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“No! That’s not—" Panic tightened its icy grip around my chest.
“It wasn’t like that, man,” Finn said.
“No? Poor Wyatt needs a horse, so you two concocted a plan to get me riding him.”
The accusation stung because he wasn’t wrong. Tears welled up, hot and stinging, blurring my vision.
“I’ll always be a fucking charity case to you, Kinsley.” With that, he stormed off.
“Wyatt, please.” My tears drowned out my plea. I attempted to follow him, but Cher tugged me toward her stall, eager for her meal.
“Shit.” Finn grumbled, taking off his hat and running his hand through his hair. He slumped against the stall wall. “I’ll talk to him.”
“No, I’ll talk to him,” I insisted. My heart was heavy with guilt. Wyatt’s anger was directed at me, and it was up to me to make things right.
When I caught up with him, Wyatt was furiously packing his belongings into his truck.
“Where are you going?!” My voice broke, the panic rising in my throat like a tidal wave.
“Home.” His response was curt as he hefted his saddle into the back. He wouldn’t even look at me.
My apology stumbled out, sounding desperate. “Wyatt, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to—"
“Didn’t mean to trick me into riding your horse?” His retort was sharp, cutting deep.
“You needed a horse!” I countered, my frustration mounting.
“That wasn’t your problem to fix.”
“I don’t fucking care!” My outburst echoed between us, raw and unfiltered. The dam of my composure had broken, and the flood of fear and desperation poured out.
“What?” He seemed taken aback by my vehemence.
“When you’re in a relationship with someone, that’s what you do! You help each other, you figure things out together, and you sacrifice for the other person! But you can’t seem to understand that! You’re constantly pushing me away because you think you have to do things on your own. Well, it’s bullshit! You say you love me, that you want a life with me, but it’s never going to work until you pull your head out of your ass and let me in!” My words spilled out, a torrent of emotion and frustration, each sentence punctuated by the rapid beat of my heart.
He stood there across the hood of the truck, silent, his glare as intense as the emotions swirling between us. I held his gaze, my breath heavy, as my entire being screamed for him to just listen and understand.
But he only shook his head, the finality of the gesture like a slap to the face.
“No. I’m not doing this again.”
I struggled to draw in air, each breath a sharp pain in my chest.
Watching Wyatt hastily throw the rest of his things into the truck was like watching the last two years of our lives being carelessly packed away.
“Wyatt, please, let’s talk about this,” I pleaded, my voice breaking with the effort to keep him here and make him see reason.
He paused, his hands gripping the edge of the truck bed. “There’s nothing left to say, Kinsley.” His voice was low and strained.
I moved closer, the gravel crunching under my boots. “I-I thought we were in this together. That we could face anything, as long as we had each other.”
Wyatt looked up at me with an expression of anger and pain. “How can we be in this together when you’re making decisions for me? Decisions that I should be a part of?”
I reached out. If I could just touch him…
But he stepped back, putting more distance between us.
“I love you, Wyatt. I thought that meant I should do whatever I could to help you.” My voice was barely a whisper, drowned out by the sound of my heart breaking.
