it.
In for four.
Out for six.
Again.
When my suitcase was half full, I stopped and sat on the edge of the bed, staring at my hands. They looked normal. They didn’t look like hands that had been trapped. They didn’t look like hands that had clutched at Wyatt’s jacket like it was the only thing holding me together.
My fingers curled into the blanket.
A sob rose in my throat, and I swallowed it hard.
Not yet.
I stood again and finished packing, moving slower now, more deliberate, like each folded shirt was a decision. Like each zipper pull was me choosing a direction.
When I finally carried my suitcase out into the living room, Wyatt was still there, exactly where I’d left him, sitting on the edge of the chair, hands clasped, gaze lifting the moment I appeared.
He stood immediately.
“Ready,” he asked.
I nodded. “Yeah.”
Wyatt’s gaze flicked to the suitcase, then back to my face. “Dani.”
“She’s asleep,” I said quietly. “Or pretending she is.”
Wyatt’s mouth twitched. “Probably pretending.”
I hesitated, then said, “I’ll call her when I’m on the road. I can’t do the goodbye thing right now.”
Wyatt nodded, no judgment. “Okay.”
We moved toward the door.
Outside, the city noise hit me like a wave. Cars. Voices. Concrete. I hated how normal it all was.
Wyatt’s truck was parked at the curb, right behind mine. “I’ll follow you.”
My throat tightened. “Okay.”
When we finally pulled into the yard at Ray’s, my stomach dropped in a way that hurt. The place looked the same and completely different. The fence line. The barn. The house with its worn boards and familiar windows.
My house.
My father’s house.
The truth of that still felt like a bruise.
Wyatt killed the engine and waited, watching me like he didn’t want to move too fast.
I stared at the porch, my breath shallow.
“You want me to come in,” Wyatt asked quietly, “or you want space.”
I swallowed. My voice came out rough. “Come in, please.”
Wyatt didn’t move, but his voice came low. “Are you alright?”
I nodded, but my throat worked like it was trying to swallow a sob.
“I can’t promise anything,” I said suddenly, and the words came out rough because they’d been building. “I can’t promise I won’t change my mind. I can’t promise I won’t wake up tomorrow and want to run back to Calgary and pretend none of this happened.”
Wyatt’s gaze held mine. “Okay.”
“And I can’t promise you anything,” I continued, my voice shaking now. “Not forever. Not commitment. Not whatever you might be hoping for. I don’t even know what I’m capable of right now.”
Wyatt’s face softened, but his voice stayed steady. “I’m not asking you for promises.”
I swallowed hard. “I need you to hear it anyway.”
“I hear you.”
The porch boards creaked under my feet as I stepped closer, and Wyatt didn’t back away. He stayed where he was, letting me choose the distance, letting me own my own body again.
I stopped an arm’s length away.
My skin was buzzing, nerves lit up, my heart beating hard enough I could feel it in my throat. I wanted to touch him, and I was terrified of what touching him would mean, even though I’d just told him it didn’t mean forever.
My breath caught.
Wyatt’s voice came lower. “Tell me what you need right now.”
I stared at him, and the truth sat right there, simple and frightening.
“I need to feel like I’m not broken,” I whispered.
Wyatt’s eyes softened, something raw flickering under the calm. “You’re not broken.”
My laugh came out shaky. “I feel like I am.”
Wyatt took one slow step closer, stopping again before he touched me, his hands still at his sides. His voice was quiet, steady. “Can I?”
The question hit me in the chest.
I nodded.
Wyatt’s hand came up, warm and careful, and he cupped my cheek like I was something precious, like I was a person and not a problem. The contact sent a sharp wave through me, not just emotion, but sensation, like my skin had been waiting for kindness it could trust.
My eyes stung immediately.
Wyatt’s thumb moved once, slow, wiping the edge of a tear I hadn’t felt fall. His gaze held mine. “You came back.”
“I did,” I whispered.
I lifted my own hand slowly, hesitant, and touched his wrist. The skin there was warm, the veins under it real. He didn’t move. He let me do it, let me set the pace.
My fingers curled lightly around him.
Wyatt’s breath hitched, just once.
“Tessa,” he said, low.
The way he said my name made my knees go soft. I stepped closer, closing the last inch, and my hand slid up to his jaw. His stubble scraped my palm, rough and grounding. My heart was pounding so hard it felt like it might bruise my ribs from the inside.
Wyatt didn’t move.
He waited.
I tipped my face up, my breath catching as his thumb traced my cheekbone again, slow and steady, like he was reminding me I could be gentle and still be strong.
“I’m going to live in this house,” I whispered, almost against his mouth now. “And I’m going to fight for this place. For him, for me, and for us.”
Wyatt’s gaze held mine. “That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”
The words hit deep, and I didn’t have anything left in me to argue with them.
I rose onto my toes, my hand tightening on his jaw like I needed the anchor, like I needed the reality of him under my palm.
Wyatt stayed still, giving me the choice down to the last breath.
I closed the distance and kissed him.
It wasn’t soft at first. It was shaky and hungry and careful all at once, like my body didn’t know whether to cling or flee. His mouth was warm, his hand still cradling my cheek, and when he finally kissed me back, slow and steady, it felt like he was answering my fear with something I could hold.
My chest loosened on a broken breath.
I kissed him again, deeper this time, and the world didn’t tilt. It didn’t crack.