23. Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Eighteen
Wade
My favourite time of day—a glass of whiskey on the front porch. The time when I can just be.
The burn hits my throat as I tip my head back, close my eyes, and tune into everything else.
Grounding, they call it. I watched a video about it online during a desperate time to find something to make me less…
tense, wound up. Whatever you want to call it.
At the end of every day, I just felt like I put on such a firm face to everyone that by the time I sit on this porch, not even the whiskey can make me relax back into myself.
So, I turned to where no late-forty-year-old wants to turn to… the internet.
I feel the hard surface beneath me from the old deck chair I crafted many years ago.
There’s a slight breeze in the air, drifting over my skin.
I take in a deep breath through my nose, only smelling what can be described as nature.
Fresh grass with subtle hints of florals from the fields of wildflowers.
As always at this time of night, which is one reason why I made this little ritual, there is nothing but distant sounds of various animals to be heard. Utter peace and—a truck?
Opening my eyes, I am met with the full beams of a truck approaching my cabin embarrassingly slowly. The sound of the engine getting louder and the lights blinding the ever-loving shit out of me. It rolls to a stop, and I set my whiskey down on the piece of log I had been using as a table.
I push out of the chair and cross to the edge of the porch to get a better look at who has travelled this late to my cabin. No one bothers me out here at this hour.
The driver’s door swings open, the large truck door blocking my view of who is getting out. But I would know those pink fluffy slippers anywhere.
The door slams, revealing Maeve. Out of all the people I’d expect to see out here—which is a very small list—she’s dead last. I mean, for Christ’s sake, she’s still in her pyjamas.
An oversized hoodie hangs off her frame, big enough to pass as a dress, the sleeves swallowing her hands.
Her hair is piled into a messy knot on top of her head, and for once she's completely bare faced.
I can’t help but instantly think of how good she looks despite looking like she’s just rolled out of bed. But seconds later, when she’s storming towards me across the gravel, I clock the anger.
Even in those ridiculous slippers, she looks like she is ready to take me down. When she gets closer, I can see the blaze in her eyes, even in the dim porch light.
I stay firmly where I am, shoulder against the post, arms crossed loosely over my chest. Bracing myself for her sharp tongue.
“Maeve, what the hell are you doing out here?” I try to keep my voice level but fail.
She comes at me with her finger pointing aggressively up to my face, “What the hell is your problem, Wade”
“Angel, you’ve come to my cabin, dressed like you’ve just left a slumber party. If anyone has a problem, it’s you.” I look down at the petite beauty in front of me, knowing that I am in for an earful, but my cock—which was half hard the moment I knew it was her—now thickens fully.
She stops at the bottom of the steps, chin up, shoulders back, clearly trying to look intimidating in those slippers. When she speaks, her accent comes out thicker and rougher than usual.
“Yeah, I do ’ave a fuckin’ problem. You’re the problem.”
Always am. To everyone else, I am the problem. When all I fucking do is actually try to prevent problems.
“Nothing new there, sweetheart,” I shrug, returning to my glass of whiskey. I am gonna need this drink, maybe two, to get through whatever this firecracker has for me. I don’t say anything else, don’t need to. Maeve has that covered.
“You are actually despicable.”
Oh great, she’s using the big words.
Her rage doesn’t stop me from teasing her. I have no self-control when it comes to her. “Ooh, your British is showing, angel.” I smirk, clearly misreading this whole situation when I notice her face is flushed red, fist clenched at her side.
She’s not just angry, like the little to-and-fro pissed off pattern we have going with each other. No. She is angry-angry.
I apologise quickly, not wanting to escalate this further, but damage is done.
“No, Wade. You can’t apologise your way out of this one.
You treat that poor boy, who is supposed to be your son, like he is no more than shit on your fucking shoe.
You barely say a word to him unless it is to do with work,” her voice gets louder the longer she goes off, but I ain’t doing this with her.
Not again, told her to leave it alone, but she doesn’t fucking listen.
“Maeve, I asked you to leave it. Don’t get in between Colt and me. We’ve been fine for years without you getting in between things.” I warn, downing the last remnants of my whiskey. Picking up the bottle beside the glass, I pour the second one I know I am going to need.
“There’s nothing to get in between, Wade. You’ve made damn sure of that!”
My anger is rising now. I am about to match her in no time, because if there is one thing I don’t like people getting involved in, it is my family life.
I have my goddamned reasons, and I ain’t gotta explain myself to no outsider, no matter how intriguing they may be.
At the end of the day, this thing with Maeve is a mere crush.
Just a lust-fuelled crush that cannot happen, and I will put a stop to any thought she has about her being involved in our personal life.
“Why do you care, Maeve? You’ll be home before you know it. We will be just a stop in your little journey. Don’t leave behind drama in places you do not belong.”
I instantly regret my words. Maeve’s face shifts from angry to hurt, but as quickly as it comes, it goes back to anger again. But her voice softens a little. Almost into that sad anger people go through.
“I care because Colt is probably the nicest guy I have met. He cares for people too much; he makes himself vulnerable. He deserves to know why you treat him the way you do. He deserves the truth, Wade…”
What the hell is she going on about? This conversation ended early yesterday. Why is she only just coming to my cabin at 11:30 p.m. to hash it out again?
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.
Now, please leave my cabin.” I shift my body away so she is out of my view.
I can’t stand the sight of her being upset.
Don’t usually bother me with others, but with her, I want her to see me differently.
It’s too late for that. She is getting too close to us, and she is dangerous to my life and the things I’ve done to protect my own.
“I know, Wade. I know why you don’t want to speak about you and Colt. I know what it is you are so desperate to hide, yet you treat Colt the way you do,” She pauses, and my knuckles go white from holding the glass so firmly.
“I know you’re not Colt’s biological father.”
My eyes widen as I lock my gaze into my nearly empty glass. I was right, I am going to need more than two.