Wild Heart (14 page)

She’s crying and I want to touch her, hold her, but I don’t. Instead I shove my hands in my pockets and watch the tears fall down her cheeks. I open my mouth to say something comforting, but not a damn thing comes out.

I’m so bad at this.

“You bought this place for me, for us, didn’t you?” she sniffles, her wet eyes wide and focused on the house that took me three years to renovate. “It’s beautiful, Zac.” Pride bubbles up in my chest at her words. Fixing this place up was no small job. Blood, sweat, and years went into it, and I spent a good deal of that time thinking about her. New log façade, floors, bathrooms, kitchen, and just about everything else.

It was a labor of fucking love
.

I just shrug, not knowing what to say.

“I did. It always reminded me of you.” I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else. Emerson immediately starts crying again—big, ugly tears. “Babe, you have to stop that shit.” I can’t handle the waterworks.

“You love me.” she hiccups, wiping at her eyes.

“Thought we already hashed that shit out the other night?” It’s possible I told Emerson I loved her at least fifteen times a day ten plus years ago, but the years in between without saying it has made it weird for me.

Turning away from me, she walks towards the house.

“You mind?” she asks over her shoulder, already opening the front door.

Nerves start to replace pride. I changed a lot, and she might hate it.

I do mind. I’m not sure it’ll ever be good enough for her. I’m not ready, but I let her go in anyways. I
did
do this all for her.

Looking at Row, I shrug, hesitant. She’s quietly hanging back, watching the mess between Em and me play out. She just shrugs back when I silently plead for some damn guidance.

“Should I go?” she questions, lingering by her car, looking just as uncomfortable as I feel. I can handle hate and anger, but tears and sappy emotions make me uneasy.

“I can drive her home,” I tell her, lifting a shoulder.

“Okay.” She gets into her car. Backing out, she waves before making her way down the long driveway, leaving me and Emerson alone. 

Hesitating outside, I don’t go in right away. I give her a minute. Give her time to take it all in.

~~~~~~

“Do you want to stay for dinner?” Pulling out a pack of pork chops, I glance over at Emerson. It makes me pause, seeing her sitting at the kitchen counter, like she’s been here all along. Never expected to get back here with her, but I’m pretty damn happy we’re trying.

We need some work, but we’ll get there.

She nods, smiling. “Yeah. Well, unless you’re gonna make me cook.”

“I’ll cook for you, but I’m not promising it’s gonna be edible.” I got many things from my mom, but cooking was not one of them. I can grill and that’s about it. I’m a hit or miss cook.

“I’m expecting to be wowed, Mr. Moore.”

We fall into a good routine, Em working on potatoes (she offered to get them ready) and me on the grill. It feels good. Nadia didn’t spend much time here with me, and when she did, it was a lot of complaining about the shitty cell service and the dirt. She’s nothing like Emerson, and I’m starting to remember that that is a damn good thing.

“You good in there?” I holler from the deck a little bit later.

Poking her head around the door, she frowns, spatula in hand. “Of course I am.”

Holding my hands up, I smile. “Just checkin’, babe.”

“You worry about not burning the chops. I’ve got my potatoes handled.”

“Yes, boss.”

~~~~~~

“You writin’ about me?” I ask her. I’m half joking and half worried I’m still a huge part of her music, and if that’s a good or bad thing.

After she left, I stopped listening to it. Everything about it was too raw, too real, and too painful. I wasn’t real interested in hearing her sing about her broken heart, her long lost love, or her hometown. Hearing them over and over was just reliving what I had already lived through and I was done with it. It’s been ten years and I’ve not heard a damn word she’s written or sang since then. Part of me regrets it, and the other part believes it was the only way to deal.

She turns and flashes me a smile. “How’d you know?”

This is one of her spots. On top of that train-bridge, on her grandparents’ front porch, and on the dock is where I’d always find her with a pad in hand and a massacred pen between her lips.

“Just a wild guess.” I don’t tell her it’s because even though I lost a lot of her over the years, I still remember everything there was to know. The important things.

“You know, I haven’t written much in the last few years. The words seemed to have just faded away. When I started, I wrote about you, first love, and all those teenage emotions. Then I wrote about heartache and heartbreak. But a few years after that, I just lost it all. I was numb.”

“And now?” I ask her, even though I already know the answer. I’m feeling it too. I’m overwhelmed with it.

“Now I feel it
all
. I want to write about it all—love, loss, and everything in between.”

It’s an indescribable comfort. A deep, satisfying contentment. It’s coming home from a long trip. A bad day solved by walking through that familiar front door to strong arms and a solid shoulder.

Being here with Zac feels like
home
.

It all feels too good to be true, but I’m holding onto the feelings by my fingernails, refusing to give them up again without a fucking fight.

“Emerson,” Zac murmurs softly, holding a hand out to me through the bedroom window. “Come back inside.”

I don’t have to think about it. I just take his hand.

Stumbling in through the window, Zac catches me, hands on my hips.

“You’re cold.” Am I? I can’t feel anything other than his warm hands on my body. I bite my lip and he groans. “Don’t do that.”

“Zac.”

“Emerson,” he says carefully.

“Kiss me.” And he does. His lips are soft and careful at first, until I push into him, leaning in for more. The kiss becomes urgent, needy, his tongue tangling with mine.

“Come here,” he growls against my lips, tugging me towards the bed. Pulling away, he looks at me. “Still the sexiest woman I’ve ever met.”

Tugging my shirt over my head, I drop it on the floor at my feet, then my jeans follow. “Even sexier now?” I tease him. Standing in my bra and panties, he doesn’t wait, tossing me onto the bed. I bounce, and a giggle escapes me. “That’s one way to do.”

“I’m done waitin’. Waited ten years. A man can only take so much of watchin’ you, Emerson.”

“You watched me?”

Settling himself between my thighs, he kisses my collarbone. “You know I did,” he murmurs against my skin.

Rough hands run up and down the skin of my stomach, my chest, and my arms.

I feel restless. I need more.

I can feel his hard length pressing against my thigh and I squirm. It’s been ten long years, but I remember every detail of being with him. Every soft touch and hard look. Every need and every feeling.

“Yes,” My voice comes out breathless when he kisses the underside of my breast. “You’re not the only one that had to wait.”

Kissing a path down my stomach, my body clenches when he runs his tongue under the waist of my panties.

“Jesus, Em. Keep squirmin’ like that and this is gonna be over quicker than either of us wants. I
need
a taste. Don’t push me.”

“I
need
you inside of me
now
.” All the other fun stuff in between can wait until our next go, and there
will
be another.

Peeling my panties down my legs, he drags his fingers along my skin. Lifting my foot, he pulls them off, tossing them on the floor.

“Zac,” I plead.

Knowing I won’t rest until I get my way, he abandons his pursuit and positions himself between my knees. Pushing into me slowly, my back bows and my breath catches.

“Never get tired of hearing you say my name like that.”

Rocking in and out of my body, he holds me tight, his lips teasing my skin. He pulls me closer, getting deeper, one hand on my hip holding me against him.

My eyes start to roll and my toes curl.

“That’s the face. Fuck, I missed it,” he growls, his lips at my ear.

He does it again and again, pounding into me, thrusting deeper and deeper.

“Don’t stop,” I gasp.

Zac worships my body and I let him, lost in need.

Zac works me like he only knows how until I’m falling over the edge, him following close behind.

“Jesus Christ, Emerson.” With his head on my chest, he collapses. “I’ve missed you baby.”

My eyes start to drift, but I smile, happy as hell.

~~~~~~

Walking out onto the porch, I squint against the blazing sun. The sky is bright and the breeze is warm against my bare legs. Looking out into the field, I catch sight of Zac and I stop to appreciate him.

In a pair of old faded jeans and a white tee, he’s working on the barbed wire fence a few yards away.

Bringing a hand up, he pushes his sweat-slicked hair off his forehead and I swear to God my ovaries damn near crawl out of my body towards him. Age has been damn good to the man. He’s only gotten sexier.

“Mornin’, you sexy lumber-sexual,” I holler from the porch, waving like a moron.

Zac stops what he’s doing and stares for a moment. Dropping the wire, he makes a beeline for me with a look on his face that screams
make my day
.

He’s on me before I have the chance to react. Wrapping his arms around me, he buries his face in my neck.

“What the fuck is a lumber-whatever you just said?”

“Ya know, a lumber-sexual. Like a sexy lumberjack.” My voice gets breathy and needy.

“I’m not a lumberjack. That term was dead in the early nineteen hundreds.”

“Okay, Paul Bunyan.”

I can hear the frown in his sexy voice when he growls, “I’m not Paul fucking Bunyan, Em.”

“Yes you are. You wear flannel, dirty Carhartts, boots, and there’s usual an ax in your hand.” I laugh, picturing a blue ox following him around the yard. “Oh, and I’ve seen you wear those suspenders too.”

“You’re so goddamn weird, babe.”

“No I’m not.”

He laughs. “And she’s still so goddamn defiant.”

“Some things just never change.”

Jumping up, I wrap my legs around his waist. His boots kick open the front door, and he carries me inside.

To be wrapped up in Zac’s arms is the best feeling in the world. I’m happy. So damn happy I might explode.

“Me and you, were doin’ this?” I ask him as he places my ass on the kitchen table. Looking down at me, eyebrows drawn, he looks confused. “If by
this
you mean me fucking you on this
table, then yes, we’re doin’
this.
”

Shaking my head, I laugh. “No…
this.
”
I motion between us. I know what I want, but what
he
wants it a bit of a mystery to me at the moment.

He stops what he’s doing and backs away from me, suddenly serious.

“What would you have done if you came back and I was married, with kids?”

His question is a no-brainer. “But you don’t. I knew that.” Now he really looks confused. “I always
asked about you,” I clarify, trying to ease his confusion. “I knew you didn’t know anything about me in that ten years, but I kept tabs on you.”

“You kept tabs on me?”

“Yes.”

“Stalking me?”

“Call it what you want, but I had to know. Row and my mom kept me up-to-date.” I couldn’t help myself. Living without Zac was hard, but not knowing would have been damn near impossible for me. “Zac, I’m gonna be real weird right now, okay?”

“Okay?” he chuckles, kissing my lips softly.

“I’m not letting you go again. You’re stuck with me.”

“And?”

“And nothing.
This
is happening whether you like it or not. I’m not goin’ through hell again,” I ramble on as Zac laughs. “We’re stuck together now.”

To some this might be fast, a huge leap. But to me, this is just picking up where we left off. This was
always
going to happen. Zac and me were always meant to be.

“Babe.”

“No, seriously. You’re not gettin’ rid of me.”

“Emerson, shut up, babe. I hear ya.” He’s still laughing, shaking his head. “
I’m
not lettin’ you go again. So keep being weird because you’re not gettin’ rid of me either.”

I feel light. I feel like I can breathe again. “Good.”

“I’m takin’ you on a date tonight.”

“Yeah?”

“Be ready when I get there.”

“Just be ready and waitin’ for ya, huh?” I tease him, pushing my luck.

“Just be ready for me.”

He doesn’t have to tell me twice.