Page 66 of Wild Rivals

The tension seeps out of him, and he jerks his head in a nod before holding his hand out. I hesitate for a second before sliding my hand into his and giving it a firm shake. It feels like I’ve wasted years of my life being angry with Deacon over something that’s trivial in the grand scheme of things. I might never have gone on to play D1 football because it didn’t speak to me in the way working on the ranch does. But I think it was the fact that I didn’t have the choice that built up the anger and frustration with Deacon and his careless mistake. That’s what it was. A mistake. I could have done the same thing.

“I can’t blame you for holding a grudge for this long. Lord knows I would have. But I agree, I think we both need to let this shit go.” He looks back at the house before turning to face me again as he releases my hand. “She’s not doing well. But I’m glad you’re here, Wyatt. Just don’t hurt her.”

I nod, but I think I already did, with the years of animosity I aimed at her. “I won’t. And for what it’s worth, I’m sorry for your loss. Losing a parent is shitty at any age.”

He claps me on the back as he walks past, heading for the ATV I hadn’t noticed parked at the end of the path. When he starts the vehicle, the noise disrupts the quiet and I watch as he takes off, leaving a cloud of dust in his wake before I turn toward the house.

Maddie is still at the door, a sadness rolling off her that I want to wash away. As I climb the steps, she moves back, holding the door open, a sense of defeat seeping into her as she avoids eye contact with me.

We don’t say a word as I cross the threshold, but instinctively, I pull her into my arms. I bury my nose in her hair, breathing in the faint scent of vanilla as I close my eyes.

Fuck. I’ve missed her.

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs against my chest, her voice sounding small and uncertain.

I press against her shoulders as I bend my knees to look at her. There are dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes that tell me she’s not been sleeping. An ache settles on my chest, a yearning to take away her pain building inside of me.

“You don’t have to be sorry for anything, Mad,” I reassure her. “There’s no right or wrong way for you to handle your grief. I was just worried about you, that’s all.”

She reaches out and runs a finger down the side of my face as her chin trembles and a single solitary tear slips free, tumbling down her cheek. I pull her against me, afraid that she might break if I let her go.

God, I left it too long. I should have been more demanding. I should have been here taking care of her. She shouldn’t have felt that she needed to distance herself from me. When she pushes back, I loosen my hold on her but don’t let her go entirely. I can’t and I’m not sure I ever will.

She scrubs away the moisture on her cheeks before jutting out her chin. “Can you help me forget?” she asks, a pleading note to her voice as she stares at my chest, like she’s afraid to face my rejection.

My brows tug low, unsure of what she means. Help her forget? I know from experience that’s impossible to do.

At my lack of a response, she shifts her attention away from the material of my damp T-shirt and up to my face before she clarifies, “I just want to not think about how he’s not here anymore. Just for a minute. Please, Wyatt. Help me forget.”

“How?” I rasp, smoothing my hands up her arms. Whatever it is she needs me to do, I know that I’ll do it. I’d do just about anything to help her feel better, because seeing her like this is killing me.

I don’t know when it happened, but somewhere along the line I started to feel very real things for her. They should scare me, but they don’t, they make me feel invincible. It’s how I know that I’m not going anywhere.

She reaches for the buckle of my belt and when she starts to undo it, I cover her hands with mine. “Maddie,” I warn. This doesn’t feel like the right way for her to not be in her reality. I don’t ever want her to regret us in that kind of way. Not again. Besides, what she’s going through isn’t something you can run from; it will find you no matter where you go.

“Please, Wyatt. I want this. I need this.”

The desperation is what breaks me. It shatters my heart into a million pieces, breaking down my defenses until I know that there’s only one thing for me to do.

“Okay,” I whisper, the word so quiet I hardly hear it over the hammering of my heart. She goes back to undoing my belt, but I halt her again, waiting until she’s looking at me to add, “But not here.”

If I’m going to do this—help her forget her heartache and grief, even for just a moment—then I’m going to make love to her in a bed, not fuck her against a wall. I’m going to worship her like I should have done this entire time.

40

MADDIE

These past few weeks have been like my own personal hell. I’m constantly reminded of the fact that Daddy’s gone. I haven’t been able to face going to work, to sit in the office that was once his and act like I’m okay, when that couldn’t be further from the truth. So, I’ve isolated myself as much as I can, spending hours in bed, beating myself up for not saving his life, even though I know there’s nothing I could have done.

I take Wyatt’s hand and lead him toward the stairs. The last thing I wanted to do was push Wyatt away, but I needed to. I couldn’t let him see me like this; the ugly truth of my grief. I don’t think I’d have survived if he did.

He asked me out on a date. One that never happened. He didn’t sign up for this version of me. So, I’ve missed him like crazy and now that he’s here, I want nothing more than to lose myself in him. To have something to remember him by.

This—the sex—is how we work when we’re not fighting. I wish I could call him mine, could seek comfort in his arms like I’m someone he loves, but the truth is, we’re nothing more than two grown adults who fuck occasionally. He doesn’t owe me a thing. Certainly not his love, or care. So, for now, I’ll take what I can get and lose myself in him.

We move through the house in silence; the only sound is the gentle creak of the floorboards as we go. I hear my pulse pounding in my ears and feel the sharp, endless ache of the headache that’s been plaguing me for days, still lingering in the back of my mind.

When we come to a stop in the middle of my bedroom, I turn to face him, finding the hem of my T-shirt almost instantly. I pull the cotton material over my head before dropping it to the floor, where it lands with a soft thud. Next to go are my jeans; they’re a little looser than they were the last time I wore them. All my clothes are.