Chapter 42
MADDIE
It’s been nearly six weeks since we buried Daddy.
I miss him like crazy, but after some tough love from Deacon last night, I’m finally putting on my big girl panties and heading back to work.
He was pissed that I’ve been skulking around my house for weeks.
There was no mincing his words when he told me the team needed me, reminding me that they lost Daddy too and I’ve not even tried to go and see them.
That one hurt, but, of course, he was right.
I didn’t tell him that, though, because he could have been a bit nicer about it.
The truth is, I’ve been avoiding anything that would remind me of Daddy because I haven’t felt strong enough.
How can I when any time I walk into my kitchen and glance in the direction of the spot where he collapsed, I break down?
Or—and I’m kind of ashamed to admit this—I’ve spent many a sleepless night trying to talk to his ghost?
All that ends today.
At least that’s what I tell myself as I smooth my hands over my dress before sinking into my office chair. I’ve barely been here an hour, and I’ve nearly cried five times. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the day, but with Mona handling any face-to-face meetings, I’m going to try.
When I haven’t been missing Daddy, Wyatt and memories of the last time I saw him have been playing on a loop in my mind.
I still feel his hands on my body, and for too long I avoided changing my sheets because I wanted to hold on to the smell of him.
Yet again, I think I made a mistake in pushing him away.
Hell, I know I did.
It’s been two weeks and despite how we left things, he’s still been texting me and sending over plates of food. I don’t know how long he’ll keep it up, but that’s something for me to analyze another day.
Right now, I have a pile of invoices to get through and a proposal to put together for a client that Hunter Kingsley referred to us.
A vase of bright yellow and white flowers catches my eyes from its spot on the table under the window.
I didn’t notice them when I first walked in, but now my gaze keeps drifting to them.
They’re fresh and in the beam of sunshine give off a sense of hope.
They aren’t funeral flowers, that much I know, but they feel too bright and cheery for me right now.
I don’t know who they’re from, but I can’t have them in here, not today.
Standing with intention, I round my desk and pick up the vase, their floral scent invading my nostrils as I carry them to Mona’s desk. She whispers something into the handset of the phone pressed to her ear before slamming it into the cradle as if she’s been caught red-handed.
“Did you need me to get them some fresh water?” she asks, a groove forming between her perfectly shaped dark brows.
I hold the vase out to her. “No. Can you get rid of them?”
“Of course, but they only came in yesterday.”
“I just don’t want them in my office.”
“Okay.” She takes the vase from me, standing awkwardly as I stare at her. “Was there anything else?”
She’s hiding something. Mona doesn’t do that. I’d like to think we’ve worked together long enough for me to be able to read her. Her gaze flicks to the phone as she presses her lips together.
“Who was on the phone?” I ask, my body falling still.
A pinkish hue fills her cheeks, and she shifts the flowers in what looks like an attempt to hide her face from me. “Nobody. It was nothing.”
“Mona,” I warn, setting my hands on my hips and hopefully reminding her that I am still her boss.
She’s never been this evasive before. We have a good working relationship, one where she can be open and honest with me about anything. She shuffles from one foot to the other as I wait for her to answer. I’m not going anywhere until she does.
“Fine.” She sets the vase down on the desk between us with an exaggerated sigh.
“It was Wyatt, he just wanted to make sure you’d made it in.
He’s been checking in with either me or Deacon every day these past few weeks.
He sent the flowers. He said he wanted you to have something nice to look at today. ”
Oh.
Emotion clogs my throat as moisture pools in my eyes, and I look away from her and at the flowers. He did that? For me?
Why?
The question bounces around in my head, unanswered. At least until reminders of everything he’s done for me these past two months plays on a loop in my mind.
He was at the hospital and stayed when I asked him to, even though my brothers were there and staring daggers at him the whole time. He’s made sure I’ve had food and checked in despite my non-replies. He held me together when I was at my lowest.
He cares. And all I’ve done is push him away. I haven’t misread him. I’ve refused to see what’s been right in front of me all along. The thought hits me like a semi-truck, flooring me.
Reaching out for the vase, I take it from Mona’s desk and set it on my hip.
“I’ll keep these,” I murmur, trying to align the Wyatt I used to know with the version he’s been silently showing me.
I lift my chin and steel my shoulders as I inhale deeply, filling my nostrils with the heady floral fragrance.
“Can we go over my calendar for the week in five minutes?” I ask, trying to gain back some of my footing, even though all I want to do is fall into a heap on the floor.
Mona nods. “Do you want some coffee before we do?”
“Yeah,” I whisper, distractedly staring at the flowers.
I head back to my office, the vase clutched in my arms, as I blink back the tears forming in my eyes. I’ve read Wyatt entirely wrong. I should have been honest with him about where my head was at instead of building walls around my heart.
Running my fingers through the bouquet, I set the vase back down on the table it was on.
Sure, everything he’s done since my dad passed has been in direct contradiction to the man I thought he was, but it’s on me for refusing to believe it, despite the glaring evidence.
I owe Wyatt an apology at the least, but most of all, I owe him my honesty.
As Mona enters my office, I make a decision. After work, I’m going to find Wyatt. There’s a lot we need to talk about, and it should have happened much sooner than today.
Mona hands me a sheet of paper with my schedule for the day printed out on it and a lump forms in my throat. We do this every morning and have for years; it’s nothing new, but it’s something Daddy instilled in me and yet another reminder of him.
The first was this morning, as I walked through the lobby and caught sight of the pictures of the ranch’s history that I’ve walked past countless times before. Front and center in the gallery was a picture of Daddy sitting on his horse out in one of the pastures with a grin spread across his face.
I wonder how long it will be before I can look at pictures without the sadness creeping in.
“I’ve rescheduled the online meeting with Rosemary Bishop for eleven; she wants to talk through the plans for her daughter’s upcoming wedding in September,” Mona says, cutting into my thoughts. “I’ll take the call, but I didn’t know if you wanted to sit in?”
Shaking my head, I refocus my attention on her and the work we have to get through.
I’ve spent too much time sinking into my grief and I know that would be the last thing Daddy would want, even if he’d have understood why.
I just hope Wyatt understands why I needed the time and space, because I’m done pushing him away.