Page 66 of Chasing Wildflowers
Jameson
My head snaps up from where I’m slouched on the couch when I hear soft footsteps coming down the stairs. “How is she?” I ask, eyes locking on Kam, desperate to know even the tiniest sliver of information.
She stops and glares at me, hands on her hips. “Why should I tell you, Jameson? She’s in this mess because of you. She’s hurting because of you.”
“I know,” I bite out, standing, fists clenched at my sides, too restless to sit still. “I know she hates me right now, but I need something. Anything. If not, I’m going to bust through that door and make her talk to me. I’m hanging on by a fucking thread, Kam.” My voice cracks. “Please.”
She sighs, giving in. “She’s dealing the best she can, considering the A Bomb that was just dropped on her.She’s scared and she’s heartbroken. Just give her tonight, okay? You can talk to her in the morning.”
I give her a tight nod. “If you are hunting for snacks, there are some of those mint chocolate cookies Lane likes on the counter beside a bottle of wine. There is also peanut butter cup ice cream in the freezer.”
I didn’t know what to do with myself all day, so I went to the store to grab ingredients for beef stew, since cooking has always calmed me. I also grabbed some of Lane’s favorite snacks and, of course, wine.
Kam stares at me, her eyes assessing. “You love her. And I don’t mean you just love her. You’d burn the world to the ground for her, wouldn’t you?”
“Without a second thought.”
She gives me an approving nod. “Thanks for the snacks.” She disappears into the kitchen only to scurry up the stairs a few minutes later, arms full.
I fucking hate not being the one to comfort Lane right now, but Kam’s right. Her world just came crashing down, on top of finding out her boyfriend was sent to track her down.
I’ve really fucked things up.
Vic drops down beside me, setting two tumblers and a bottle of whiskey on the table in front of us, the glass clinking against the wood. The warm, smokey scent of whiskey hits me when he unscrews the cap and pours us both a generous two fingers.
He hands me one. “How are you doing, Son?”
I let out a breath, the tension coiled tight in my chest refusing to loosen. “I was just trying to keep her safe, trying to protect the life she’s built.” I admit, my gaze dropping to the amber liquid clutched in my hand.
“I know you were,” he says, leaning back, one arm resting casually along the back of the couch. “But let me ask you something. Do you think the outcome would have been any better if you had told her sooner? Or if you had called your client right away and told him to shove the job up his ass?”
I shake my head slowly, the weight of my own guilt pressing down. “No. Lane would have run, and our client would have just sent someone else after her. But that still doesn’t make me feel any better about lying to her.” I throw back the whiskey in one swallow, the burn trailing down my throat like fire.
“She’ll forgive you, just give her some time,” he tells me, taking a sip from his own glass. “I’ve got to fly out early and meet a contact of mine. Your Mom will be back sometime in the afternoon. Try to get some sleep, Son. There’s nothing you can do tonight.” He sets his empty glass down with a soft thud, then stands, stretching lightly before heading to bed himself.
The faint clatter of his footsteps fades, leaving the lingering warmth of whiskey and quiet that presses against my ears, heavy and endless.
I pour myself another generous two fingers and sink back into the couch cushion. Vic is right. No matter how I handled this situation, the outcome would have been the same, maybe even worse.
The warmth of the whiskey spreads through me, sharp and grounding, a small comfort against the storm of guilt twisting in my chest.
I just need to prove to her I’m still the same guy she was falling for. I throw back the rest of the whiskey,the burn trailing down my throat like fire and resolve, and set the glass down with a softthumpon the table.
Lane’s safe, under the same roof, and that has to be enough for tonight. Taking a deep breath, I push myself off the couch and head upstairs, letting Vic’s words guide me toward sleep and whatever comes next.
My eyes crack open, the undeniable smell of French Toast wafting through the house. Damn it. Mom’s back early.
Don’t get me wrong, I love my Mom more than life itself, but I was hoping to talk to Lane before I talked to her. She’s going to fire off a bunch of questions I don’t have the answers to yet.
I scrub a hand down my face, trying to wipe away the remnants of sleep, and now anxiety. Pushing the covers off, I stumble out of bed, the plush carpet soft under my feet, and grab the first clean clothes I see at the top of my bag. A shower will give me time to clear my head before I face my mom…and Lane.
I stop short when I see Miles leaning against the door frame of the bathroom, wearing a cocky smirk. “Lane and Kam are downstairs with your mom. Enjoy,” he smirks, before yelling, “Yeah, Jameson, I saw your Mom. She’s downstairs in the kitchen. She is really excited to see you.”
The fucker gives me a wink before shutting the door in my face.
“You’re gonna fucking pay for that, asshole. Just remember who tapped out first last time.” I shout through the door.
He cracks the door, scowling at me. “Yeah, only because you put Nair in my shampoo. I had to go to JuniorProm like that. Jessica Miller wouldn’t even take pictures with me.”
