Page 70 of Wild Rivals

As we’re crawling along a dirt track, he finally says, “Okay, spill—what happened?”

I stare out of the window, looking at the mountains in the distance, their presence reassuring. “I don’t know what she’s done to me, Gray. She’s shutting me out, but all I want to do is make her feel better. It’s like she’s afraid to show me that she’s hurting.”

He keeps his focus on the road. “Do you think she’s got reason to?”

I lift a shoulder. “Fuck yeah, she’s grieving. I’m man enough to admit that I have a certain reputation, but it’s not like I haven’t been trying to prove to her that I care.”

We drive over a dip in the road, the truck rattling around us. “Let me ask you this. Do you think that when she’s had time to process everything and figure out her new normal, she’d be open to you being there for her?”

I sigh heavily. “I don’t know. I’d like to think so, but I honestly don’t know. I mean, what do I do now? How do I still be there for her without actually being there? I’ve never navigated something like this before. I’m usually the one isolating myself.”

“You’ve got to give her time and space, man. Be ready and waiting for when she’s worked through everything. Especially if you think this could be something worth holding on to.”

It is. Deep down, I know that. We might have started out with a heavy dislike for each other, but the more I’ve gotten to know Maddie, the more she’s weaved her way under my skin and rooted herself into my bloodstream.

“It really fucking hurts, Gray. Physically it feels like I’ve been kicked in the chest by a horse,” I reply, defeated, resting my head against the cool glass of the passenger’s side window.

He reaches out and claps a hand on my shoulder. “Believe me, I understand that feeling. When Avery left, it took everything in me to show up every day, but I did, for you guys. So do that for her.”

I know he’s right, but at this moment, that feels almost impossible when she keeps closing herself off and blocking me at every turn.

42

MADDIE

It’s been nearly six weeks since we buried Daddy. I miss him like crazy, but after some tough love from Deacon last night, I’m finally putting on my big girl panties and heading back to work. He was pissed that I’ve been skulking around my house for weeks. There was no mincing his words when he told me the team needed me, reminding me that they lost Daddy too and I’ve not even tried to go and see them.

That one hurt, but, of course, he was right. I didn’t tell him that, though, because he could have been a bit nicer about it. The truth is, I’ve been avoiding anything that would remind me of Daddy because I haven’t felt strong enough. How can I when any time I walk into my kitchen and glance in the direction of the spot where he collapsed, I break down? Or—and I’m kind of ashamed to admit this—I’ve spent many a sleepless night trying to talk to his ghost?

All that ends today.

At least that’s what I tell myself as I smooth my hands over my dress before sinking into my office chair. I’ve barely been here an hour, and I’ve nearly cried five times. I’m not sure how I’m going to get through the day, but with Mona handling any face-to-face meetings, I’m going to try.

When I haven’t been missing Daddy, Wyatt and memories of the last time I saw him have been playing on a loop in my mind. I still feel his hands on my body, and for too long I avoided changing my sheets because I wanted to hold on to the smell of him. Yet again, I think I made a mistake in pushing him away.

Hell, I know I did.

It’s been two weeks and despite how we left things, he’s still been texting me and sending over plates of food. I don’t know how long he’ll keep it up, but that’s something for me to analyze another day.

Right now, I have a pile of invoices to get through and a proposal to put together for a client that Hunter Kingsley referred to us.

A vase of bright yellow and white flowers catches my eyes from its spot on the table under the window. I didn’t notice them when I first walked in, but now my gaze keeps drifting to them. They’re fresh and in the beam of sunshine give off a sense of hope. They aren’t funeral flowers, that much I know, but they feel too bright and cheery for me right now. I don’t know who they’re from, but I can’t have them in here, not today.

Standing with intention, I round my desk and pick up the vase, their floral scent invading my nostrils as I carry them to Mona’s desk. She whispers something into the handset of the phone pressed to her ear before slamming it into the cradle as if she’s been caught red-handed.

“Did you need me to get them some fresh water?” she asks, a groove forming between her perfectly shaped dark brows.

I hold the vase out to her. “No. Can you get rid of them?”

“Of course, but they only came in yesterday.”

“I just don’t want them in my office.”

“Okay.” She takes the vase from me, standing awkwardly as I stare at her. “Was there anything else?”

She’s hiding something. Mona doesn’t do that. I’d like to think we’ve worked together long enough for me to be able to read her. Her gaze flicks to the phone as she presses her lips together.

“Who was on the phone?” I ask, my body falling still.