Chapter 39
WYATT
I throw my truck into park and turn off the engine, sitting in the quiet as it softly ticks over.
A hint of hesitation skates down my spine, but I ignore it and push open my door.
The familiar buzz of grasshoppers echoes in the quiet, and I’m reminded of how that same silence felt strained and laced with grief the last time I was here.
I’m at Maddie’s. A desperation to see her with my own eyes guides me as I approach the still house. She’s left me no choice but to show up unannounced, and if she doesn’t like it, then tough shit.
Ever since the funeral, I’ve felt her pulling away; her replies to my messages have been sparse, and although she’s letting my cousins and Chloe in, she’s shutting me out. Some might say I should take the hint and leave her alone, but something about that doesn’t feel right to me.
As I’m walking down the path toward her front door, it opens and Deacon steps outside. He doesn’t notice me right away, but seeing him stops me in my tracks as caution weaves its way under my skin.
Did she send him out here?
My guard is firmly in place, and I’m fully prepared to push past him if he tries to send me away.
I need to see her with my own eyes, to know that she’s okay and at least surviving.
I’ve hardly been sleeping. My worry for her keeps me up, and I’ve been badgering people at every chance to find out tidbits of information about her.
When Deacon turns toward me, surprise flitters across his face. She doesn’t know I’m here. I breathe a sigh of relief, forcing my shoulders down from where they’ve lifted to my ears.
“I’m surprised it’s taken you this long to come around, Wilde,” Deacon says, ambling down the front porch steps. “Given the show you put on at the hospital.”
I clench my jaw, meeting Deacon in the middle of the path. “I was giving her space,” I reply, trying to keep the defensiveness out of my tone. “And just so we’re clear. It wasn’t a show. I care about Maddie.”
He rocks back on his heels, his eyes searching mine before he says, “So it seems.” He pauses before scrubbing a hand over his jaw. “I know we have history, but if you’re serious about Mads, we need to bury it. For her sake.”
I grind my back molars. “That’s easy for you to say. You ended my football career with a careless tackle.”
A spark of something I can’t quite name lights up his eyes, and he straightens his spine, standing taller. “And I apologized for it.”
“It didn’t do a fat lot of good, did it?
” I bite, taking a step forward. “You took the choice away from me. It wasn’t just football.
It was everything that came after. Everyone acted like I should be grateful I could still walk, like that was enough.
” I shake my head. “You don’t get to decide when that stops mattering to me. ”
His gaze shifts away before he drags it back to me. “I know I don’t. And I know sorry doesn’t fix it, but I’ve lived with that tackle every damn day since. You weren’t the only one it changed.”
The door opens behind him, and when I look around Deacon, I find Maddie, half-hiding behind the door.
She looks thinner, her cheeks hollow and her eyes slightly sunken.
Something inside of me softens, and the need to protect her surges up.
I hate the fact that she’s hurting too much to take care of herself.
Turning back to Deacon, I shove my hands into the pockets of my jeans. He looks behind himself before turning his attention back to me.
The weight that sits on my chest any time I’m around Deacon eases, just enough for me to know that what I’m about to say is the truth.
“I’ve been holding on to this shit for years.
I think we both have. Somewhere along the way, I guess—at least for me—it became less about what I actually felt and more about how it just was. ”
“I’m not trying to make excuses, but I was stupid and young. I thought I knew better than what Coach was telling me. You might not believe me, but I really am sorry. These past few weeks have shown me just how short life is.” Deacon scuffs his foot across the path, kicking up the small stones.
“I think it’s time we let go of this. Not just for Maddie, but for us too.”
The tension seeps out of him, and he jerks his head in a nod before holding his hand out.
I hesitate for a second before sliding my hand into his and giving it a firm shake.
It feels like I’ve wasted years of my life being angry with Deacon over something that’s trivial in the grand scheme of things.
I might never have gone on to play D1 football because it didn’t speak to me in the way working on the ranch does.
But I think it was the fact that I didn’t have the choice that built up the anger and frustration with Deacon and his careless mistake.
That’s what it was. A mistake. I could have done the same thing.
“I can’t blame you for holding a grudge for this long. Lord knows I would have. But I agree, I think we both need to let this shit go.” He looks back at the house before turning to face me again as he releases my hand. “She’s not doing well. But I’m glad you’re here, Wyatt. Just don’t hurt her.”
I nod, but I think I already did, with the years of animosity I aimed at her. “I won’t. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a parent is shitty at any age.”
He claps me on the back as he walks past, heading for the ATV I hadn’t noticed parked at the end of the path. When he starts the vehicle, the noise disrupts the quiet and I watch as he takes off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake before I turn toward the house.
Maddie is still at the door, a sadness rolling off her that I want to wash away. As I climb the steps, she moves back, holding the door open, a sense of defeat seeping into her as she avoids eye contact with me.
We don’t say a word as I cross the threshold, but instinctively, I pull her into my arms. I bury my nose in her hair, breathing in the faint scent of vanilla as I close my eyes.
Fuck. I’ve missed her.
“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against my chest, her voice sounding small and uncertain.
I press against her shoulders as I bend my knees to look at her. There are dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes that tell me she’s not been sleeping. An ache settles on my chest, a yearning to take away her pain building inside of me.
“You don’t have to be sorry for anything, Mad,” I reassure her. “There’s no right or wrong way for you to handle your grief. I was just worried about you, that’s all.”
She reaches out and runs a finger down the side of my face as her chin trembles and a single solitary tear slips free, tumbling down her cheek. I pull her against me, afraid that she might break if I let her go.
God, I left it too long. I should have been more demanding. I should have been here taking care of her. She shouldn’t have felt that she needed to distance herself from me. When she pushes back, I loosen my hold on her but don’t let her go entirely. I can’t and I’m not sure I ever will.
She scrubs away the moisture on her cheeks before jutting out her chin. “Can you help me forget?” she asks, a pleading note to her voice as she stares at my chest, like she’s afraid to face my rejection.
My brows tug low, unsure of what she means. Help her forget? I know from experience that’s impossible to do.
At my lack of a response, she shifts her attention away from the material of my damp T-shirt and up to my face before she clarifies, “I just want to not think about how he’s not here anymore. Just for a minute. Please, Wyatt. Help me forget.”
“How?” I rasp, smoothing my hands up her arms. Whatever it is she needs me to do, I know that I’ll do it. I’d do just about anything to help her feel better, because seeing her like this is killing me.
I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the line I started to feel very real things for her. They should scare me, but they don’t, they make me feel invincible. It’s how I know that I’m not going anywhere.
She reaches for the buckle of my belt and when she starts to undo it, I cover her hands with mine.
“Maddie,” I warn. This doesn’t feel like the right way for her to not be in her reality.
I don’t ever want her to regret us in that kind of way.
Not again. Besides, what she’s going through isn’t something you can run from; it will find you no matter where you go.
“Please, Wyatt. I want this. I need this.”
The desperation is what breaks me. It shatters my heart into a million pieces, breaking down my defenses until I know that there’s only one thing for me to do.
“Okay,” I whisper, the word so quiet I hardly hear it over the hammering of my heart. She goes back to undoing my belt, but I halt her again, waiting until she’s looking at me to add, “But not here.”
If I’m going to do this—help her forget her heartache and grief, even for just a moment—then I’m going to make love to her in a bed, not fuck her against a wall. I’m going to worship her like I should have done this entire time.