Page 4 of Almost Home
Coward that it made me, I was grateful.
“Nice to meet you.” Dahlia gripped my hand and took a step back.
“Likewise.”
Agony crashed through me at the sound of his voice, and I sucked in a breath when our eyes met. The same irises, looking brown instead of blue today, with his black jacket to offset them. The rest of his face was hard to see thanks to the bushy beard, and a hat low on his head gave me no real hints about his hair except that it hung on the long side, curling under the cap at the sides and back.
Just like it had in high school.
Just like it had before everything imploded.
I couldn’t read him—he’d become opaque to me, though not expressionless. Not blank and bored looking, but so intense, so charged full of history and feeling, my breaths came shallow and quick.
He didn’t speak. Didn’t blink. But I did, unable to take it. My friends must’ve felt my mind clawing to move, because Quinn shoved me behind her right as Dahlia said, “Okay, well—” and yanked me across the street.
I followed, tripping after her and grateful for the tether of her hand in mine to guide me away. I could no more have voluntarily walked away from him than could I have flown, but this was better. No chance I could’ve spoken—gotten out anything of value.
“Are you okay?” Dahlia asked, taking me by both arms and inspecting me head to toe.
“Yeah.” Even that sounded small and shaky, though.
“You look pale. You seem seriously freaked. Come inside the shop, and let’s—”
“I swear I’m fine. I just—I didn’t expect to see him. I figured I’d hear he was in town—that Sadie would know he was coming or something.” I forced a smile to my face, knowing it wasn’t convincing but unable to talk about this.
I hurt. My entire body hurt, and my brain was shutting down in shock and self-preservation, blocking out memories as fast as my heart could shoot them into my consciousness.
Quinn dipped her head to draw my eye. “What did he do to you? I want to tear into him for even looking at you, but I need more information.”
I studied the ground, wondering if I could just tell them now. Finally explain it and they’d know. We’d been through enough; maybe they wouldn’t hate me like I did myself. “It’s not what he did to me. It’s—”
Tears jumped to my eyes and tracked down my cheeks without warning—though the warning had been seeing Wilder live and in the flesh. I wiped at the wetness, composing myself and determined to get out before I lost it entirely. “It’s what I did to him.”
I left them behind, both likely shocked, and moved away at just shy of a run until I turned the corner and knew I couldn’t see him if I looked back, relieved he therefore couldn’t see me either. His unnerving gaze couldn’t study me like I was some unexplained phenomenon, wholly unexpected.
Why did it stun me so much to see him? I hadn’t expected it. I’d assumed I’d know he was here and could mentally prepare. I’d need to apologize and do whatever I could to atone for all I’d put him through. Because that’s what it would be. A simple apology wouldn’t cover what I’d done, and even if he’d moved on—he must’ve—I would never be at peace unless I did it.
But seeing him when I hadn’t expected it? Encountering this towering, intense, stupidly appealing man and recognizing Wilder in that body? Behind those eyes? Knowing that we’d come so close to an entirely different story—a family, with a child, and a life together.
Knowing that I’d destroyed it all?
It tore me apart, and for once, I let it rip me to shreds.
* * *
My friends let me be for a full eight hours before the messages started. Within a day, I’d dodged requests for lunch or coffee. By Friday of that week, I had no chance of evading them any longer, so I agreed to join them for lunch at Dahlia’s shop the next day.
I’d cleaned my apartment. Called my sister, Eddie, even though it wasn’t our normal day to talk. Read a few books and saw two of the ten a.m. specially priced movies. It’d been a while since I’d done that, and it’d been good for me to mentally escape.
“Get in here and tell us how you’re doing.”
Quinn literally pulled me in through the swinging door that led from the magical showroom area of the flower shop into the work room. Giant paint buckets filled with water and various flowers dotted the space, and Dahlia stood at the far table trimming rose stems.
“Yes. Please. And I’m so sorry. Warrick didn’t even know he’d be here until I told him we’d seen him. He showed up at the ranch that night and—well, apparently, no one knew he’d be coming to town, not even Jane.”
My heart ached at the mention of Jane Saint, a mother like I never had. It took years to understand her dynamic with her boys, but as I’d gotten older and had the benefit of hindsight, I’d recognized its simplicity. She loved them and wanted the best for them. She’d loved me, too, I’d realized, but I’d never even said goodbye.
I’d seen her but had been too much of a coward to talk to her beyond hellos. I could tell she wanted to say something, but she was leaving it up to me. And itwasup to me, wasn’t it? I’d run away from them—all of them.
