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Wes inhales sharply and holds his breath, but he doesn’t try to placate me with silly words about overreacting or taking my time before I come to that decision.
“Does that mean you’re leaving?” His voice is unnaturally steady, like he’s forcing himself to sound calm.
“It means I can’t go back to that house. Not now.” I try to blink my eyes dry.
He nods. “Where do you want me to take you?”
That’s when the tears really start to fall, because I don’t have anywhere to go. My only two options are Mom and Anthony’s, or Hollie’s, where my sudden presence will lead to questions I can’t and don’t want to answer. Maybe DC is the only option.
“Sawyer.” Wes cups my face in his hands and brushes my tears away. “Will you trust me?”
Maybe it’s because I have no other options, or maybe it’s because I’m so tired of being alone, but before there’s time to second guess myself, I nod.
Wes pulls my face to his and kisses me on the forehead, letting his lips linger enough to say it’s not the kiss he wants to give me, but he knows it’s the one I need. Then he releases me and starts the car.
***
“Where are we?” I ask as we pull into a long, winding drive.
“My house.” He holds his breath.
Tucked amid the trees I see a large ranch with a covered porch spanning the width of the house. It’s the kind of house where you expect to see a couple in rocking chairs waiting to welcome you, although given the faded and chipped paint it doesn’t look overly inviting. Come to think of it, it looks the way I feel.
“You bought this?” The state of his purchase is so unexpected I’m more shocked by it than the fact he’d choose to bring me here of all places. My surprise must amuse him because he laughs so hard he snorts.
“You do remember what Pop does for a living, right?”
“Yes.” I feel myself flush.
“Well what do you think his projects look like before he gets his hands on them?” He waives his arm toward the house as if to say ‘ta da.’
“Is it inhabitable?” I try to cover my embarrassment with sarcasm.
“Yes, smart ass, it’s inhabitable, but it’s only a step above camping. I’ve got a bed, a couch and a few dishes. I don’t want to move all my stuff in before the renovations are done. Come on.” He parks in the spacious garage and leads me inside.
The house isn’t dirty, just dated, with brown oak floors and cabinets, and a red brick fireplace. The living area is pretty spacious, the kitchen, living, and dining rooms all combining to make one big open concept, but with enough separation that each is its own distinct area. The vaulted ceilings and sliding door to the back yard add light, making it feel even bigger. But there aren’t nearly enough widows to capture the view of the yard, which is surrounded by the thick trees of the forest that meets the property. And just as Wes indicated, there’s virtually nowhere to sit except the floor.
“You’re not actually living here, are you?” I spin around, looking for signs of his presence.
“I float back and forth between this place and Pop’s depending on whether I feel like roughing it or having company.”
“When do the renovations start?”
“Thursday, I hope. And with any luck they’ll only take six weeks, but that’s just for the interior. I won’t do the outside until next summer. Want anything to drink?” he asks as he heads toward the kitchen. “I’ve got beer and water. Or coffee. And if you’re hungry I can order food. I don’t keep much here.”
“Why bring me then?” I try to keep the disapproval out of my voice.
“Because you can stay here indefinitely, as long as you don’t mind construction. And if you’re not ready to talk to your dad, I won’t tell him you’re here.”
“My dad,” I scoff, which gets me thinking. “Does Sam know? Did she keep this secret too?”
“I don’t know,” he says softly.
Nodding absently, I turn and head toward the windows at the back of the house, so I’m not looking at Wes when the tears start again. It’s hard enough to wrap my head around my dad’s misguided sense of parenting, to think that Sam might’ve known about it too, well, I don’t have the strength to process that. Not now.
“Sawyer.” Wes’s strong hands come to rest on my shoulders. “Talk to me.”
Some part of me must remember how good it felt to confide in Wes, because without intending to let it all out, I do.
