1
Wyatt
Home. It’s such a simple word. Only four little letters. Home usually means rest, peace, family, love. But to me, it’s nothing but bad memories and loneliness. I lost my mother here. I lost the only woman I ever loved here. People say I’m a free spirit—that I can’t be tamed—but that isn’t true. The only reason I move around as much as I do is because it’s a way to forget. If I keep myself busy enough, I won’t remember my mother dying or my rough upbringing. I won’t look back on falling in love only to have everything ripped away by one drunken mistake. So I keep pushing on—on to the next destination, on to the next great adventure. What happens when you find yourself alone with nowhere to go? You go home.
“Another round, sweetheart,” I say, holding up my glass.
She walks over and looks me up and down. “You sure about that, cowboy?” She arches one of her brows.
I laugh. “Cowboy?” I lean closer. “You like cowboys?” I shoot her a wink.
She rolls her eyes. “I live here, don’t I?” she says, placing her hands on the bar and leaning in just enough to give me a peek down her top. “What’s your name? I ain’t ever seen ya here before.”
“Wyatt. Wyatt Slade. What’s yours?” I set my glass down as she grabs the bottle of whiskey and pours.
A knowing look forms on her face. “You’re Wyatt Slade?” She points in my direction.
“Ah, I see my reputation precedes me.” I smirk.
“You just sit on back and enjoy your drink, cowboy. I’m going to call you a ride home.” She starts to walk away.
“Oh, come on, I thought you liked cowboys,” I tease, laughing and shaking my head. I pick up my glass and take a sip.
Moments later, the bartender is standing in front of me once again. “I called you a ride.”
I frown. “I didn’t know this podunk town even had a taxi service.”
She smiles sweetly. “It doesn’t. I called Drake.”
Oh fuck. “What? You called my brother?”
She nods, smile still in place. “Mm-hmm.”
“What’d you go and do something like that for? I thought you liked cowboys.” I offer up the best flirty smile I can muster given how drunk I am.
“I do like cowboys; just not drunk ones.” She turns and looks toward the door. “Look who’s here. Your usual, Drake?”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says, sitting down on the barstool next to me. He gives me a disapproving look. “What brought you back to town?”
“I thought you’d be happier to see me, brother.” I tip up the glass and swallow the rest of the liquid.
He chuckles. “I am. I just didn’t expect to get this call. Lucky for you, I was just leaving the brewery—you know, the place that funds all your vacations. The place you work. In theory.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll be in tomorrow,” I promise, but even as I say the words, I don’t even know if they’re true.
He lifts his beer and takes a sip. “You need a ride home?”
“He’s had almost that whole bottle of whiskey to himself. Yes, he needs a ride home,” the bartender says.
I push my glass closer and she picks it up and takes it, refusing to fill it again.
“How’d you get here?” Drake asks.
“I hopped a plane then hitched a ride with someone who was passing through,” I answer.
“The tour’s over?”
For the last six months, I’d been working as a roadie on The Screaming Elephants’ nationwide tour. I didn’t need the money, but the parties were epic. “Yeah, they got signed by a major record label, and they’re planning their worldwide tour now.”
“You going back out on the road with them?”
I shrug. “I don’t know, man. I’m tired, you know?”
He nods as he picks up his beer and takes another drink. “I know we’d all like to have you home for a while. Clay just had a baby boy, and Celeste and Brennan are both pregnant now. You have a lot of family to meet.”
I laugh. “How the hell did you and Colton manage to knock both your wives up at the same time?”
He chuckles. “Probably has something to do with the four of us always drinking together.” He pats me on the back. “Come on, let’s get you home.”
I stand up and sway on my feet.
“Whoa,” he says, righting me.
I brush off his hands and head for the door with him chasing after me. I grab my bag off the floor near the door and throw it over my shoulder. When we make it out to his truck, I toss it in the bed and climb into the passenger seat. He gets behind the wheel and twists the key as the truck roars to life.
“I’ve been keeping an eye on your place while you’ve been gone,” he says, driving through the darkness.
“Thanks,” I mumble. “There’s a cleaning service that comes and cleans the place once a week. The brewery accountant makes sure the bills stay paid. I worked it all out before I left.”
He chuckles, probably surprised I didn’t up and leave without a thought or care in the world. “You really coming into the office tomorrow?”
I lean my head back against the seat. “That’s the plan.” My eyes flutter closed but dizziness takes over, so I force them open once again at the worst possible time. We’re passing by the high school. Memories flood my head.
“Destiny, please just talk to me,” I plead as I chase her out the front doors of the school. It’s been one week since prom and she’s still angry.
“No, Wyatt. I’m done.” She doesn’t stop.
I reach out and catch her wrist in my hand, spinning her around to face me. “I thought she was you!”
She scoffs. “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard, Wyatt. I mean, we look completely different. I knew you two always had a thing for each another. You were always flirting, even when I told you it made me uncomfortable. I guess this is what I get for not breaking up with you years ago.” She tries to turn and walk away, but I won’t let her.
“Can’t you just admit, or even entertain the possibility, that I thought she was you? I mean, you were both wearing the same type of dress. With the lighting in the gym, her blue dress looked white. You both had your hair done up and you weren’t wearing your normal perfume. I was drunk. It was a mistake, baby.”
I start drawing closer to her, and her usual perfume washes over me and makes me long to feel her against me. “Please, just listen to me. I’ve never done anything like this before. You really think I could do something like that to you? I love you.” My hand cups her cheek and my mouth moves in toward hers. Her eyes are locked on mine, slightly glazed over.
At the last second, she pulls away and laughs. “You’re a smooth talker, Wyatt Slade. You almost got me there.” She pulls her hand away and I let her go to avoid hurting her. I can’t do anything but stand back and watch her walk away.
This has been the longest week of my life. I tried to explain that night, and again the next morning, but she wouldn’t even listen. I thought giving her some time would help, but she’s still not letting this go. I have one week left—only one week to convince her to forgive me. If she doesn’t, my life is wrecked. I’ll never get the chance to give her that ring. I’ll never get the chance to be happy again.