He told everyone.
My family stands frozen in the living room. The Christmas tree glows softly, but all the warmth has been sucked out of the air.
Mom's hand rests on Dad's arm, her gaze locked on me. My siblings stare at me in shock.
Hurry up and process it.
I can't believe he told them.
Phoebe's gaze is the one I try to avoid. I lied to her. I shouldn't have, so the guilt swelling in my throat is ten times worse when it comes to her.
The sound of the screen door shutting hits my ears, and a wave of panic assaults me.
He can't leave.
I tell myself it's so he has to face the music at my side, but I'm lying to myself again.
"Wyatt isn't leaving the ranch," I blurt out, stepping toward the door.
"Like hell, he isn't," Dad booms.
"Jacob," Mom warns.
I turn my head, declaring, "He can stay in one of the guesthouses."
"No," Dad states.
"Yes. He can," Mom says with authority.
He looks at her in surprise. She rarely goes against him.
Regardless, I don't have time to waste. I run out the door, crying out, "Wyatt!"
He turns, his truck door already open.
I leap off the last step and go skidding on the ice, landing hard on my butt. I wince. "Ouch!"
Wyatt slams his door shut and rushes toward me. "Willow! Are you okay?" he asks as he reaches for me.
I allow him to help me, grabbing his hand.
He yanks me up and tugs me into him. Worry fills his swollen face. "Are you hurt?"
I tilt my head. "Emotionally or physically?"
His lips twitch. "Let's start with physically."
"My butt will live," I declare.
He rests his hand over a cheek, his dark eyes flickering with amusement. "That's good news."
My smile doesn't last long, replaced with a grimace. "You might need to stick your face in the snow."
He grunts. "I'll be fine."
"That was a suicide mission in there. Why did you do that?" I ask.
He doesn't flinch. "Tell the only people I've ever cared about I'm madly in love with you and aren't going to ever fall out of it?"
