Confused, I blink at Eric. “How do you know Wes took care of me? I never told you that.”
“You were asleep. I called to check if you were coming back anytime soon to pick up his car. He was practically whispering. When I told him to speak up, he said you had one of your migraines and had fallen asleep on him, so he wasn’t doing anything to wake you up. He didn’t mention it?”
“No.” But now that I think about it, Wes only told me he’d heard from Eric days after it happened. I glance between my brothers, but my attention inevitably drifts right back to the flowers. “I just don’t want to turn into Mom.”
“The fact that you’re worried about it means that you won’t,” Eric says simply. “Hear the guy out. If he screws up again, leave him. But if you ask me, he made a mistake, he’s genuinely sorry, and he’s already said there’s stuff you don’t know. You’re going to this awards dinner anyway, right?”
“It’s my first cover. I’m definitely going.”
“What have you got to lose by seeing what he says?” Sam takes another sip of his beer and shrugs. “Maybe it works out. Maybe it doesn’t. You’re never going to know if you don’t talk to him.”
“When did you get so wise?” I mutter before grabbing the chopped chicken and sliding it into a bowl next to everything else laid out on the counter. “Eat before it gets cold.”
Eric grabs a taco shell and starts shoveling more meat into it than will ever fit, but he pauses and looks me in the eye. “We’re assholes and don’t say it enough, but we get how much you did for us as kids. How much of Mom’s crap you hid from us. You wouldn’t have done any of that if you were like her. Maybe Wes is a good guy. Maybe he’s not. But I don’t think this one thing is enough to give up on someone who makes you happy.”
My sniffle is exaggerated, but the tightness in my throat is real. “You’re annoying when you’re right.”
It’s only later, after my brothers have left and I’m just a little tipsy from the beer, that I find myself delving into my closet. When I finally pull Wes’s sweatshirt out from behind the stack of boxes where I shoved it after our fight, I press it to my nose and draw in the ever-so-faint trace of his scent left in the fabric.
Yanking the sweatshirt over my head, I grab my phone and finally hitsendon the text I typed out earlier.
We can talk in LA. I love the flowers. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss you. Just give me some time.
A notification pops up a few seconds later.I’ll wait as long as you need me to.
Chapter Twenty-Five
After two weeks of askingmyself hard questions, I spend every minute of the flight to Los Angeles, and the subsequent ride to the hotel where the gala is being held, quietly losing my shit.
With five minutes to spare, I nervously smooth down the silk dress and give myself a critical once over in the hotel room mirror. Maybe it’s too on the nose to wear the dress from the cover shot, but it’s not like I packed another one.
The fact that all I can think about in the elevator is the look on Wes’s face the first time he saw me in it, well, that’s a problem I’m just going to have to ignore. Easier said than done when his ravenous gaze locks on me seconds after I step into the ballroom.
Maybe it was a mistake to wait until tonight to talk to him. Maybe we should have done this over the phone, or FaceTime, or bought a cheap plane ticket. Because I know the second his eyes land on me that if I had let him, Wes would have been on a plane to Colorado weeks ago.
The sight of him in formalwear has the same jarringothernessit did months ago at his friend’s wedding, but his suit is a little loose now. Tracy was right. Hehaslost weight. But it’s not just that. His usual easy confidence has gone brittle, shadows under his eyes and his lips not quite forming a smile as we stare at each other.
Wes moves before I do. His first step is tentative. Then he’s weaving through the tables and other guests with single-minded determination, using the advantage of his long legs to cut through the crowd with ease. I should move, step into the hallway, meet him halfway,something. I remain frozen, my heart pounding with nervous anticipation as I watch him approach.
When he stops in front of me, he sucks in a breath before he says anything. His eyes race over my face, searching and just a little desperate.
The sound of my name in his all-too-familiar husky murmur triggers an avalanche of memories so strong I can’t suppress a shiver. We’re in the middle of a crowded room, and yet everything else, everyoneelse, falls away.
The ache in my chest turns sharp when I catch a whiff of his spicy citrus scent. The seconds tick away between us, and I need to say something, anything, but all I can do is clasp my hands together to keep from reaching for him.
Wes lifts one hand from his side like he’s going to touch me, but it lands on the back of his neck instead as he says, “I’m so glad you’re here.” His accent bleeds through despite the low tone, thick as honey.
“Me too.” I clear my throat and tighten my fingers around my clutch in the hope they’ll stop shaking. “Wes, I—”
“Sloane! I was wondering where you were,” Tracy says asshe rushes up and throws her arms around me. “You lookhot!” She steps back, an amused grin curving her lips upward as she glances between me and Wes, and then adds a little too pointedly, “Doesn’t she?”
“Tracy!” I hiss at the same time Wes says, “She always does.” His eyes snap to mine, not quite so frantic now, but no less intense. “Though I’m rather fond of that particular dress.”
My mouth goes dry at the cascade of memories. The yards of pink silk suddenly feel like so much more than a dress as flashes of Wes twirling me on a dirt road, head thrown back in laughter, mingle with the blazing heat of his dark stare in my bedroom, all that silk pooled at my feet.
Tracy’s giggle breaks the intensity of the moment. “Okay, you two, awards first, hot make-up sex later.”
Heat erupts in my cheeks as I sputter, but then Wes laughs. Not his usual laugh—a hoarse, rusty echo of it, as if he hasn’t worked those particular muscles in a long time. And then our eyes meet again, and his laughter fades. He crooks his arm toward me, an invitation and an offer. I don’t let myself overthink it as I slip my arm into his.
