There’s heat in his voice.
Protective.
I get it.
I’d probably say worse if someone was circling someone I loved.
“Thatcher,” I say quietly, “go back to Willow before you and I say some shit we’re both going to regret.”
He squares up a little.
I don’t move.
“I’m not looking to hurt Kelly,” I continue.“You have my word.”
He studies me, jaw tight.
He wants to punch something.
Maybe me.
Maybe the man who wrecked her life.
Finally, he grunts.
“You better not.”
I nod once, sharp, and final.Because on that point, at least, we’re in agreement.
He turns back toward the tent, shoulders stiff like he’s still chewing on whatever the hell just happened here.
Fine.
Let him chew.
I stay where I am.
The mountain air is cool now that the sun’s dropping behind the ridge, and it cuts through the heat still humming under my skin.Pine and damp earth and new grass drift on the breeze, the sounds of the wedding carrying faintly through the trees—laughter, music, glasses clinking.
But out here, it’s quiet.
Just me.
And the steady thud of my own heartbeat.
I shove my hands into my pockets and stare out across the darkening tree line while I wait for my truck to get brought around.
Do I feel bad about what I just did?
About laying it out like that?
About telling Kelly McCrae I want her?
No.
Not even a little.
Maybe I should.
