Page 62 of Almost Home
She groaned. “Only for you and Wilder. I’ll always want you two together, if it’s still right.”
I loosed a chuckle at that. “Still sweet.”
“Hear me, though.Only if it’s still right, okay? If you keep dating and find out it isn’t, ditch the bearded brute and find yourself someone else.” A buzzing sounded in her background, and she groaned again, louder this time. “I’ve got to run. Love you.”
“Love you, too.”
I slumped back onto the couch, Eddie’s words swirling in my mind. She was oversimplifying what it was like to be with someone aftersolong. We weren’t picking up where we’d left off, and frankly, I had no desire to. We’d left off at the worst time in my life. But part of what made it so horrible was just that—leaving him.
Wilder had always been certain of us, right up until I left. I didn’t know what he wanted for himself now. Did he even want to get married? His brother, Warrick, had planned on staying single forever, though he had his own reasons for that. Maybe Wilder had adopted the same mindset.
Eddie was right, though. If I didn’t ask Wilder whathewanted and figure that out, I could only blame myself. I hadn’t allowed myself to think about staying and being with Wilder long term, but Eddie’s words took hold with an iron grip.
And after so long letting other people determine what happened in my life, after being too weak or willfully ignorant to assert myself, I couldn’t let things with Wilder go that way.
I wouldn’t.
CHAPTERTHIRTY
Wilder
Bruce had a way of working magic, and he’d done it, even from afar. Paired with Grenier’s vested interest in Saint Securities’ success, we had an uptick in work for the week that kept me doggedly busy.
I’d hired three people so far, none of whom could start work yet. Bruce had also hired three. We had one guy coming in end of this month, but until then, it was just me. Since Madeline Reynolds would be arriving next week, I had to get everything possible done so I could provide in-person security as needed, especially if she didn’t have her usual bodyguards in place. Her big man, Brad, was obviously trusted and capable, so I wouldn’t need to actuallyguardher, but she’d be dropping high five figures at minimum over her six-week stay in Silverton, and if I wanted that to parlay into more, I needed to be completely available to her.
Did I want to be running around town doing system and plans assessments of all of Grenier’s wealthy contacts? No. I wanted to be finding excuses to talk to Sarah and stand close enough to catch the scent of her shampoo.
And because I’d had that thought, I’d decided we needed boundaries at work, but how utterly laughable that I ever thought we’d need them considering I hadn’t been in the office for more than eight consecutive minutes.
Serving high-end clients, I’d come to realize in the few short weeks since we’d opened Saint Securities, meant bending to their needs. And since most of these people didn’t have imminent danger situations or issues like Reynolds’s stalker, they wanted me to come to them, check out their alarm system, security feeds, panic rooms, whatever else. They wanted to know vulnerabilities in their fences (usually the whole thing since fences were one hundred percent not an obstacle for a human, though dogs would be deterred). And so far, at least two of the clients were interested in whether I provided bodyguard services… in their bedroom.
Cue the record scratch and… Nope.
Part of the reason I’d been gone so much was that I’d had therapy during my lunch on Tuesday, and had lunch with Wyatt Wednesday. It’d been time well spent—a little reconnecting, prodding him to talk about his growing family and all that unadulterated bliss, and his nudging me to talk about how I wasreallydoing. I would’ve stopped by the office, but instead settled for a scant few texts. I would’ve asked her to dinner Tuesday night when I realized the entire week was going to go like this, except my mind had been packed full from my therapy session that day.
I’d needed it, too. I’d needed to talk out the gripping sensation that it was all too good to be true.
“Why do say that?” Dr. Corrigan asked in that curious, neutral way.
“I’m happy. She seems happy. Our chemistry is…” My body flashed hot with the memory of kissing her, feeling her pressed against me, hungering for more of her and knowing she felt the same. “Still intact.”
The doc nodded.
“But it feels wrong.”
“How so?”
I sifted through words, searching for the right ones. “It’s too easy.”
“Elaborate on that.”
Frustration crowded around me, the inadequacy of my explanation so far making me restless. My leg bounced where I sat. “We went through a lot.”
She nodded. We’d talked about the history. Then we’d talked about the apology that came after it a bit in another session. She knew a lot of it.
“It’s been decades.”
She didn’t nod then, but she blinked in a gesture I’d learned was like a nod—urging me to continue without interrupting me.
