24. Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Nineteen
Maeve
I've done some irrational things in my life, but storming out in full goblin mode to air out my brooding cowboy boss' biggest life secret might just take the fucking cake.
My brain did the maths, and the math wasn’t mathing.
If those dates were right, Ruby had conceived while Wade was still out on tour. While he was gone.
And I am no scientist, but I’m pretty sure Wade doesn’t have super sperm that can get a woman pregnant across the continent.
Maybe I’m wrong.
God, I hope I’m wrong.
But I don’t think I am.
That’s why I don’t hesitate. Why my voice stays steady when I say it, standing on his porch in the cold dark like I have any right to be here at all.
“I know you’re not Colt’s biological father.”
The words hang in the cold night air; the silence is almost deafening.
Wade doesn’t move, still sitting with the whiskey glass clasped in his hand, the porch light catching the amber liquid. He’s frozen in the chair, head bowed low, fixed in place.
I wanted to be wrong. But he’s not correcting me, not telling me I’ve gone batshit crazy. Which means I’m right.
Fuck.
I take a step closer. Then another. Approaching with caution. Not because I think he’d hurt me—Wade isn’t that kind of man, I know that in my bones. But because I have no idea how this is going to go. Whether I want to be close enough to see whatever’s about to show on his face.
Get a fucking grip, Maeve. He’s the asshole here.
“Just because he isn’t your biological son doesn’t mean you get to treat him the way you do.” The words come out sharp, the anger front and centre in my tone. “It’s not his fault! You can’t take out your feelings about your ex-wife on him. He deserves so much more!”
I suck in a breath, cold air burning down my throat and my lungs.
I'm drowning in emotions right now. Fury for Colt, mostly.
But also, disappointment—in Wade for being exactly what he appears to be, and in myself for believing otherwise.
For being attracted to a man who proves me wrong every time I think I've glimpsed something decent beneath his scowling silence.
Seconds tick by, the silence stretches.
“Can you say something? Please?” I move around to face him properly.
From this angle, only the lower part of his face is visible beneath the brim of his Stetson.
His jaw is clenched tight; lips pressed into a hard line.
I'd noticed that muscle jumping there before, usually right before he got irritated by something or someone, but now it looks locked in place.
Droplets roll off his face and into his whiskey.
Without a second thought, I drop into a crouch, placing my hand on his knee and tilting my head to look up at him. I meet his gaze, looking into his glassy red-rimmed eyes.
He’s crying.
My brain can’t seem to process it. Cowboy Batman—the man built from silence, scowls and emotional unavailability—is crying.
The anger stays. It just loses some of its bite. Something else has slipped in around it now and, frankly, I could do without it. Confusion. Concern. A chest ache that feels deeply inconvenient.
Because he isn’t the man I came over here ready to tear apart anymore. He’s just a man breaking right in front of me.
And, somehow, that stupid need to understand him is still there, despite trying to ignore it.
I soften my voice, pushing the anger aside for now. I need him to talk to me.
“Wade. Please. Talk to me.”
Slowly, he lifts his chin. He reaches for the bottle of whiskey and takes a long pull straight from it. His shoulders drop as he lowers it again, a shuddering breath leaving him.
“You’re right.” His voice is raw. “Colt isn’t my son. Not biologically, anyway.”
The confirmation still hits like a punch in the gut.
I sink back, my arse hitting the deck as my legs give out beneath me. I fold them under myself, moving my hand from his knee into my lap. I wait for him to continue.
My heart hammers, but not with the anger that brought me here. That’s dulled now, replaced by the need to listen to him, understand what is going on in this family.
“But you’re wrong about me hating him.” He looks at me then, and the desperation in his eyes makes my throat tighten. “I love that boy. More than anything. I gave up everything for him. There ain’t nothing I wouldn’t do for that kid, Maeve. You hear me?”
The wall he keeps around himself, the very firm impenetrable wall I’ve been crashing into since I met him, is cracking right in front of me.
“Not telling Colt…” He swallows hard and takes another swig, his Adam’s apple bobbing with the movement. “It’s my way of protecting him. Fucked up as it is.” His eyes drop to the bottle in his hand. “His mom had already left him. Chose partying, drugs… all of it over him. Over us.”
His jaw tightens again and I can see him wrestling with how much to say.
“I tried.” His voice is quieter now. “God, I tried. Offered to pay for rehab, to quit bull riding sooner and come back home. Whatever she needed to get clean. But I also told her straight—if she don’t stop, she don’t come near Colt again. Not while she was like that.”
A bitter laugh slips out of him.
“She didn’t want help. Didn’t want to give up the drugs.” His grip tightens around the bottle. “Then, I came back early from tour and found her in the barn. Shooting up with Gino Martinez.” His voice roughens. “Same bastard she’d been running with behind my back for years—Colt’s biological father.”
Shock runs through me, but every part of me knows I need to be strong and listen to him. Let him get it all out. So I don’t move, and I keep my mouth firmly shut.
“I can’t let Colt know his mother didn’t want to stay. And I sure as hell can’t let him know his real father didn’t either.” He looks up to the sky, face taut in an attempt to hold back the tears. “That boy’s got enough on him already. He don’t need that on top of it.”
My chest tightens as it dawns on me that this is more than what I thought. That Wade is, in fact, those small glimpses I kept holding onto when I convinced myself he was a good man. And now I’ve opened wounds that probably took him years to patch up, all because I couldn’t leave something alone.
But Colt still deserves to know, still deserves better.
“Okay,” I say quietly, leaning forward slightly. “I get that. I do. But Wade…” I search his face, trying to understand. “What I don’t understand is why you treat him like a stranger when you love him so much.”
He breaks a little more, tears continuing to stream down his face.
“It wasn’t always like this.”
Wade becomes distant, lost somewhere in old memories, as he tells me about Colt as a kid. Horse riding lessons. Swims in the lake. Building a treehouse together. Small moments that clearly meant everything to him.
“But then, Ruby left.” He swallows hard. “I knew he saw the fight before she took off. It was bad. The worst we ever had. He pretended to be asleep when I checked on him that night, but I saw him by his bedroom window.”
He stops to swallow hard. I wait, my hand itching to reach for him again, but not quite daring to.
“I walked away from riding after that. Everything I’d worked for since I was a kid. Didn’t matter anymore.” A rough exhale. “All I wanted was to be there for him.”
The laugh that follows is sharp and empty. “He idolized her, you know? Of course, the version he saw of her. So, as he got older, the anger came and I just took it.”
My heart aches with every word.
“Why didn’t you tell him the truth about her?” I ask gently.
“Because then, it all unravels.” He takes a quick swig from the bottle, holding it in his mouth for a beat before swallowing.
“One question leads to another. And I couldn’t risk him finding out I’m not his father.
” He clears his throat, dropping his voice.
“So I take it. All of it. Let him think what he needs to think. Let him hate me if that makes it easier for him.”
He brings the bottle to his lips again, pauses just before it touches them. “As long as he’s standing, I can live with being the person he blames.”
Then he drinks. Taking a long, heavy pull this time.
“Wade…” My voice is barely a whisper as I take the hand resting on his knee.
“I keep my distance to protect him but also protect myself.” His breath hitches. “Because every conversation is a reminder of how much he hates me. How much he wishes I wasn’t his father.” His eyes drop. “And I can’t fix that. So yeah… it’s easier this way, Maeve.”
I sit there holding his hand, my mind reeling with everything.
As much as I don’t agree with keeping such an integral part of someone’s life from them, I understand now.
Understand how much love Wade has for Colt. How he’s absorbed all that hate and anger because he thought it was kinder than the alternative. Sacrificing their relationship to shield Colt from that pain.
Because even I know Colt wouldn’t heal from this. Not for a long time, anyway.
I don’t know what to do with all this. How to feel.
But one thing I do know is that the man in front of me loves Colt with everything he has. Just like I suspected.
“Wade.”
I shift forward, shifting in front of him until we’re eye to eye. Up close, he looks nothing like the man with the rock-hard exterior marching around the ranch like he owns the place—which, fair, he does.
He looks raw. Tired. Like years of carrying all this alone have worn him down piece by piece.
Guilt settles in as I look at him. I never really stopped to think what dragging all this back up might do to him. I just stormed over here with my theories and my anger, instead of minding my own fucking business.
Maybe I wanted to dig up his secret to find a reason to hate him. Something concrete that would make it easier to stop whatever this strange, terrifying thing between us is.
Instead, I found the opposite. Which is deeply inconvenient, because apparently, the emotionally unavailable cowboy getting emotional only makes me want him more.
Brilliant. Absolutely excellent work, Maeve.
Reaching out, I cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing away the tears still sliding down his cheeks.
Our eyes meet, and everything else falls away.
“I'm sorry,” I whisper. “I'm so sorry. I had it all wrong.”
His hand comes up to cover mine where it rests against his face, warm and rough, and trembling slightly.
“I can see what this is doing to you.” My voice catches. “You don’t have to keep holding all of this in on your own. I’m here, if you want to talk. Just… let it out, yeah?”
Something shifts in his expression. His other hand slides around the back of my head, fingers threading into my hair.
And before I can even take a breath registering his touch, his lips crash into mine.