Wild Heart (3 page)

My breath catches, and it fucking hurts.

She’s so goddamn gorgeous. Time has been more than good to her.

Nothing about her has changed in the years she’s been gone, except her looks are more mature, and her teenage body is now that of a woman. A mess of blonde curls hang around her face, and the rest of her tangled, windblown hair is being held up in a red bandana. Her bow shaped lips are smirking, and her brown eyes are dancing.

I remember the first time I saw her, the first time she stole my breath.

I was seven years old, sitting on the front porch, feeding my line into my fishing pole when a little white furball came bursting through the bushes, followed by a little girl making all kinds of noise. Wearing a white sundress and no shoes, she stopped in the middle of my front yard, a leash in one hand and a wand in the other.

“Sprinkles!” she hollered.

I remember thinking that that was the stupidest name for a dog, ever.

“Come back here!” The dog stopped, looked at her for a second, then took off again. The little girl dropped her arms to her sides in defeat and burst into tears.

Watching her cry made my chest hurt. Once we became teenagers, it only got worse. Her tears were always painful for me to see.

It only took my mom a minute to come outside to see what all the fuss was about. As soon as she saw the little girl, the daughter she always wanted, she was hooked. How could she not be? The little girl was damn cute, even when she was crying.

“What happened?” My mom asked me with accusing eyes. Of course she would assume it was me. I could only shrug. I didn’t know anything about crying girls in dresses.

“What’s wrong, honey?” My mom stooped down in front of the little girl, taking her hands.

“My dog ran away,” she sniffed.

My mom, the fixer of all boo-boos, broken hearts, and scraped knees smiled at her and said, “He’ll come back. He was probably just chasing a cat.”

“Okay,” she muttered, nodding.

“What’s your name, sweetie?” The little girl sat down with my mom,
right
next to me on the porch.

“Emerson Jae Maddison,” she said proudly. It was the prettiest name I had ever heard. Girls, I could take ’em or leave ’em at the time, but that name would forever be part of my life, I just didn’t know it then.

“Ah. You’re the new neighbor, huh?” Emerson nodded. “Well, little Miss Emerson, I’m Julia, and this is my son, Zac.”

Emerson’s big ol’ eyes took me in as she smiled around her tears.

“Hi.”

She was so pretty then—so sweet, so innocent.

“Uh…hey,” I grumbled, fiddling with my fishing pole, trying to keep my eyes on my tackle.

“Are your parent’s home?” Mom asked her. I tried like hell not to care, but I cared. I didn’t want her to leave just yet.

“Uh-huh.” She nodded, still looking at me.

“Would you like to stay for ice cream, if it’s okay with your folks?”

“Yes, please.” Emerson’s smile was infectious. A million of her smiles would never be enough. I spent years treasuring every single one of them.

After that she spent hours, well into the night, on the porch with me as I cleaned up my tackle box and strung up my fishing poles. She talked my ear off and bothered the hell out of me, but she felt right there with me. She
fit
.

I never got rid of her after that day, either. Ice cream turned into dinner. Dinner turned into fishing, and fishing turned into being with me every day for the next eleven years.

Emerson Jae became my world that day.

Tilting her head, she stares at me like she knows something. Unfortunately, she does know shit about me. A lifetime worth of shit.

“No. Nothin’ about you stuck.” Lies. Everything that’s coming out of my mouth is nothing but bullshit.

“I feel all kinds of ways about you,” she says casually. I’m real damn happy this is so easy for her. “Some good, some not so good, and
all
of them stuck.”

“I don’t fucking care,” I reply. I take a seat, feeling defeated. I open a beer and drain it, realizing there’s not enough beer in the great state of Washington to make this any less painful.

I can’t believe I’m here with her right now. I was one hundred percent sure I’d never see her again, and I was okay with that. But here she is, blowing that all to shit.

“Yes, you do,” she says as she walks towards me. “You care.”

I would have thought that after all this time she’d be cautious, unsure of me. Hell, maybe even a little awkward. Instead, she’s so confident in her words, you’d think she never left. You’d think we just saw each other yesterday, and everything was good between us.

It’s been
years—
a lifetime for me—and nothing is good. 

She’s wearing ripped jeans, a black T-shirt, and she’s barefoot. I hate how much all this reminds me of high school. My glory days.
Our
glory days.

Crawling onto the hay bale next to mine, she snatches up my last beer, pops the top like a champ and tosses it back.

“Sure, you can have it.” The girl has never asked for anything, because she always takes.

“Thanks.”

“You know you’re missin’ your shoes, right?” I look down at her bare feet, trying to find anything to change the conversation. She’s never liked shoes, and it seems to have carried through to adulthood. 

“Yeah, I know,” she says, shrugging. “Shoes aren’t my thing.”

“So what is your thing, Emerson?” I growl, not really interested in her answer, but I ask anyways.

Nothing about her face changes, aside from the glimmer shining in her eyes. “Oh, ya know…”

“Why are you here?”

“I missed you.” That hole in my chest just keeps getting bigger and bloodier the more she opens her goddamn mouth.

I stare at her and she stares back, smiling.

Why does she have to smile at me like that?

For a few years after Em left, I wondered if she forgot about me, wondered what she was doing and where she was doing it. But mostly, I wondered if she ever missed me. Hearing her say it now doesn’t help like I thought it would. If anything, it makes it worse. It’s easier hating someone, thinking they don’t give a shit about you.

“Listen, Emerson—”

“There you are.” My head whips around as Nadia walks in. Her face is screwed up in disgust as she twists her neck back and forth, frowning down at her high heeled shoes sticking into the dirt floor. She’s the complete opposite of Emerson in all things; looks, personality, and attitude. There’s a reason I picked her.

“You ready?” Nadia asks, glancing between the beer, Emerson, and me.

I get up and walk towards her. I don’t look at Emerson again. I can’t. She’s my past, and that’s where I want to leave her.

Throwing my arm around Nadia’s shoulders, we walk out of the barn, together, even though it feels wrong. “Yeah, I’m ready.”

Nadia follows me without a word, her body leaning into mine. Each step I take away from Emerson makes it easier to breathe. She’s unhealthy as hell for me, especially now.

I make it a few feet out of that damn barn before I hear, “Night, Z.” My back stiffens and my step falters at hearing her call me
Z
again after all these years.

That hole in my chest expands, tearing wide open.

My name on her lips is so fucking bittersweet.

I don’t say anything. I just keep walking, scared of what I might do if I stop.

I’m jealous
.

Maybe I’m envious
.

Hell, it’s probably a bit of both. There’s a difference, yet both seem fitting for the current situation I find myself in.

I should have known what I was walking back into. No one leaves and expects to just glide right back into someone’s life. Time doesn’t stop because you left, and it sure as shit doesn’t heal all wounds, especially when those wounds are still raw, bloody, and painful.

Zac hasn’t forgiven me. I don’t blame him, but it doesn’t make it any easier. My love for him never went away. If anything, it’s grown.

Watching Zac,
my
Zac, sling an arm around his girlfriend’s slim shoulders and walk away from me hurts. I don’t care if I have absolutely no right to the feelings I’m having, but he was
mine
first, and to me, he will always be mine. No amount of time or distance will change that.

Zac was my everything from the moment I met him. My best friend. My boyfriend. My heart and soul. In my eyes, the sun set and rose with him. He was the axis in which my entire fucking world revolved around and
no one
can take that away from me, especially not some slim shouldered twit.

There is not a memory, a photo, or story of my youth that doesn’t involve Zac in some way. I have never forgotten or moved on from him, and that’s scary. First love is like that. It’s intense, it’s deep, it’s life-changing, and it can be
heartbreaking
.

Fortunately for me, it wasn’t my heart that was broken.

Walking out of the barn, I catch Zac opening the door to a sporty little Benz. Leaning his large frame against it, he holds it open as the brunette beauty slides in. She offers him a sexy side-eye, and he returns it with a wink of his steel blue eyes. I can see something pass between them. It’s something intimate, something special. Something that was once
mine
.

Jealous
.

Green with it
.

She fires her car up and he leans down to kiss her before he shuts the door and she pulls out, waving sweetly at Julia who’s waving back from the porch.

A deep, dark shade of green
.

I feel like such a creep standing off in the shadows, but I can’t move. I have to watch.

Looking at him is like taking a step back in time. He’s just as tall, but bulkier and more broad shouldered. His dark hair is a mess, and a scruffy five-o’clock shadow covers his face. Wearing the same blue flannel, grease stained Carhartt, he looks like my Zac.

He doesn’t turn around, even though he knows I’m here. He walks up to his mom and kisses her on the cheek, bids my folks good night, and says something to his dad and brother before he walks off the porch, his back to me the entire time.

Not once does he acknowledge me.

I feel like a stranger, and at the same time, it’s so familiar it hurts. That was me— that was us—years ago. Nostalgia burns in my chest and tears fill my eyes. 

Getting in his Chevy, he starts it up and pulls out while I stand off to the side and watch, feeling like an idiot.

My heart hurts. The feeling dredges up memories from the last time I saw him.

Out front of his parents’ house, my bags packed and my sunglasses on, I lean back against my jeep for support, my heart heavy and my stomach in painful knots, ready to go.

Zac watches me from a few feet away, his face completely blank, but his eyes are filled with heartbreak, hurt, and a look I can only describe as resentment.

He hates me already. I can feel it in my gut.

We’ve had the same conversation every day for the last two months. We’ve talked it to death, both of us coming to the same conclusion.

I’m leaving and he’s staying, and neither one of us are willing to bend.

“I’ll call. I’ll write. I’ll visit,” I promise, meaning every word. They seem to be the only words I can come up with. How do you tell the most important person to you good-bye? I can’t imagine not seeing Zac every damn day, but I also can’t imagine staying. I have to believe that we can get through this and not throw away thirteen years together.

“Yeah,” he says, nodding. “Okay.” He doesn’t offer me the same promise. He’s done
.

This feels like a death.

The sinking realization overwhelms me, spiking fear in my heart. For the first time since making my decision, I know I’m about to lose everything while looking for something I need.

I want to hug him, cling to him, but I don’t. I stay leaning against my jeep that’s packed with everything I own, fitting in three suitcases and five boxes.

My nose burns and my eyes sting as I look at him.

I commit everything about him to memory.

“I love you, Z.” Zac’s eyes look away from me the second the words leave my mouth. He can’t even look me in the eyes.

I feel desperate.

There’s a tiny part of me that knows this is a bad idea, following my dreams all the way out to Hollywood, but there’s a bigger part of me, a more real part that’s worried about the regret I know I’ll have if I don’t. I don’t want to live a life full of regrets.

No one wants me to go, least of all Zac, but I have to. I have to do it for me. College isn’t in my future, and being a housewife isn’t my plan right now. Music is my dream. It’s my future.

“I’m sorry,” I mutter, kicking my heel against my tire, feeling guilt tighten my chest. “It won’t be forever.” Another promise I hope he believes, because I mean it with every fiber of my being. I plan to come back some day.

“Won’t it be?” Zac growls, crossing his arms over his gray T-shirt. He’s shutting down and shutting me out.

“No. I’ll always come back. You’re here.” My plans of musical stardom don’t include forever. Just for a while. I need to know if I’m good enough.

“Don’t bother.” I know he’s hurt, but his words crush me.

“Zac, don’t…”

“Don’t what? Be mad? Be hurt that you’re leavin’ me? You promised me.”

“I never promised you I’d stay,” I say softly. And I didn’t. I promised him I’d always love him and I always. He’s always known how much I love music, knew that I would one day chase that dream. He also knows there’s no way in hell I can do that, living in the middle of nowhere. “I promised you I’d always love you.”

“If you loved me, you’d stay.”

“And if you loved me, you’d understand. I’d never keep you from pursuing anything you wanted to do, no matter where it would take you.”

“Yeah, well, my dream doesn’t take me a million fuckin’ miles away from you. My dream is you, Em.”

“I don’t want to leave like this.”

“Then don’t leave,” he states flatly. If I didn’t go, I would always wonder ‘what if?’ My wanderlust would always be there, and I would resent him for making me choose.

“Zac,” I sigh, a tear leaking from the corner of my eye. “I promise you, swear to you, it won’t be forever.”

Silence falls between us.

“Don’t forget me,” I tease through a soft sob, trying to loosen the fearful grip on my heart with humor. “Please.”

Zac sighs heavily, running a hand through his dark hair. Stepping towards me, he holds a hand out. “Come here.” I don’t hesitate.

Taking his hand, he pulls me into his chest and whispers against the top of my head, “I’ll try not to.”

“Okay,” I sniffle into his flannelled covered chest. “I’ll call you every day.”

“Okay, babe,” he agrees wearily.

Kissing my forehead he lingers. “I love you,” he says, his voice pained and hoarse.

“I love you.” I pour every ounce of emotion I have into those three words. He nods his head stiffly and backs away from me. The space between us cold and empty.

Something my mama always said comes to mind. “Falling in love for the first time will be one of the greatest feelings on Earth, but when it ends, it will be the worst feeling on Earth.” She wasn’t lying.

I feel crippled.

Swiping at my eyes, I wipe away the tears collecting. I take a deep breath and try to hold it together. “I’ll see you soon, Zac.”

He smiles sadly and steps further away.

Crawling into my Jeep I wave, and he waves back. “Bye, Em.”

I did call him, and I wrote him. I really tried, but it was never the same. Things had changed between us drastically after that day. Daily phone calls slid into missed calls and voicemails after a few weeks. Over the period of six months, it became emails here and there, then those emails turned into one last letter a year later. That was it. Me and Zac ceased to exist, our lives no longer intertwined, and our hearts forever altered.

It’s something I’ll never truly get over.

Footsteps in the gravel pull me away from the painful memories. Watching my mom walk up, her eyes are full of pity, and she’s wearing a sad smile.

“Come here, baby.” I go to her, and she pulls me into a comforting hug.

“He hates me,” I mutter, feeling sorry for myself. It was easier to deal with how he felt when I didn’t have to be around it.

“Give it time,” she says as she releases me. “He’s always loved you, you know that, but he’s still hurt.” I want to tell her that he’s not the only one, but hell, I am the one who left him. I don’t have a right to expect him to welcome me with open arms, but I want to smack some sense into the man. I mean, it’s been ten years now. Doesn’t our history before I left count for anything? I
want
to tell her I wish I’d never left, but I don’t bother. Even now, I’m not sure anyone really understands why I had to do it.

“Yeah, Mom. I’ll try,” I concede, keeping everything inside.

My dad walks up next to my mom and pulls me into a quick hug, kissing me on the top of my head. “Night, Emmy-Lou.”

“Night, Dad.”

I make plans to see Mom in the morning, and plan to have a dinner date with her and Dad on Sunday. 

I watch them go, feeling mentally and emotionally drained.

~~~~~~

“Are you sure you’re okay out here, honey?”

The Moore’s have graciously agreed to let me stay in their garage apartment rent free until I can find my own place and settle back into small town living. I tried to pay, but they refused. Moving back into my parents’ house was out of the damn question. I love them, but no. I already feel like a failure, and moving in with them would only confirm what I’m sure everyone is saying.

Laughing softly at Julia’s sweet worry, I nod my head. “Yes, I’m great. I appreciate you lettin’ me stay here.”

Staying here isn’t ideal either, but my choices were limited. My parents’ place was out of the question. The highway motel with its residential cockroaches was just gross. My car was an option, but the Moore’s offered this place and I jumped on it. It may not be the perfect situation, given they are Zac’s parent’s, but I’m thankful for it.

“Really, I’m good.”

She lingers at the door, smiling weakly at me. “I feel funny havin’ you stay in the garage.”

“It’s a garage/apartment conversion,” I correct her. It’s a lot nicer than some of the places I’ve resided in over the years.

“If you get cold, hungry, or lonely, please come inside.”

Julia has to be the nicest woman, aside from my mom, that I have ever met. Warm eyes and a contagious smile, you know that Zac takes after her. She’s lovely, and she’s as sweet as she is pretty.

“I’ll be okay. Promise,” I assure her.

“I want you to know, Emerson, that you’re always welcome at our house,” she exclaims. “You know that, right?” I may have burned that bridge all those years ago, but Julia would never turn her back on me. I don’t deserve her kindness after the way I left her son, but that’s Mrs. Moore; kind, caring, and
forgiving
.

“I do. Thank you, Mrs.… “

“Julia,” she interrupts. “Always Julia.” At one time, I thought I’d be calling her Mom. How wrong was I.

“Thank you, Julia. Good night.”

“Night, honey.” She turns and walks out the door, closing it softly behind her.

Left alone for the first time since I came back, I sit down on the small futon—the futon that’s been up here since high school. At least some things never change. Everyone else has done a one-eighty it seems.