Page 105 of When Wildflowers Bloom

“Did you know?” Anger and confusion overtake his usually unbothered face, and it twists my stomach.

“Yes,” I whisper hoarsely. “But she made me promise not to tell you.”

“Made you promise?” he shouts, shocked, bloodshot eyes wide. “Are you fucking kidding me right now, Birdie?”

“Bo, listen!” I plead, reaching again for him only to have him pull away. “She begged me! She didn’t want you to s—”

“Bullshit!” he shouts. “That’s bullshit and you know it!”

The cold way he looks at me burns like acid in my eyes.

“It’s not bullshit!” I spit at him, tears starting to fall again. “She was protecting you. We both were.”

Again, I reach for him, again, he pulls away, now walking—storming—toward his Jeep.

“Bo, please. Just let me explain,” I cry to his retreating back. “I could tell something was wrong. She was sleeping more. And I found the medication. Then the doctor’s appointment—I don’t know. She asked, and then my dad said—”

He spins around, eyes wide. “Your dad?!”

When I open my mouth to explain, it’s only to find I cannot breathe, much less speak.

He doesn’t yell. This time his voice is flat. Cold. “You told your dad Gran was dying, but not me.”

“Bo, it’s not just that I promised her, legally, I’m bound t—”

“Legally?” He holds his hands up in outrage, heat back in his voice. “Gran was dying and you’re clinging to goddamn rules?”

“I love you. Please…” My voice comes out strangled as I vibrate with too many emotions. Emotions that pour down my face, pinch at my throat, hollow out my insides, and make my hands tremble.

“You love me?” he scoffs. “Birdie, you lied to me.Lied. Not about your name, about the closest woman I had in this world to a mother dying.”

He looks at me, and with every second that passes, I see him hate me more. And worse than the hate that’s forming, it’s the unloving that’s simultaneously happening.

Bo is slipping away from me as he stands right in front of my face.

Never stop loving him, Birdie.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

I reach for him.

Again.

He pulls away.

Again.

“When?” he demands.

“Bo, I wanted—”

“Dammit, Birdie, when?”

I hesitate, make a futile attempt to take a deep breath, then say, “The first night I stayed with you.”

Fists clenched by his sides, color races up his neck. He drops his head back and lets out an angry,Ahhhh!as he smacks a hand against the side of his Jeep. There’s a bulging vein in his neck that looks like it’s on the brink of bursting through his skin.

Because of me. Because of Veda.

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