Page 95 of Wildest Forever

I mean, who wouldn't?

My mind wanders and I am thinking about his day, wondering how it has gone and if it has been good or bad, andcan't help wondering whether he thinks of me during his, but then I have to remind myself quickly that of course he doesn't and he is in fact in the right mindset with thisjustbeing business.

This is the problem when you have never been in a relationship. I have no idea how to act. No idea what to think or do in these situations.

So I find myself coiling inwards and rebuilding my walls carefully so the next time it gets knocked, it may not fall so easily.

Lathering the soap into my aching scalp, I gently massage it into my roots before letting the warm water wash away the suds, slipping down my back like pure silk. My eyes are closed as I rinse my hair and all I see is him. How can he consume me wholly when it's been a matter of weeks.

Sighing, I twist and reach for the conditioner before smothering the ends of my hair. Exfoliating and shaving whilst that works it's magic, I finally rinse my hair and cut the shower.

Pulling back the shower curtain, I grab the warm towel and wrap it around my body.

Padding into the hallway, I step into my room and close the door softly behind me as I dry myself and dress in a comfy gray lounge suit. Roughly drying my hair, I then tie it into a low bun and tuck a couple of wispy strays behind my ears.

Making my way downstairs, I glance out the window and see the sun lowering slightly. Evening is drawing in and I lift my eyes to the clock on the wall. Pacey should be home soon.

My stomach knots and a slither of worry slips through me, but I push it down with the rest of my feelings, burying it deep inside a crevice.

I busy myself tidying the kitchen, not that it is overly messy, but I needed to keep my mind busy before I start preparing dinner.

Lemon chicken and pomegranate salad with baked potatoes.

Simple but yummy.

We have the Riveras coming over on Sunday for dinner and Friday we're down at Randy's with our new neighbors.

I'm not one for plans, but seeing as the Riveras and Dusty are all I have in terms of family... well... I didn't want to rock the boat.

Sighing, I pull the chicken from the refrigerator and place it on the side. Turning the stove on I wait for it to heat up before lowering myself to crouch down and place the chicken in to cook.

I slam the oven door just as the front door closes and I find myself jumping before looking over my shoulder, my eyes dusting over his body as he steps a little closer and leans against the doorframe.

Straightening myself up, I turn slowly and let my green eyes connect with his. My heart aches silently in my chest and I can feel a sadness deep inside of him that has my feet slipping across the floor to get to him.

“Pace?” my voice is quiet as I stand toe to toe with him, hand lifting and resting on his chest, the feel of his heart racing beneath my fingertips.

His head lowers, his eyes hollow as they drop and panic pricks at the base of my neck.

“What's happened?” and that's when I allow myself to really look at him. Red dirt dusted across his cheeks, lips cracked and dry and hair messy. His skin looks a little worn, a little more tired than usual and his eyes are dull, the normally glistening whiskey color looks a little darker, the spark nowhere to be found.

He says nothing, but I feel the deep inhale of breath he takes and before I can say another word, his arms are around my waist as he pulls me close to him, holding my body against his, his face buried between my head and shoulder as he trembles, tearsseeping out of him and all I can do is hold him and try my best to comfort him.

“Talk to me,” I whisper, trying to push his heavy body off my frame, my hands gripping onto his head as I lift his red rimmed eyes to mine, a lone tear rolls down his cheek and drops onto the sweater of my lounge suit, the gray material absorbing it in an instant.

“It's just been a day,” he chokes, his dirty palm rubbing his eye and I watch as his throat bobs, my eyes volleying between his.

“This is not because of a shit day,” my voice is still low but he won't look at me, his eyes are locked into the window that overlooks the front of the ranch.

He sighs and I am silently begging for him to look at me, silently begging that he will tell me what is haunting him, but I don't know him well enough to know whether I should push for him to spill all to me or take the hint and step away.

I choose the latter.

I drop my hands from the side of his face and step back, turning on my heel and walking back towards the stove.

“Supper is at six,” I say nonchalant because I am terrified to break in front of him when he is clearly so vulnerable.

I know I shouldn't feel pushed out and bitter, but the truth is, I do.

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