Tess nodded, smiling. “This is simple and bold enough, it just might work.”
“It will definitely work,” I assured her, pulling her into my arms. “I promise.”
And I stole a kiss before bounding out the door to make it happen.
It was nearly dark by the time I was heading back to the shop. I’d been on a runaround from hell in the delivery truck, looking for sunflowers that weren’t worm-eaten or withering. Thank God we’d closed orders for the day, only selling our stock and taking orders for tomorrow, knowing it would take us all night to get the windows ready and the shop prepared for the shoot.
It was madness, the whole thing. But we would do it. I had no doubt of that.
Tess and I had been in communication all day with updates via text. Jett and Kash had helped her break down the installment and hang the frames I’d built for another installation. The four of them had cut a couple hundred lengths of fiber and tied all the pampas she had, and I was on my way back with the rest while they got the shop ready. And once I was back, we just needed a handful of hours and a whole lot of hands to tie what was left, hang the poles, and stuff the frames I’d build for the wheat.
My phone buzzed in my pocket, and I pulled it out, expecting a dinner order from Tess.
What I found was a text from Wendy.
It was long, too long to read at a glance. I skimmed it at a light, and fear gripped me, cold and merciless. Words jumped out at me: can’t, hurts, alone, how, please.
I need to see you. I don’t know what I’ll do if I don’t.
I glanced at the time. I was close to her parents’ place … I could swing by, though I wondered how quickly I could get back out. I didn’t want to go—the dread I felt at engaging was deep and fierce—but if I didn’t, I wasn’t sure what she’d do. Mix substances and hurt herself. Come to the shop and find me.
I thought through a dozen scenarios, and this was the only one that gave me control. I had to answer the call. I had to go.
I fired off a text to Tess. Gonna be a minute. You guys good?
My phone buzzed a second later. We’re good. Got plenty to do. Everything okay?
I drew a deep, disturbed breath and lied. Yeah, everything’s good. I’ll text when I’m on my way.
All right. See you soon. <3
I tossed my phone in the passenger seat, my jaw ticking and brows drawn.
I’d lied. Because how could I tell her over a text where I was going? How could I have told her at all with everything on her plate tonight?
No. I’d tell her tomorrow when all this was behind us. We could come up with a plan for dealing with Wendy, one we were both comfortable with. Because I couldn’t abandon Wendy.
But I would not lose Tess.
By the time I pulled up in front of Wendy’s building, a dark cloud had settled over Manhattan with the fall of the sun. The metallic scent of rain hung in the air, charged and ready to unleash. And I hurried up the stairs, not knowing what I’d find.
The meat of my hand thumped the door in three thundering bursts. And I waited.
The door flew open, and Wendy stood in the doorway.
Relief broke over her face, mottled and tearstained and shining. “You came,” she breathed, the words hoarse and cracked.
And she threw herself into my arms.
I caught her, my face tight and mind sharp. “What happened?” I asked.
Her hands fisted my shirt, her forehead pressed to my chest. “Nothing. Everything.”
Exhausted. Depleted. Stretched out and paper thin was the woman in my arms.
I stepped her inside, closed the door as the rain began to fall in fat splats, pinging the window like hail. A glance into her mother’s room informed me she was passed out—half off the bed, clothes twisted around her, her chest rising and falling in that slow rhythm of sleep made slower by booze or pills. Or both.
It was six-thirty.
Wendy crumpled in my arms.
“Whoa there,” I muttered, scooping her up to carry her to her bedroom.
The apartment seemed smaller than I remembered, older. Stained and fading. But her room was the same—tiny and bright, the only cheer in this dismal place.
I set her on her sagging bed and knelt at her feet.
“You came.” She still beamed as heavy tears rolled down the curve of her cheekbone.
I wondered if she had taken something, wondered how long it had been since she ate.
“Tell me what happened.”
“I needed you, and you came. You always do.” She chuckled, looking down at her hands. But her smile broke into a sob. “Everything’s falling apart, Luke. You’re the only one who can put it back together.”
“What are you talking about?” I asked gently, knowing this place, this space, this nonsensical circle we’d ride until she came around to it.
She brightened, framing my face with her hands. “Let’s run away.”
As weak as she seemed, I was surprised at how quickly she’d bounded off the bed to fling open her closet and pull out a suitcase.
I watched, dumbfounded.
“Where do you want to go?” she asked, opening a drawer and scooping an armful of its contents into the suitcase. “We can go anywhere. Seattle maybe. Denver? There’s such good hiking there. Think of all the hikes, Luke.”
I stood, intercepting her as she brought another load to her suitcase. I clasped her upper arms. “Wendy,” I said calmly, “we’re not going anywhere.”
Her face bent in anger. She unceremoniously dropped the haul of clothes on our feet. “Why not? Luke, you love me. I know you do, that’s why you came. And I love you. It’s always been you. I know I fucked up. I know I’m crazy, and I hurt you over and over without meaning to. Without understanding why. Why do I do this?” And her anger was gone, replaced by misery.
“I don’t know,” I said softly.
“But you always know how to make it better. So let me fix this. Let me make it right. Come with me, Luke. Let’s start over.” Her hands slid up my chest, and she leaned in like she wanted me to kiss her.
I grabbed her hands. “No.”
Confusion flickered across her face. “But you love me.”
Sadness, guilt. Not for what I’d lost, but for what I was about to do to her. “There’s no fixing what’s broken between us … that’s not why I’m here. It’s because I’m worried about you, not because I love you.”
Another tear, heavy enough to fall without touching her face. “But you have to,” she whispered.
“I’m in love with someone else.”
A gasp shot her back, then into me again, her hands pounding my chest, face wrenched. “No! You can’t. You don’t.”
I grabbed her wrists and locked them in my fists. “I do,” I said sternly, lowering my face to look into her eyes. “I’ve moved on, Wendy. And there’s no going back.”
“No,” she moaned, sinking to the ground, “no, no, no.”
There was nothing to do but catch her, hold her to me, let her cry. “I’m sorry,” I said, my heart so tight, I thought it would fold in on itself.
Her fingers tightened, twisting my shirt, her forehead pressed to the dip in my chest, her tears soaking the fabric, warm and then cool as she caught her breath.