Page 47 of Stay Wild Darlin’

“It wasn’t your fault. You were bein’ kind. I twisted it into somethin’ it wasn’t. I was pissed off at things that had nothing to do with you, and I took it out on the wrong damn person.” He sighed and pulled something from his back pocket—the baby monitor. He held it up, eyes lifting to meet mine again. “She’s out cold. Can I show you somethin’? Outside.”

I hesitated for a second. “Yeah . . . okay.”

He turned, and I followed him through the house, our steps quiet against the floorboards as we made our way to the front door. I still didn’t know what he was about to show me—but the knot in my chest loosened.

Dalton led me down the front steps and across the yard. We walked up the gravel driveway in silence, the crunch beneath our shoes the only sound in the still night.

He stopped a few feet from the road, hands on his hips as he looked out into the dark. I followed his gaze, but there was nothing there, only the empty stretch of country road, the quiet hum of crickets, and the soft rustle of wind through the trees.

I looked at him, confused. “What am I supposed to be seeing?”

He didn’t answer right away. His jaw worked like he was grinding down whatever was trying to crawl out of him.

He swallowed hard and said, “Her name is Brooke.”

21

Dalton

If I talked about her, then somehow it would make it all real, what happened, but I owed it to Poppy, especially with the asshole thing I’d said earlier.

“She’s been in my life a long time,” I said, my voice sounding like gravel in my throat.

Poppy didn’t say anything.

“We’re from the same hometown. She moved out here not long after I did. We ran in the same circles—mutual friends, late nights, rodeos, bars.” My hands flexed at my sides. “We had a thing,” I admitted, staring hard at the road ahead like it might give me a reason not to keep going. “It wasn’t perfect, but I thought we got each other.” I hesitated, then said the part I’d never wanted to say out loud. “And—I loved her.” My voice dropped on the last word. It didn’t come easy and scraped on the way out. “I thought I did.”

I glanced over at Poppy, but she didn’t say anything, so I kept talking, trying to piece together what had happened over the last year.

“She was my friend growing up. We were always together, and whenever I was home, we . . . yeah, we hooked up. It wasn’t anything official. Just messy and familiar and hard to quit. I thought maybe one day we’d figure it out, make it stick.” My throat tightened a little. “Then came the night of Fable and Beau’s engagement party. She was there. We drank too much, and that night felt different.” I rubbed my jaw. “She disappeared after that. No calls, no texts. Nothing. Next thing I know, she shows up a year later . . . with a baby.”

My chest ached as I said it out loud. I swallowed hard.

“She was known around here,” I said quietly. “After she started working at the bar, people talked. She partied a lot. Hung with the wrong crowd. Got mixed up in shit that . . . I didn’t want to believe it.” I shook my head, jaw tight. “It was hard. Watching someone you care about spiral like that. I kept thinking maybe she needed time. That she’d come around. That what we had meant something.” I let out a humorless laugh. “Turns out, she needed more than time. She needed to leave.”

I looked over at Poppy again, her face unreadable, but her eyes never wavered.

“She came back with Cora,” I said. “Said she couldn’t do it. Handed her to me like she was dropping off a bag of groceries and left. I haven’t seen her since.”

I lifted a hand and pointed to the stretch of road in front of us, dark and empty, nothing but moonlight and dust. “I keep thinking she’ll come back. One night I’ll see headlights coming down that road, and she’ll be here . . . wantin’ to see her daughter.” I dropped my hand back to my side as I exhaled slowly. “I watch the road sometimes at night.”

The silence stretched between us again, thick with everything I didn’t know how to fix. Everything I’d been carrying alone.

“Everyone expects me to be a screwup. I’ve been hearing it my whole life—my folks, half this town. I guess I’m so paranoid about actually being that mess they say I am . . . I lash out the second I feel like I might lose control.” I sighed. “I did it to you. I was scared.” I paused, swallowing hard. “Where I’m from, showing emotion, crying, or . . . caring? That got me shit-talked to hell and back. I learned not to let it show, and I turn into an asshole when I’m freaked out.”

My voice caught a little before I managed, “I’m sorry.”

She looked like she was about to reach for me—her arm twitched and lifted slightly—but she pulled it back, tucking it into her chest and shaking her head. “I get it,” she whispered. “It’s okay.”

We stood there in the quiet, staring out at nothing. At everything.

I wasn’t someone who cried. I’d learned early on how to bury that kind of thing deep, where no one could see it. Standing next to this girl in the still dark, my throat was tight, and my chest was heavy, and I had to cough to clear the emotion out.

I swallowed it down and stared at her. The porch light caught on the soft curve of her cheek and the stray pieces of hair that had come loose. Her hands were shoved down into the pockets of her leggings, and when she moved, it revealed the tiniest sliver of bare skin at her stomach.

“Hey, Poppy?”

“Mm?” She hummed, glancing over at me, still half lost in whatever thought she was holding on to.