"Ah. There it is. The Wyatt Houston special!" I taunt.
His face turns red. "What does that mean?"
I jab him in the chest. "It means, there's no point in discussing any of this. It's done and over.We'reover. Leave it at that. There's no point in stomping on old dust." I unlock the door and swing it open.
"Willow!" he calls out.
I pop my head back through the door. "Merry Christmas, Wyatt. Let's not ever discuss this again. From now on, forget about the past."
A mask I remember too well overtakes his features. One he uses when he's hurting. But it's no longer my job to console him. He made his bed, and he can lie in it.
I bolt into my bedroom, lock the door, and slide into my bed. I bury my face into the pillow, crying. All night, I want to go back to his room.
But I don't do it.
That train has left, and it's not one I need to chase after.
4
Wyatt
Wind whistles through the trees, violently barreling against me. I fight harder to trench through the thick carpet of snow, heading toward the barn.
The darkness hasn't lifted. The Christmas bulbs light my path, screaming cheer, but it's the opposite of my mood.
She hates me. And I don't blame her.
It's worse than I thought it could be. As the night progressed into the next day, every sin I committed against Willow played out in slow motion, mixing with the fresh scent of her shampoo still lingering on my stubble.
Her touch still burns me this morning, punishing me so much, I wonder if it'll ever go away.
I shouldn't have come here.
I clench my jaw, fight another merciless gust, and finally reach the barn. I open the door, enter, and slide it shut. I deeply breathe in the muted, sweet hay scent, trying to push my demons away.
"Was wondering when your pretty-boy, bull-riding ass would get out here," Mason jeers.
"It's four thirty in the morning," I point out.
"The horses like us here at four," he claims.
I groan. Jagger's older brother always liked to be the first in the barn. It's like his way of showing everyone he's a harder worker or something.
I glance around. "Where's Jagger? What about Alexander and Sebastian?"
Mason's lips curl. "I'm assuming Jagger's got his newest long-legged coed wrapped around him. Sebastian and Alexander have become pussies during the holidays now that they have their women."
"How so?" I question.
"They don't come out until at least five," he states.
Amused, I grunt. "Yeah. They're real pussies."
A black stallion in the stall next to me neighs so fiercely, I jump.
Mason smirks. "You ride bulls but are scared of horses now?"
"No. I'm hung like a horse, so he's my kindred spirit. What's your excuse?" I banter back, grabbing a nearby apple and then holding it out for the horse.
