Page 113 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

She turns the phone, and my stomach drops before my eyes have even finished processing what I’m looking at.

Wade.

Maeve.

Both of them—together.

Multiple photos put together to form a collage. I take in the first couple of shots; my brain tries to explain them before I even realise I’m doing it. Many of them look innocent enough at first glance. Them, just standing together, talking, looking far more comfortable in each other’s company than I’ve ever seen with my own eyes.

But it’s the others that really hit.

Maeve’s hand tucked into his.

Wade kissing her, one hand pressed at the small of her back.

And one of her against the railing, head tipped back, his body close enough that my brain immediately tries to reject what I’m seeing.

No.

No, that can’t be right.

They don’t even like each other. Half the time they can barely get through a conversation without snapping at one another.

But pictures don’t lie…

The sound that comes out of me isn't a word. It's just air. All the air, leaving at once. I shake my head manically. The gravel shifts under my boots and I distantly realise that I've stepped backward, like some part of my body is trying to physically remove itself from what my eyes are seeing.

My father. My best friend… The girl I’ve spent months—

I can’t finish the thought.

No one speaks. And somehow the silence hurts worse than if they had.

Ruby lowers the phone slowly, and she's watching me the way you watch something you've been waiting a long time to see. There's a hunger in it that makes me feel sick. She looks almost excited to see me ready to break.

“Colt…” Maeve’s voice just about reaches.

I raise one hand without turning around. Because I know if I see her face right now, that's it. Whatever I'm still holding together, that's what finishes it.

“See, Son?” Ruby's voice is thick with satisfaction. “Your father isn't quite the man he makes himself out to be.”

“Ruby—” Wade starts.

I’m done.

Just empty. Standing here with the cold air on my face, and no idea what expression I’m wearing. Everything feels numb, my surroundings gone strange and distant.

I am aware that people are watching. I can feel it, that pressure of eyes, but I can't make myself care about it the way I normally would. The part of me that would’ve cared about that, forcing myself to pretend everything is ok, is gone. I just want to go somewhere so deep inside my own head that nothing out here can reach me anymore.

But my brain won't stop. When does it ever?

It just keeps running the list. Every person who was supposed to love me and found a way to hurt me anyway. There are more names on it than there should be for someone my age, and the worst part is they're all here tonight, standing in this parking lot, watching me hold it together with whatever I have left.

Colt Carter. Everyone's emotional punching bag.

I breathe in through my nose. Out slow.

Then I lift my head, and everything sharpens back into focus. I catch Mom still watching me with that same satisfied look.