Page 122 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

I found and lost my home all in the space of six months. Losing the place that allowed me to grow and be a part of something more than just a pit stop in my life. Nothing is ever going to come close to this.

“Hey.”

Wade’s voice comes from somewhere ahead of me. And I hate how comforted I feel by it instantly.

I look up; he’s standing by the steps, hat in hand and a look on his face that shows he is hurting as much as I am. He closes the distance, places himself next to me with arms open. I lean into them without a second thought, letting him hold me and the tears pour out completely. The breakdown bubbling below now breaking the surface. My face pressed against the solid warmth of his chest while his arms come around me and he holds on.

After a while, the crying runs itself out the way it does, leaving that hollowed quiet behind it. I pull back and wipe my face with the back of my hand; I probably look terrible.

“He didn’t want to speak to me.” My voice is uneven. “Didn’t even want to say bye.”

Wade looks taken aback. “Bye?” he questions.

I look up at him. “I’m leaving today.”

He lets out a slow breath through his nose and looks out over the top of my head for a moment. I watch him absorb the news. Then he looks back down at me.

“You don’t have to—”

“Wade, I need to stop you there.” I press my lips together firmly, steadying myself. “I need to go. I can’t be here getting in between you two. The only way you guys have a fighting chance of getting back to good footing is if I am not here. I won’tbe the reason you guys fall apart permanently.”

Wade moves, getting on his knees in front of me. Holding the swing chair either side of my thighs.

“Do I have to beg you, angel? Because I will.” I stare down at him, at the man who is breaking in front of me, and it’s making it hard to breathe. “I’m serious.” His voice is fractured. Hands tightening on the swing chair.

“I can’t,” I whisper.

Wade looks up at me, finding my eyes and holding them with that intensity that has undone me since the very beginning. “I love you, angel.”

My eyes fill immediately, and I reach down, putting my hands against his face. Feeling the rough of his jaw under my palms. His eyes close briefly at the touch.

“I love you too,” I say. And I mean it with every part of me, fully and without reservation, which is exactly why what comes next costs so much. “I still have to go.” I extinguish the flicker of hope on his face, hating myself for it. “This isn't easy. Not even slightly. But it's what needs to happen right now.”

His hands come up and cover mine where they still rest against his face. I lean down to press my forehead against his, and we stay there, breathing in the same small space, and I try to memorise all of it. Taking in how it feels to have him close, committing the solidness and warmth of him to memory.

I think about what I’m also leaving. The work. The friends I’ve made. The version of myself that existed here—confident, happy, and content. She exists, and that’s what this place has taught me.

I hear the trucks rattle in the distance, getting louder. People rolling in for lunch at the main house. It pulls me back to what I need to do.

“I have to go,” I whisper into the small space between us. He doesn’t say anything, just holds my hands where they are for one more second, giving them a small squeeze.

It takes all my energy to pull back; he slumps back, allowing me to rise to my feet. “Bye, Wade.” My voice is barely there. “Thank you. For everything.”

I see him exhale, head facing up with his eyes closed. I walk back through the front door, and I close it softly behind me.

It’s only when I am fully in the hall, confirming no one is around, that I press my back flat against the wall, hands over my mouth, and I let it all wash over me. I cry, trying to keep my sobs as quiet as I can. Failing, because Iris comes down the stairs in moments.

She doesn't say anything. She comes and stands beside me, putting her arm around my shoulders. I lean into her and let her hold me because sometimes, there is nothing to say and the only thing that helps is someone by your side.

“I know,” she says quietly, after a while.

“It's the right thing,” I say into her shoulder.

“I know that too.”

“Then why does it feel like this?”

She doesn't answer that. There isn't an answer for it, not one that helps. She holds me a little tighter.