Jacob doesn't flinch and he asks, "And what happened at The Buck and Bruise?"
The man always knows everything.
"I'm sure they had it coming," Jagger states, rushing to my defense.
Jacob pins his eyes on him, warning him not to speak with just a look.
Jagger shifts in his seat and takes a swig of beer.
Jacob returns his steely gaze to me.
Don't bullshit him.
The air thickens. I take a deep breath and admit, "I might have worked my anger out the wrong way."
He studies me with growing paternal authority that roots me to my chair.
My heart races as I wait him out.
He finally asks, "What do you plan to do to get your life back on track, son?"
I squeeze the bottle harder, wondering how to answer him. But I can't. So I admit, "Sir, I don't know."
Another cold stare lances through me, weaving around my lungs until I can't breathe.
I wanted to make Jacob proud when I finally came back.
I've failed miserably.
He rises, asserting, "Take a few days and figure it out. Let me know when you have some answers."
"Yes, sir."
He steps to the side of me and puts his hand on the table.
I force myself to meet his gaze.
His voice drops two octaves when he says, "Wyatt, you will pay my daughter back. Every last cent. Understand?" There's no room for arguing, not that I would. His words hang like a warning.
I nod. "Yes, sir. I already told her that."
He keeps his gaze on mine for another moment, then squeezes my shoulder. "Good to have you home, son."
3
Willow
"Goodnight," I tell my parents, trying to ignore Wyatt's sneaky yet clinging stare. It digs at the same feelings I reserved for him years ago and still can't seem to shake.
Our love might have burned as strong as a wildfire—reckless, scorching with hunger, and molten with secrets—but I'm no longer the girl who adores him. I'm a woman who sifted through all the ashes he left in his wake.
I survived.
I'm not looking for a repeat,I remind myself.
I refuse to do it again. I'm stronger now and no longer naive. So, no matter how many times he gives me his puppy-dog look, I'm not falling for it. Even if the wound he left me aches with or without him, I won't be a fool twice. I'll take the pain alone, where it's safer.
My determination doesn't get easier when he steps closer. He's just like a bull breathing heavily in the chute. His scorched-leather and storm-soaked dirt scent blends with hints of whiskey and beer, all raw and untamed, screaming of desire and obscene pleasure.
