A part I don’t think I’ll ever get back.
“Yeah,” I whisper, eyes stinging as tears pool along my lashes. “I understand.”
Ugh, I am so fucking sick of crying.
These mountains are like a siren song for my tears, and I have no control over myself anymore. I grip the top of the wooden fence so hard my fingers turn white.
“Oh, honey,” Heath says gently, reaching over and patting the top of my hand.
Another long stretch of silence spreads over us, but this, time he doesn’t continue.
There’s nothing more to say. It’s not like his words would magically bring my mom back and undo all the pain and suffering of losing her. He knows that, and I know that.
She is gone. Forever. No take-backs.
Isetthetablewith four plates and place the food in the center, trying to remember a time when my family and I sat at our obnoxiously long dining room table and ate a meal together—but we never did.
We just weren’t that kind of family, I guess.
Emmett and Wesley slip into their chairs and waste no time before digging in.
The pot roast and rolls still steam with heat, so I take small, slow bites, savoring the moment and trying not to burn my tongue.
Heath clears his throat and glances at his sons, widening his deep-set brown eyes and tipping his head toward me.
I swallow hard.
Is he choosing now to reveal the truth to his sons? The real reason I am here, throwing a wrench into their lives?
To expose what a burden I am to my father, and now to them?
“Thank you for helping make dinner, Sadie,” Emmett says, winking before taking another large bite.
“Oh.” Relief spreads across my face. “Um, your dad did most of the cooking,” I say with a smile before looking at Wesley.
He grabs another roll and takes a bite like a caveman, keeping his eyes on me. “Thank you.” His voice is low, mouth full of bread.
“Of course,” I chime, deciding to go with akill them with kindnessapproach. He can be broody all he wants. Whether we like it or not, I’m stuck here either way.
Heath asks the boys a few questions here and there about the horses and some fencing in need of repair. Even though I’m sharing a table with complete strangers I just met, I feel oddly comfortable.
More comfortable than I would feel sitting across the table from my own father.
Heath clears his throat and takes a sip from his water glass. I glance up and before I can stop myself, I look at Wesley—and instantly regret it.
He’s already looking at me.
Our eyes lock, and neither of us moves. The clatter of silverware and scrape of plates fades, like someone turned the volume down on the room. It’s just us—his eyes latched onto mine—and I’m caught, unable to break free.
I don’t understand him. He’s been moody and distant ever since I got here, yet he can’t seem to stop eye-fucking me every time he sees me. I don’t have the energy to figure him out. I’m not here to get tangled up and complicate my life any more than it already is. I just need to make it through this summer in one piece.
“Well, it’s a good thing you’re here before peak season starts,” Heath says, his voice cutting through the tension like a knife.
I tear my eyes away from Wesley’s and turn my attention to his father.
“Yes,” I manage, clearing my throat. “Seems like the timing lined up perfectly.”
I nudge the vegetables around my plate, pretending not to feel the heat still crawling up my neck.
