Wild Heart (13 page)

I sober up real goddamn fast.

Bile rises in my throat and I’m not sure if it’s from the amount of alcohol I’ve consumed or her admission.

No one will ever love you like I love you.

I left the wedding feeling like shit. Shit for Nadia and shit for Emerson. I had fucked up and I wanted to make things right, so I had Justin drop me off at Nadia’s. Bad fucking idea. I walked in and found her on all fours with some college douche fucking her from behind.

She looked shocked, but not sorry.

I’m sure I looked shocked as well, but not sorry either.

I left there and somehow ended up here, drunker than I was when I left the wedding.

Her words have sucked the wind out of my sails. This fight just doesn’t feel the same anymore. Every angry word and hurt feeling I’ve held in for all these years seems unimportant suddenly.

Emerson still loves me. She’s always loved me. I should have known that.

“Fuck, Em. I just wanted to love you forever.” I sag, sitting down on the small couch. Sure, I didn’t have it all together ten years ago. I had no solid plan. Hell, there was barely an idea. What I did know and what I did plan was to have Emerson here, with me, always. Married or not married, kids or no kids, I didn’t care. All I wanted was for us to be together.

“I know,” she sighs, scrubbing at her tired eyes.

Sitting down next to me, her head falls onto my shoulder, her welcomed weight leaning into my side. She’s tired. I’m tired. Tired of living like this.

“I really never meant to hurt you. I am so sorry, Zac.”

“Do you regret leavin’?” I ask her. She doesn’t hesitate with her answer.

“No.” I’m kinda glad she doesn’t. At least she got whatever it was she was looking for out of the fucking mess.

And since we’re confessing…

“Nadia’s been fuckin’ around on me.” Saying it out loud feels good. I think I’ve always known, and it’s not like I’ve been a saint since I met her either.

“Wha…really? What was she thinking, cheating on you!”

Emerson sounds completely baffled by the idea, her eyes wide and her mouth hanging open. I almost laugh. That’s the thing I’ve always loved about this woman. No matter what I do, how I look, where I live or work, she always thinks the most of me. I walk on water in her eyes, still, after all this time, and it feels damn good.

“Eh,” I shrug. Maybe I wasn’t into her enough. Maybe I didn’t give her enough of me, but really? I don’t care. I was mad about it for about fifteen minutes, and it was only because of the way I had to find out.

“Do you really hate me?” she asks quietly, carefully.

“Yeah. Sometimes I do.” I’m not going to lie to her. Some days it’s the only thing I feel. “But I love you more than I hate you.”

My mom always said to really hate someone you would’ve had to have loved them first. That is the absolute truth.

There’s a silence, and then a burst of laughter. Emerson laughs until she’s breathless. Her shoulders shake and tears roll down her cheeks. Hiccupping, she tries to control it, which only makes her laugh harder, and in turn I laugh, because this shit
is
fucking ridiculous.

“So, where do we go from here?” I ask her, breathless, completely lost. Moving forward seems so foreign when I’ve been stuck in limbo for years.

“Friends?” She shrugs. “More than friends?”

“I can try.” I’m not sure we can every truly be friends. There’s too much between us. But I can give it the old college try, because I’ll be damned if I’m ready to let her go again.

“That’s all I can ask.” We were friends before we were anything more. Maybe we can make it back to something that resembles that kind of relationship.

“I’m sorry.” It’s something I should have said a long time ago. She was right. If I loved her like I said I did, I should have let her go and tried my damnedest to make it work. Emerson needed my support then, and I should have been strong enough to give it to her.

“Did we finally come full circle?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Taking a deep breath, I feel my chest lighten.

“I think we may have.” And it feels so goddamn good.

“I’m hungry,” Emerson announces suddenly, getting off the couch. “All this fightin’ has made me hungry. How ’bout some left over pizza?”

I feel happier than I have in
years.

“Yeah. Sounds good, babe.”

This is strange. Row is staring at her hands and Justin is staring at the side of her head, neither making conversation with the other. I shift on my feet. I’m the odd man out in this scenario, making halfhearted attempts at luring one, the other, or both into conversation that’s a little less…
awkward
. The weather, sports, local news. Nothing works. They both nod and continue to stare at anything
but
each other.

I wonder if this is how people feel around me and Zac? If so, I owe everyone an apology.

Row showed up first, arms loaded down with lunch, wine, and movies for a girl’s day. Justin showed up fifteen minutes later, arms loaded down with a toolbox and plumbing pipes ’cause the sink needs fixin’.

Things are so weird between the two.

“I’m sorry,” I mouth at Row who’s looking at me with pleading eyes.

“Get rid of him,” she mouths back, or it could have been, “Do you have cinnamon?” I have no idea what the hell is going on, but whatever it is it’s super uncomfortable for all involved, me included.

“Hey, Justin. Me and Row have plans. Wanna come back by tomorrow and do that?” I ask him, nodding over at the closed bathroom door.

“You sure?” he asks, his head whipping around to finally look at me. He’s been so damn engrossed in the side of Row’s head, he completely forgot I was here. “You won’t have a bathroom sink.”

“I’ll be fine. I can brush my teeth in the kitchen.” Or I can just forgo it all together. Anything to cut through the tension.

“Okay.” He gets up from the stool at the small island in the even smaller kitchen of my garage apartment.

“Yeah.” I’ve never been more sure of anything.

Justin walks to the door and opens it, but before he leaves he tosses a fleeting look back at Row who is still staring at her hands, ignoring him.

“Bye,” he mutters, closing the door behind him. Ro exhales loudly.

“What the hell was that?” I hiss.

“Who the hell knows?”

“Rowen.”

“I don’t know. It’s like we share one good moment and then he shows up with some nasty girl and ruins it. Then when I date, he gets all pissed at me for it.”

Pointing at the pink bottle next to her, I wiggle my fingers. “We’re gonna need wine for this.”

~~~~~~

Wine has been consumed. Food has been eaten. Movie has been…kinda watched, and love lives have been discussed.

“Do you think he’s home?” Row asks me from the driver’s seat as we make our way to Zac’s house. I’ve been curious to see it since I’ve been back. We’re drunk-
ish
, and we’re driving, and it was a really stupid idea. I never claimed to be brilliant, but we’re driving slow, and Row’s being super careful.

“He might be by the time we get there.” I give Row the side-eye. She’s driving so damn slow, both hands gripping the wheel while her eyes are fixated on the road. If she went any slower we’d be parked.

“Not funny. I had three glasses of wine. I don’t wanna hit anything.”

“What are you gonna hit? We’re on a gravel road with open fields on each side of the car.”

“A deer could jump out onto the road,” she says with all seriousness.

I laugh. I can’t help it. “You’re ridiculous.”

After this weekend, the wedding disaster and our heart-to-heart, Zac left town for work for a few days, and I needed some girl time.

I don’t know where Zac and I stand. I know nothing. I’m Jon fucking Snow.

The long gravel road veers off to the left before disappearing between a thicket of lush green trees. It was all fun and games until Row passed the only other driveway on the road.

Where the fuck are we going
?

Then it hits me. There’s only one house at the end of Spruce Street.

Never in a million years did I think Zac would live
here.

“Row?”

“I know…” she mutters back, a sad tint to her words.

I spent a lot of time here growing up. Summer nights and weekends. Memories run rampant.

The trees clear out and a log cabin comes into view.

Swallowing thickly, I stare out the window, transfixed on the scenery that’s all so familiar.

This
was
my grandparents’ place.

“I—uh…” I have no idea what’s trying to come out of my mouth. My brain is scrambled fucking eggs at this point.

Zac
lives
here?

Oh my God.

Row drives around the side of the house and there’s Zac, looking just as confused as I feel.

I watch him run a hand over the top of his head, unsure. He looks around and then looks back at us.

“Shit,” Row swears. “He must’ve come back early.”  She looks at me apologetically. “I’m so sorry. I wouldn’t have brought you out here if…” she trails off when Zac steps in front of her car, an ax hanging by his side.

“It’s okay. We’re okay, I think,” I mutter, watching him. Zac and me left things on shaky, but okay ground last time we talked.

I haven’t been here in years, but it still feels the same.

The last time I saw this place it was overgrown and begging for some serious repair. That was four years after my grandparents died. Zac has made it shine.

I’m out the door and standing in front of Zac, in some sort of daze, before I even grasp what I’m doing. “You…” Words elude me. “It looks so great.” I finally manage to say when I spin around slowly, taking it all in.

He nods firmly, brows still furled in a confused expression. “It’s…” This is fucking hard.

My grandparents lived here for fifty or so years. My grandpa built my grandma this place for their second wedding anniversary. Built right next to a large freshwater pond for her with his own two hands. All of his love and devotion poured into this piece of land.

I spent so much time here as a child. We all did.

Zac loved this place as much I did.

It hits me out of nowhere. “You bought this place for m
—me
,” I stutter, tears tripping up my words.

“Emerson,” he groans painfully. Propping the ax up against the side of the house, he takes a cautious step towards me.

“They were gonna sell it right before I left,” I ramble on, tears falling like a river now. “It was for sale.”

A big red for sale sign was in the front yard, their belongings packed up. The house was empty. My parents had planned on selling this place ten years ago, and with everything going on in my life back then, I never gave it a second thought. I remember being sad that it would no longer belong to my family, but I was so sick over leaving Zac, it took a backseat like everything else at the time.

“This was
my
place.” One of my favorite places.

“Jesus, Emerson. Don’t cry.” Zac looks so uncomfortable, but I just can’t find it in myself to stop. Shoving his hands into his pockets, he shifts, awkward with my tears. “Stop cryin’.”

“I can’t.”

He really does love me
.