Page 20 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Yeah,” I admit. “My mum didn’t leave. Not exactly. But she chose other things over me. Drugs, men, herself. I stopped being a priority.”

I rub my thumb firmly against my wrist, the pressure doing its best to keep me in the moment. Vulnerability has never been my strong suit. But with him, it feels... ok.

“When I was little, we’d dance in the kitchen while we cooked. We'd stay up too late watching films in bed and eating the best type of dinner—a picky tea.”

“Picky tea?” His forehead creases.

Despite the heaviness of the conversation, I can’t help but laugh. “You poor, uncultured American boy. I’ll educate you later.”

That earns the faintest huff of amusement.

“Everything changed when I hit my teens,” I continue. “She met someone, got into harder stuff. I became invisible. So, I left. Moved in with Iris and her mum for a while. I haven’t seen my mum since.”

The fire pops loudly, but Colt doesn't seem to notice. His thumb has finally stopped tracing circles around the neck of his bottle. He's completely still now, eyes fixed on me, giving me his full attention in a way I'm not entirely used to.

“I guess what I’m trying to say is… sometimes, the people who choose to leave us leave a bigger hole than the ones who die. And we’re allowed to miss them. Even when they don’t deserve it.”

The silence that follows feels softer than it did earlier. Comfortable. Like we both needed to let something out.

Maybe it’s the beer. Or the fire. Or maybe it’s the way Colt let me in with no hesitation. But I find myself leaning in, resting my head gently on his shoulder.

He doesn’t move. Just lets it happen.

“I’m glad you didn’t bail,” he says after a moment.

“Me too.”

And for once, I mean it. No sarcasm. No deflection. Just me. In goblin-mode clothing and fluffy slippers, under a sky full of Texan stars, sitting next to a boy who understands what it feels like to be left behind. Maybe that's why talking to him feels easy. Neither of us has ever felt whole in our entire lives.

Four bottles deep, and I’m officially tipsy. I thank whatever ranch Gods are looking out for me for having tomorrow off. Plenty of time to explore, which, means wandering around the ranch because that’s the extent of my options within walking-distance.

“Another one?”

Colt reappears from the kitchen, arm outstretched, offering me another beer.

I hesitate for a second. I probably shouldn’t, but I don’t want this night to end just yet.

Whether it’s the alcohol or just how easy everything feels with Colt tonight, my body feels like it’s exhaled fully for the first time since I got here. I sink deeper into the chair, beer in hand, letting the fire’s warmth kiss my skin.

Colt and I don’t say much. Just sip and stare at the flames as they burn low. coexisting in comfortable silence.

That is, until we hear the front door slam.

“What the hell?” I jump, eyes landing on Colt, his creased brows mirroring mine.

It’s nearly 11 p.m. Who’s showing up now?

We push ourselves out of our chairs and wander inside.

And there he is.

Wade Carter. In all his muscle-hugging dark-shirt, unreadable-expression glory.

“Didn’t mean to interrupt,” he says flatly. “Just needed something from the office.”

His eyes catch mine and stay there for a moment, long enough for something in my stomach to flip and an internal drunken squeal to echo in my head.

I can’t seem to look away. Neither can he.