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Max perked up as we eased off the loungers and made our way back inside. He was galloping toward us while I held the slider open for him. Killian’s dark brows lifted in silent question as we made our way to the kitchen, but he didn’t follow us or ask.
Laura got to work digging through the cabinet while I focused on the freezer. Wes didn’t have anything but meat and vodka, plus three microwave dinner meals.
“I’m going to see if he has another freezer in his garage,” I said to Laura before taking the side door through the small mud-slash-laundry room, until I was walking into a pristine garage. The humming from the freezer to my left was the only sound in the space, and it was significantly warmer with no air conditioning running, but the sealed floors were cool against my bare feet.
Flipping on the light, I veered toward the stainless-steel fridge, but the far wall of his garage caught my attention. His tools were immaculate, but on the worktable there were a few parts he was obviously in the process of working on. Above the table were pictures pinned to the wall.
At least ten four by six, glossy images were scattered around the space. I walked closer, desperately needing to see who was important enough to Wes to have them pinned to where he worked.
Leaning over the table, my nose was practically against the image of a much younger Wes with his arm hung over my shoulder. In the photo my eyes were closed, my mouth open with a wide smile, and my head was tilted into the crook of his arm.
He was staring down at me with something that looked like devotion. That was the night we’d snuck into a concert to see one of my favorite bands. Neither of us had any money, so Wes would always find some loophole during the summer, when the bands played outdoor venues.
I moved to the next image; it was of us kissing. We were eighteen and living in the cabin. His arm was behind my head to take the photo, as my arms flung around his neck. The next image was of us dancing at sunset. Someone else took this photo, because it was a few feet back from where we swayed under the gold and orange sky. My friend Genny’s wedding…that’s why I was wearing a dress, and he was dressed in a button-down shirt.
My eyes watered as they moved from memory to memory. Soaking in every picture, branding it to my mind, because when I had left all those years ago, I left this all behind. Every photo, every memento. Anything at all that would remind me of what I had, and here he’d been keeping it all up, as if I’d just walk right back into his life one day.
And here I was.
A sharp inhale cut through me as I swiped at my eyes and moved away from the table. I thought back to the letters I had read earlier, and how angry they’d made me. How his lies had found a new way to tear at the seams of my pride. Wes was salt to every wound I had ever had— every heartache, every hurt. He was the reason I was still hurting, and those stupid letters only proved it. I couldn’t believe he’d lied about them. These pictures only worked to enrage me further, proving that Wes was only toying with me.
Stupid Wes probably had cameras in this room, too, and was likely watching me right now. Just to show him I didn’t care, I raised both my middle fingers and spun around in a circle. Once I was finished, I walked to his freezer and pulled out two pints of ice cream.
* * *
It was late when I heard the murmuring of voices.
Killian had stayed through the night while Laura and I had our own little party in the guest room. We binge-watched romcoms from the nineties while eating our weight in junk food, even going as far as to order food from DoorDash.
Unfortunately, we learned they weren’t allowed on the premises, and someone would have to go meet them on the main road. Killian begrudgingly sent a prospect to get our food. He was being suspiciously quiet, even when I bought him his favorite burger and fries. He took his meal and ate it soundlessly on the couch, while I tempted him with an episode of Gilmore Girls. He had shaken his head while giving me the world’s most pathetically sad smile.
I worried that maybe I was overstepping my role in his life with my return home, and maybe Killian was still pissed at me. But the way his gaze would linger on Laura had me assuming something else and wondering if maybe I was missing something there. I wanted to ask my best friend, but she had already passed out.
I was about to turn off the television and try to get some sleep when footsteps echoed outside the door. I wasn’t ready to see Wes after what I’d read in those letters, or what I saw in his garage so I slammed my eyes shut right as the handle twisted.
I couldn’t hear his steps because of the soft carpet, but I could feel his presence drawing closer, until he was right next to me.
I worked so hard to slow my breathing, keep my eyes from fluttering so he wouldn’t know I was awake, and maybe it worked because he remained silent. Until suddenly his warm hands slid under me, drawing me to his chest in one quick movement. With long strides, he carried me out of the room.
“I’m headed out, I’ll talk to you tomorrow,” Killian muttered softly to Wes while it sounded like he shut Laura’s door.
We stood still for a moment when I heard another small exchange between the two, but I couldn’t make it out.
Then we were on the stairs, obviously headed to his room, and that’s when the realization really hit me. I finally dropped the act and stared openly at him.
“I never agreed to sleeping in your bed.”
He ignored me, continuing with me flush against his firm chest. It was dark as we passed the small office space and finally entered his bedroom through his open door.
The urge to sneak up here had ridden me all day, just to snoop for more clues about his life, but I remembered he had cameras and stuck to downstairs.
He shut his door with the heel of his boot, and when we were within a foot of his bed, he tossed me. I landed with a bounce, a gasp leaving me.
“Hey—”
It was still dark, but Wes clicked on the bedside lamp, revealing his handsome face, and sculpted frame. Even with a simple T-shirt on, I could see his hard pecs and the way the fabric strained against his well-toned biceps.
With a feral gleam tilting his lips, he grabbed the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. I must have sucked in a tiny bit of air, because that grin turned arrogant as he leaned over me, his palms dropping to the mattress.
