Page 47 of Chasing Wildflowers
Miles tried to get me to fly back to New York, but I refused, unwilling to put any real physical distance between us. Instead I spent my days digging deeper into Lane’s past, not finding much, and my nights parked down the street from her house.
I wanted to go to her, to pound on her door until she answered and demand she talk to me. I held myself back, giving her the space she asked for.
Jameson
When?
Wildflower
After I get off work. Is 6 o'clock okay?
Jameson
I’ll be there.
I pull up to Lane’s house at exactly six. Tension coils tight in my gut. I spent half of the day watching the clock and the other half pacing my room, willing time to move faster.
I grip the wheel tightly, my knuckles turning white. Hope and fear collide in my chest. Will she let me in or will she tell me to fuck off for good?
I square my shoulders and exit my truck, flowers in hand. Determined to win her back. The air outside is warm from the late afternoon sun, a faint breeze rustling the leaves on the trees as I cross the path to her porch.
The door swings open and when my eyes land on her every ounce of doubt slips away. There isn’t a reality where she doesn’t belong with me. We will work this out. We will work everything out.
My eyes slide down her body, taking in every inch of her. From her bare toes, painted neon green, to her perfect face, lit softly by the evening light spilling in from behind me. She’s wearing a burnt orange tank that makes her skin-kissed skin glow, tucked into a pair of cutoff shorts.
I clench my jaw against the need to touch her. To trace my fingers over her vibrantly inked skin.
Lane smiles, small and uneasy. “I’m running out of room for these.” She nods at the bouquet still tightly gripped in my hand.
Tension hangs heavy between us for a beat before she steps back, silently inviting me in.
We settle on her brown leather couch, and I set the flowers on the table in front of us. I sink back into the cushions, eyes roaming over her face as she stares at the flowers, hands fidgeting nervously on her lap.
“You don’t have to be nervous around me,” I say, keeping my voice low. “No matter what you tell me, I won’t judge you. I’m sorry I tried to force your hand by telling you my story. I was worried about you shutting me out, and I wanted you to know you could talk to me.”
I brush a stray strand of hair behind her ear, letting my thumb ghost over her cheekbone. “I’m sorry I backed you into a corner the way I did.”
She bites her bottom lip, her eyes dropping to her hands still fidgeting in her lap. “I haven’t talked to anyone about it except Kam.”
I lift her chin, forcing her to meet my eyes. “You can tell me anything.”
Her eyes fill with unshed tears. “My ex used to hit me.” She looks away, refusing to meet my eyes any longer.
Her voice is small but steady when she continues. “It happened pretty regularly toward the end. It started with him making suggestions after we got engaged, telling me what I should wear, who I could talk to. After we got married, the should’s turned into could’s, and he started berating me over everything. Eventually, just yelling at me and insulting me weren’t enough, he started hitting me too.”
She pauses, a single tear slipping down her cheek. “I tried so hard to make him happy, to keep him from being angry or disappointed in me.”
Her voice cracks, and so does my heart. “But he always found a reason. I didn’t have anyone I could talk to, and I was afraid the cops wouldn’t believe me. I was even more afraid he’d kill me if I went to them. I saved up money and left while he was at work one day. I moved here and sent him divorce papers. I haven’t seen him or talked to him since.”
Anger surges through me, but I stomp it down. I know she’s not giving me the full story, just the abbreviated version. I can’t imagine the horrors she endured at Byron’s hands. If I didn’t already know this asshole was dead, I’d find him and kill him myself.
Her eyes meet mine again, vulnerability shining through the tears. “I’ve been so afraid to let anyone in. Afraid that if I did, I would be giving up control over my life again. I don’t want to be afraid anymore, Jameson.”
My hand comes up, cupping the side of her face. “You don't have to be afraid with me, Wildflower.”
She eyes me, her bottom lip caught between her teeth. “Did you kill Luke?”
I grab her hand, pulling until she’s straddling my lap. “Would it change how you feel about me if I said yes?”
