Dani watched me carefully. “You don’t have to turn it on right now.”
“I do,” I whispered. “If I don’t, I’ll imagine the worst.”
My thumb hovered.
The second the screen lit, notifications stacked like a punch.
Missed calls. Messages. Voicemails. Numbers I recognized. And then the name that made my stomach flip.
Wyatt.
There were too many.
I stared until my vision blurred.
Dani leaned closer, voice soft. “What is it?”
“I can’t,” I whispered.
Dani’s hand covered mine, warm and steady. “You don’t have to answer him.”
“I should,” I said, and the guilt hit so hard it felt like nausea.
Dani didn’t argue. She just stayed close.
I opened the most recent message.
It wasn’t long.
Wyatt: Where are you?
Wyatt: Tessa, answer me.
Wyatt: Please.
That one hit different. That one didn’t sound like anger. It sounded like a man with a fist around his own throat, trying to keep himself from begging.
I pressed my knuckles to my mouth, hard.
“I miss him,” I whispered, and the words fell out like a prayer. “I miss him so much I feel sick.”
Dani’s eyes filled again. “Oh, babe.” She wrapped her arms around me again, and this time, I let myself collapse fully. I let the sobs come. I let them tear through my chest and shake my shoulders and leave me raw.
I cried until my throat hurt and my eyes swelled and my skin felt too tight, until I couldn’t remember what I’d been holding back anymore. I cried for Ray. I cried for the ranch. Icried for myself, the version of me that went back to that valley and thought she could be brave enough to carry it all. I cried for the fact that the only man who’d made me feel safe in weeks was the same man I’d pushed away.
Dani held me through it all, rocking slightly, murmuring nonsense and comfort and curses at the universe.
When the sobs finally eased into hiccupping breaths, I wiped my face on my sleeve and stared at the ceiling like it might give me answers.
Dani’s voice was barely a whisper. “You’re going to get through this.”
Forty-Two
Wyatt
Outside, the sun was bright and almost warm. A breeze moved down Main Street carrying the smell of bakery bread and diesel and the faint tang of fall on the edges. The world looked ordinary.
Holt’s truck was parked at the curb. He climbed into the driver’s side. I got in on the passenger side, because for once I didn’t trust my hands to stay calm behind a wheel.
