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Wren chortles and curls her nails into my abs. “No way. Now look at who seems to know an awful lot about my business. Were you keeping tabs on me, Twist?”
I tense, not at her teasing tone, but at the stab of arousal shooting straight to my crotch. I try to ignore my dick straining against the front of my jeans.
“So what if I was?”
“Well, you need to brush up on your detective skills, or maybe I should say, stalking skills.” She pokes at my side, and I flinch. “I went on like two or three dates with Jett. He’s a wonderful guy, but we’re better friends than anything else.”
I grunt, not wanting to encourage any more conversation about the cocky, flirty Jett Kincaide. “Do you want to hear more about Dot, or can we be done with it?”
“Nuh-uh. Nice try.” While the words are playful, her tone is gentle and more somber, as if letting me know she’ll take whatever I have to give. And this is Wren. I can’t hold back any of this even if it isn’t pretty.
“At first, I agreed to keep our breakup quiet, and she moved the wedding date out. She said she needed time to tell her family and friends, and I understood. I even told her she could say she broke up with me, but that wasn’t enough to bait her into action.”
“So you two lived together in that house for more than two years, but you weren’t together and no one knew.” She sounds incredulous, and I can’t blame her.
All told, from the outside looking in, Dot and I were together for four years. No one knew—well, only one, maybe two people—that our relationship was rotten to the core. Had been from the beginning and instead of getting loose early on, I stayed. At first, out of resignation, since I’d lost any chance of being with Wren, and then indifference settled in and things got complicated.
“It’s a big house. She had her space and I had mine. I thought by going along with it, I was avoiding Dot’s drama and whatever lies she’d spread about the breakup. It wasn’t ideal, and at times, when things got to be too much, I stayed with Eddie. He knows the truth.”
“What does he think of all this?”
I shake my head, recalling how my older brother called me a fool for going along with anything Dot wanted. He never liked her and warned me to lose her from day one.
“He said I should cut my losses and take whatever shit she was gonna throw my way. I should’ve listened to him.”
“To save you the misery of rehashing this, I think I get the gist and can guess how things went down. Dot kept changing the wedding date, buying more time, but never showed signs of telling anyone you two were over.”
“Yup. I now see that she was hoping I’d change my mind or just give up and stay put.”
“What finally caused you to make the break?”
“I didn’t want this to be my life, and she was threatening me with the house and the business, and I realized this was always going to be the way with her. Whether I stayed with her or not, she was going to make my life a living hell.”
Not only did I date the woman and get engaged, but I also built a house for her and went into business with her.
What a fucking fool.
And why? I didn’t love her. I cared for her, and at some point, I thought it was love, but if so, why didn’t it hurt to end things? The breakup felt right. Relief swept through me, clearing away the shackles and heartache, and in its wake, leaving a tremendous sense of freedom.
Whereas Wren and I were only ever a promise of something, and yet, when that went nowhere, I hurt like a son of a bitch. Some days it was hard to breathe. Some days it was like the very essence of me was crushed under losing her. I get what she means about hope.
Most of my life I’ve been hoping for Wren Tyler, and now that she’s here, in my arms, I can’t say it changes anything, no matter how I wish it could. Dot and her family are a threat—they’ll ruin me and anyone I care about.
I can’t stay in Winslow Grove.
Chapter7
Oliver
In the dark, Wren’s voice jerks me from my chilling thoughts. “Is Dot the reason you’re leaving?”
“You’re brutal, Tyler.” I huff out a bitter laugh. “One tough topic after another.”
“I just don’t get it. Forget that you stayed with her for way too long. This is your hometown. Your ancestors founded Winslow Grove. If anyone has to leave, it should be her. Why are you leaving?”
She squeezes my thigh to urge me to answer, and a pointy, tickling sensation settles at the nape of my neck.
“I feel like a coward for saying it out loud.” Something thick and weighty lodges in my throat, and I attempt to get off the couch, hoping maybe the movement will kill this difficult conversation.
