“Someone told me you got married …” Her gaze trails off before returning. “But your brother said you didn’t … so … what have you been up to all this time?”
The unmistakable twang of a Travis Tritt number blares over the speakers and a group of local bikers parade in and set up camp at the nearest pool table.
“You want to go outside and talk?” I ask.
She doesn’t answer, not immediately. She stares at me a moment longer before nodding. I lead her out the back door, to the alley entrance. One step outside and we’re engulfed in the deafening quietude of a Whiskey Springs Friday night.
“Honestly, Wyatt,” she begins as soon as the door slams shut. “I don’t want to do the awkward small talk thing with you.” Blaire threads her fingers through her hair before gazing up at the stars overhead. “I can’t tell you how many times I’ve practiced all the things I wanted to say to you … and now that you’re here … I don’t even know where to start …” Her voice breaks and her eyes water, but in the blink of an eye, she composes herself and it’s like it never happened. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to hate the one person you love?”
Sort of.
But not in a way that I can explain to her—not here, not now, and not in this way.
Maybe not ever.
There are certain things a man takes to the grave, things that would bring shame on his family’s name if they were to ever get out, things I’m not proud of.
But I know the feeling—to love and to hate the same person.
“Do you have any idea what it feels like to be discarded by the one person you thought loved you more than anything in the whole world?” she asks another question. “I mean, I get that we were just kids, but for crying out loud, Wyatt. You didn’t even write me a Dear John letter—you just ghosted me. After everything. All I wanted to know was why. But instead you left me with this gnawing, nagging, unanswered question that has haunted me my entire adult life.”
“I’m sorry that I hurt you, Blaire,” I say. It kills me that I can’t offer her more than that. “Things don’t always turn out the way we want them to. I wish they’d have been different.”
A thick tear slides down her cheek. She swipes it away and crosses her arms.
“Did you … did you cheat on me? Is that what happened?” she asks.
“Never.”
“Did you go to prison or something?”
I shake my head. “I’ve just been working the ranch, Blaire.”
“I don’t understand.” She tosses her hands in the air. “You walked away from me … from us. But you didn’t move on.” Blaire points toward the back door to Petty Cash. “And your brother says I’m the one who broke you? Make it make sense, Wyatt.”
My god, I wish I could.
I wish so badly that I could.
“All I can tell you, Blaire, is that I’m sorry.” I keep my tone solemn and heartfelt. These words are all I can offer her at this time.
“Wow.” Her chin dips low and her brows rise. “I must be the world’s biggest idiot, because for a moment, I almost believed your apology to be sincere. But you’ve got a track record of lying worse than a backwoods politician—so please, Wyatt.” Stepping closer, she points her index finger into my chest. “Take your apology and shove it up your sorry ass.”
Blaire walks away—and it’s for her own good.
Lord knows I’d chase after her in a heartbeat if things were different. I’d make her mine all over again if I could. But there are some folks in this town who’ll stop at nothing to ensure that never happens.
9
Blaire
* * *
“Dad?” I follow the dim lamp light to his study when I get home, quickly dabbing the dried tears off my face before I get there. “What are you still doing up?”
After blowing up at Wyatt and saying my decade-in-the-making piece, I decided to walk home so I could cool down. I shot Ivy a text, letting her know I was leaving and promising her I’d explain more tomorrow. And I spent the entire ten-minute walk home replaying all the things I said and the unreadable expression on his face.
He didn’t react to any of it.
I didn’t get a flinch or a blink or a swallow. He didn’t rake his hand against his bristled jaw or wear the pained look of a man coming face to face with a long-lost lover.
He simply gave me a generic greeting card apology and left it at that.
“I wasn’t aware I had a bedtime in my own home?” he teases, checking his watch. “What are you doing up so early? It’s only … nine-thirty. Thought you’d be out a little longer.”