“Holly?” That questioning tone colored his voice, threaded with a hint of concern. Her gaze darted to his, finding him watching her, head tilted. “You okay?”
No. No, she wasn’t okay. She’d told herself she’d love him and now she did — without knowing if he loved her in return. What if he never did?
She could tell him, open her mouth and say, “I love you, Colton,” and see what he said in return. She could do that.
Oh, she absolutely could not do that. What if he didn’t say anything? That would be so much worse than Scott, and she’d die, completely, totally die.
No, she could not say anything yet. She could just hear him — she’d get an admonishment about taking things slow, maybe a dismissal of her feelings as hormones and a honeymoon glow. If he said that instead of “I love you, too, Holly,” she’d be crushed.
So she’d just keep her feelings to herself for a little while.
Biting her lip, she pointed at a lopsided tree. “What do you think of that one?”
He cast a quick glance at the conifer, his shoulders moving in a careless shrug. “It’s a tree.”
She forced a laugh. “Seriously, Colt.”
“It’s bare on one side.”
“Okay.” Shaken yet striving for normal, she tucked her hand through his arm. Under her hand, his forearm was firm, steady. Trustworthy. A hint of logic reasserted itself in the midst of her panic. He might not love her now, and she might need to keep her love words to herself — but she could trust him, could rely on his promise not to leave her.
And that would be enough for now.
Chapter Twenty-One
The text waited for him when he woke. Holding his phone above his head, Colt blinked at the screen, at the name attached to the missive, a name he hadn’t seen in his messages for nearly ten years.
Thank you
His brows screwed together in a painful scowl. His arm itched to sling his phone at the wall, an irrational impulse he’d never give into.
Thank you? What did that even mean? And what was he supposed to do with that?
Did he even want to do anything?
Acknowledgement wasn’t an olive branch, wasn’t forgiveness or even connection.
He’d lived with the loss for years, so he knew how to do that, how to live without Tick. At the beginning, he’d thought it would kill him, as surely as a misfired shotgun had killed Will. Confronted with the consequences of his own actions — and being drunk wasn’t an excuse — he’d wanted to die, had thought about what that would be like, the pain and separation swallowed up in peace and nothingness.
In the church, two pews behind Tick, he’d trained his gaze anywhere but the bowed line of his cousin’s neck and shoulders. He’d looked at the silver coffin, at the flowers, even at the profile of Aunt Lenora’s ravaged face.
And he’d known dying as a form of escape wasn’t an option.
He would never do that to his mama.
So he’d learned to live with the loss, like an amputee who’d severed his own limb but suffered phantom pain every damn day.
So when he’d been offered a chance, he leapt from a crumbling rock face, laid himself out there with an admission of how wrong he’d been, how he hated what he’d done to Tick. He’d suffered Lamar walking away, gritted his teeth, accepted they really were done.
Thank you
The words didn’t mean much of anything. Wasn’t like they were an open door or a smile coupled with a backslapping hug or anI miss you, tooor even anI forgive you.
Definitely notI still love you.
OrI’ll always love you.
His chest tight, he stared at the text, the screen dimming while he worked through what he felt.
