I want to tell her the truth, that the idea of her starting things back up with that scumbag shreds me to pieces. But that’s not a conversation I can have with her right now. I’m too angry. Anything I’d say would sound more like an attack, and I refuse to subject her to that.
Dropping on the edge of the couch, I push my hands into my hair and hold my head. Everything feels like it’s spinning out of control. First, seeing that text on Bree’s phone, and then, during the ride home, Piper called to tell me Nana already has a potential offer for the ranch. Piper reassured me she’s not doing anything until after the holidays, so we still have time to figure something out.
What, I have no idea, but add that to the steaming pile of crap living in my head that needs a bigger shovel than I can muster at the moment. I suppress a growl when my cell dings again.
Bree: Wade?
If I don’t answer her, she’ll keep texting or, knowing her, show up at my door, and I’m still too mad about that text I saw to have a reasonable conversation.
Wade: I’m fine.
Bree: Liar! Talk to me.
I start typing a reply, confessing I saw the text and asking her why she would want anything to do with him anymore. But nothing sounds right. No matter how I word it, I sound like a jealous boyfriend in a rage or a pathetic wimp dancing around my feelings.
One thing I know, Bree deserves better. She also deserves a reply. I latch onto the situation with the ranch as an excuse.
Wade: Piper called. Nana already has a potential offer.
Bree: Oh, wow. I’m so sorry. That has to be killing you. Why didn’t you say something at the bar?
Easier to let her assume Piper called before I went to the bar to explain why I showed up in a crappy mood instead of admitting I text-dropped and can’t handle the thought of her getting back withhim.
Man, I can’t even stand to think of his name, let alone say it.
Wade: Didn’t mean to ruin the evening. I’m sorry.
The three dots appear, then go away. This happens several times, so either she’s unsure what to reply, or she’s writing a long message, telling me I had every right to be upset—a typical Bree-thing to say because she’s so empathetic and caring.
Bree: You didn’t. Want me to come over?
Short and sweet, and not at all what I expected. I’m guessing she hesitated adding that second line because she’s still in avoidance mode. And I don’t blame her, considering how I reacted when I first found out she was dating Langston. I need time to process this, so when she works up the nerve to tell me, I don’t go ballistic and do something stupid that ends our friendship.
Wade: No, I’m going to bed. We have early practice, and then we hit the road afterward.
Bree: I forgot about that. Guess I won’t see you for a while.
Is she relieved? She can figure things out withhimwithout me giving her a hard time about it. That thought only pushes the knife in deeper. But at least I won’t be around to see it.
Wade: Yeah, guess so.
Before she can reply, I send a text to make it clear I’m done talking. It’s better for her…and for me.
Wade: Night, Bree-bear. I’ll call you when I get back.
More cycles of bouncing dots. Part of me wants her to push for answers. The other part doesn’t want to risk losing her. This kind of conversation is hard enough to navigate without seeing her face to gauge her reaction, so telling her the truth in a text is a solid no. But I also know I can’t pretend I’m not in love withher anymore, and I certainly can’t lie. Probably a good thing that I’ll be gone for a while so I can work on getting my head straight.
And come up with a plan.
Bree: Okay. Night.
I toss my phone down again, contemplating going to bed like I told Bree or running on the treadmill to relieve the powder keg building in my chest. The TV catches my attention, so I pick up the remote, searching for something distracting to stream, but nothing appeals. I’m too amped up to sleep, so treadmill it is. Better yet, the air felt crisp and clear when I got home. A nighttime jog should do the trick. I’ll run until I’m ready to drop, shower, and then pass out for the night.
As I head to my bedroom to change, a knock at my front door stops me in my tracks. With a growl, I pivot in that direction. What if it’s Bree? Can I face her right now when all I want to do every time I see her is crush her against me and taste her lips again? To whisper in her ear how long I’ve waited for her to see me as more than a surrogate brother, delegated to the best friend zone and that I go out of my mind when I think of her back withhim.
Another knock, this time heavier and followed by Ethan’s muffled voice. “Come on, Wade! We know you’re home. Your car’s here.”
I yank open the door. All the fellas stand there, staring back at me—even Zayne and Mason.
