Page 91 of Tame Our Wild

Something isn’t right.

When the house comes into view, the sight of Colson’s truck in the driveway next to Matt’s should settle me, but it doesn’t.

My Lyft driver pulls up behind them and parks before turning to look at me. “Would you like help with your bag?”

I shake my head, nervously wiping my sweaty palms on my jeans. “No. That’s okay. Thank you for the ride.”

Reaching for the door, I step out into the spring air, the fresh scent doing nothing to calm my racing heart.

When I grab my bags and move around the trucks, a figure on the porch draws my attention. My heart plummets into my stomach when I realize it’s Matt rocking slowly on one of the four rocking chairs as if he’s been waiting for me to arrive. Even from where I stand at the edge of the driveway before it meets the yard, I can tell his face is solemn, his body stiff as he rocks back and forth as if it’s just something to keep him preoccupied and distracted.

Dragging my bag, I haul it onto the sidewalk and approach the porch stairs that lead to the front door.

Matt watches me stop, and I hesitate. “I thought Colson was supposed to pick me up.”

He drags a hand over his face. “Yeah, he was. I told him it wasn’t a good idea.”

My unsettled heartbeat halts for a moment. “What do you mean by ‘it wasn’t a good idea’?”

His rocking movements stop as he leans forward in the chair, bracing his elbows on his knees. “He’s not—” Matt shakes his head. What the hell is he not telling me? “If I hadn’t come over, he would have—Fuck,” he bursts, making me jump.

Leaving my bag, I pace up the porch steps and lean against the pillar. “What the hell is going on, Matt? Colson hasn’t answered any of my texts today. He was supposed to pick me up at the airport, but you sent a Lyft instead. Where is Colson?”

Only the muscles in his jaw move.

“Fine, if you’re not going to tell me, I’m going to go find him.” The second I move and blast through the front door, he is hot on my heels.

Somehow, I feel the stale silence before I even yell his name. “Colson,” I belt. Matt catches up to me and grips my wrist. “Tell me where he is, Matt,” I grit out, ripping out of his hold.

“No, Harlow. I don’t know what he needs right now, but what I do fucking know is that you could make it worse. You’re the reason he—”

I spin around and face him. “I could make it worse?”

His mouth opens and closes, several beats passing, but he still gives me nothing. Colson’s clearly not in the house, so he must be somewhere outside. Turning around, I walk back onto the porch and down the sidewalk, heading to the barn. Matt doesn’t leave me, he follows, those frustrated huffs he’s making telling me he’s upset I’m not listening.

He’s scaring me. All I want to know is if Colson is okay.

When I near the barn, a faint sound reaches my ears, but I can’t tell what it is. I follow it, ignoring the way Matt keeps saying my name.

Rounding the barn, I stop short. The cloudless sky stretches out, the fresh greens and early-spring wildflowers in the field popping against the endless blue. The view is enough to take my breath away, but the rush of air that escapes my lungs, carrying with it a piece of my heart, is for the man I was searching for.

My eyes are plastered to the scene before me at the bottom of the small hill, where that old riding ring sits in the field.

In one hand, Colson holds a shovel, sunlight reflecting off the sweat glazing his forehead. His shirt sleeves are bunched at his forearms, revealing the dark ink of sunflowers on both arms. Fresh mulch and dirt are piled around him, half of the small arena looking groomed, as a garden bed would be, not a bull riding ring. A few empty beer bottles are haphazardly scattered in the dirt along with a rake and some other gardening tools. But it’s his other hand, clutching a half-empty bottle of whiskey, that holds my attention.

Lifting his arm, he takes a pull from the bottle, talking like he’s having a conversation with someone, but there’s nobody there.

If the world ever felt silent before, it doesn’t compare to how hollow it feels now. It’s like the breeze around me stalls, the gentle sounds of nature muting in my ears as I ache to reach for the troubled, drunk man before me.

My voice breaks. “Why?”

The one-word question prompts Matt to step up and stand beside me as we observe, my heart aching to run to him. Colson sways as he draws his arm back, throwing the liquor bottle across the old practice arena. The glass shatters against the fence, my body jolting and my limbs trembling as he crashes to his knees.

Honestly, I’m not sure what I mean when I ask it, because my bones feel empty watching him break like this for a reason I don’t understand.

Matt swallows. “He does this on his birthday every year, but this is the worst it’s been.”

My heartbeat ceases behind my ribs.