“You were.”
“Yeah, for a second,” Waylon admits. “But I get it. I didn’t at first, but… I get it. It makes sense why you thought that, especially given what happened the other night.”
I study him, not sure I believe him. Not sure I can even come up with the words to explain what was going on in my head at that moment. Hell, not just that moment, but that entire day. It’s like as soon as I got on that plane and had no choice but to sit there, without any way of him getting in touch with me or me getting in touch with him, I just…
Lost it.
“Maybe…” he starts hesitantly. He tries again. “Maybe next time I… have an episode, they don’t call you.”
I stare blankly at him.
His throat works with a swallow, and I can visibly see the struggle in his hazel eyes. The flicker of fear at not being able to come to me when he needs me. It’s a fear as familiar to me as my own.
“I don’t like that plan.”
His brows lift. “Neither do I, but the alternative is…”
“Me coming to LA,” I say flatly.
He was happy. He was happy and I ruined it.
He makes a face. “What? You have to know I’m… God, happy doesn’t even begin to cover it. You being here…” Shaking his head, he looks down, blowing out a harsh breath.
I don’t say anything at first. I just wait, tense and unsure, because I want to believe him. And today, in the light of day, after the first restful sleep I’ve had in over a week, I feel like Icouldbelieve him. I just…
“I don’t want to make anything worse for you.” The words tumble from my lips stilted and unbidden.
His head snaps up at that.
I vaguely remember saying or asking something similar last night. And yet, the admission tastes even more sour on my tongue the second time around. But it’s too late to take it back, even if I could. It’s out there now.
“Will,” he says, slowly shaking his head. “I… Are you serious right now?” he says, voice cracking. Releasing one of his hands from mine, he brings it up to rub roughly down his face. “Do you know what you didn’t see last night, before all the singing and laughing?” Not waiting for me to respond, he drops his hand to his lap and says, “Me losing my shit on the streets of LA all because I was dreading going back to an empty bed.”
It takes a second for his words to process, but when they do, I swear my heart grinds to a stop.
His face pinches and he looks almost angry as he throws a careless hand out, gesturing at nothing. “I was a fucking mess and I couldn’t even admit to the guys why. They knew, of course they fucking knew. But I couldn’t tell them how much I was missing you, because it feltweak.Needing you felt fucking weak. It was easier to admit to them I wanted a drink.”
My lashes flutter closed at that. “Babe—”
“And I did. Iwanteda drink. I wanted to drink ’til I passed out. I wanted to drink until Saturday arrived, and you were here, and I could hold you and not feel like I’m breaking apart inside.”
I’m not sure whose fingers are squeezing whose anymore.
My eyes open, no doubt red-rimmed as they clash with his glistening gaze.
“You showing up like that…” he says, shaking his head.
“It wasn’t part of the plan,” I say, repeating his words from last night.
He throws his hand out again. “I said that because I thought it was my fault.” Compressing his fingers into a fist, Waylon presses it to the center of his chest. “I thought you dropped everything and flew here because I had a stupid panic attack. I was mad at myself, Will, not at you for showing up. I just— I wanted to be strong enough. I wanted to make it to Saturday, forme.”
“And I ruined that.”
He groans. “Jesus fucking Christ, shut up.Shut up!”
I blink wide at his outburst.
“You’re not listening, or maybe I’m just not saying this right.” He huffs and runs his fingers through his messy dark hair. “I saidwas.Past-tense. All past-tense. I don’t… I was just being stubborn. And selfish. And-and…”