Page 3 of Every Single Wildflower
There was a fire. Dad is in the hospital.
Dread had almost swallowed me whole, but instead of surrendering to thewhat if's, I shoved aside all of the reasons why I left Mayson Ridge four years ago. I shoved them far enough away to manage to pack a bag, jump in my car, and hit the road without a deep dive into what shitstorm would be waiting for me.
The drive was long, exhausting, and my hands were sore from gripping the steering wheel for hours on end. I had my reasons for leaving, and honestly, I didn’t have any plans to return any time soon. So, my sudden reappearance will not only be unexpected, but I’m sure will stir up the gossip mill of our small town.
The sliding glass doors open automatically, creating a breeze that dances through my hair that I didn’t even bother brushing. Stepping up to the front counter, my heart thuds wildly, matching the rhythm of a stampede of mustangs like the ones I watched in awe the last time I visited Wyoming.
“Emmett Mayson,” I ask.
The grey-haired receptionist doesn’t even glance up, her fingers moving furiously over the keyboard in front of her.
“Third floor. Room 316.”
Her phone rings, and she answers, still completely ignoring my presence.
I mutter a brief “thank you” before I’m striding to the elevator and pressing the button to the third floor.
The yellow number indicating my arrival causes my eyes to close.Four years.I hadn’t been in the same room, let alone the same state as my family in almost four years. There were weekly phone calls, but visits were nonexistent. Mostly excuses from me and frustration from them. When the door opens, I step out into the waiting room, my eyes sliding over the handful of people thatare hunkered down in uncomfortable chairs waiting for news on their loved ones.
My gaze lands on a mop of sandy brown hair that’s tilted back against the wall. His jeans are stained, with what appears to be mud and soot, which also covers his boots and his cowboy hat that’s resting on his knee.
My throat tightens as I take measured steps over to my brother.
“Coop,” I croak.
His eyes peel open, exhaustion and worry residing in the blue hue that matches our mother’s.
“Ivy.” He leans up, pushing to his feet. “You came.”
I nod, tears stinging my eyes as he wraps his arms around my shoulders, pulling me in for a hug. He smells like smoke, the musk almost causing me to cough before he pulls away. “He’s alright. Smoke inhalation, a concussion, and some minor burns. But he’s alive.”
I swallow past the lump in my throat. “What happened?”
He rakes a hand through his hair. “I’m not sure exactly. The back four pastures caught fire, along with the big house.”
The big house
Our childhood home. The one that holds all the memories. The stories. The secrets.
“Is it….” I trail off.
The look in his eyes tell me what I don’t want to hear.
“It’s gone, Ives," he says hoarsely.
“Where’s mom?” I ask, my hands clinging to the strap on my purse.
“She’s in the room with dad. She wasn’t home. Thank God.” He motions. “You want to see him?”
Do I? No. Not really. Not yet. I haven’t looked into his eyes in years. It was too hard. But this was serious. He was hurt.And still my father.
“Yeah. I’d like to see him,” I finally answer, my voice quiet.
He nods, and wraps an arm around my shoulder, guiding me toward the hall. Just as we round the corner, a tall body meets us head on. I halt my steps, letting the angry eyes of my oldest brother slice right through my heart.
“What are you doing here?” He asks, his words harsh causing me to almost wince.
“I asked her to be here," Cooper interjects.
