Page 64 of Wildflowers & Whiskey

“Colt, please listen to me.” One hand drops, and I immediately grab her wrist before she can pull away, needing the contact. I look at her and nod, still finding it hard to breathe like I don’t do it every damn day.

“I know where your mind is going right now, and this is nothing to do with you not being loved, good enough, or whatever other negative thoughts are going through your head.”

I hate, but love, that she knows me so well in the little time we have been around each other. Someone finally understands me, but at the same time, I am embarrassed that I’ve shown her this—this messy side of me.

“This isn't because you're not enough.”

My throat tightens.

“It isn't because you're unlovable. You’re important to me, Colt,” she continues, voice cracking slightly. “And our friendship has made this whole place feel like home, which is so important to me. So, I ain’t pushing you away because I don’t care. I’m trying to protect what we have because I do care. Does that make sense? I hope it does because I’m not always one for words,” she laughs, offering me the softest smiles. The sight of it pulls me from my panic.

I swallow hard. “It makes sense, Maeve. I’m okay, promise.”

But even as I say it, as her words sink in, all I can focus on is the fact that she cares. And, to me, that is enough to cling on to hope.

It’s only been a few months; she just needs time to see what I see in us. That this is deeper than just a friendship.

Chapter Twenty Four

Maeve

I collapse on the cloud-like mattress, letting out a proper sigh as all the tension drains from my body. What started as a lovely afternoon at the lake, which honestly was one of the most gorgeous places I’ve ever seen, turned into a small crisis situation that I’ve seen one too many times.

I’ve seen my fair share of panic attacks. That’s what happens when you have a mum who used to base her life and her value on whatever scumbag waltzed into her life, hooked on whatever they were selling, then leaving when she wasn’t useful. Leaving little me to pick up the pieces, or try to, because she always lashed out. The memories of sitting on our exposed wooden floor where the carpet had been ripped up, begging her to breathe just for her to verbally abuse me and blame me for being around. Like I wanted to be there. Like I wanted to see my own mother in that state anytime someone rejected her.

I’m not saying Colt is like my mum.

No, he is far from it. But I saw the glint of panic in his wide eyes as I pulled away. I tried to do it softly. Not to startle him. I don’t even think he knew he was repeating “Unloved. Unwanted,” in soft breaths. In that moment, instinct kicked in, and I knew I had to bring him back to me but also set my intentions clearly. It would be too harmful to him and our friendship, which does mean a lot to me, to let him continue thinking this is more than it is.

And I get it—that desperate need to grab onto anyone who makes you feel seen. How you convince yourself someone’s perfect for you when you are just bloody terrified of being alone.

Been there, got the T-shirt. Well, the T-shirts of the men I fell into that trap with, wearing them as I scurried away when things went south. Hence the hiatus from men—well, until now.

A vibration tickles my upper thigh. I pull out my phone, which is probably feeling abandoned today, to see that I also have a best friend who likely feels the same way.

Iris: Hey babes. How’s things?

Iris: Girl, why you not responding?

Iris: Don’t think I won’t come over there and search for you.

Then my eyes land on another message under a name I put as a joke in my phone, never thinking I would ever actually have a message from him.

Cowboy Batman: That, angel, was never going to be a one-time thing. I need more of you.

Well, fuck. What a day.

Deciding that my mind is too fried to even fully acknowledge Wade’s message, I open Iris’s messages and hit the little mic button. Don’t have it in me to type, but I know I need to get all this off my chest. I begin listing the day I’ve had, leaving no detail out. From starting my day with Wade’s face between my legs, spending the day with Colt straight after, and his response to my rejection, then the new text from Wade. There’s no such thing as TMI amongst besties— or so Iris says, likely an excuse to be a nosey git, but I love her for it.

A blue tick appears right away. Then, as expected, my phone rings. Knew she couldn’t resist.

I swipe to answer, but before I can even say hello, her voice practically explodes through the speaker. “Right, hang on. You were pissed off at Mr. Moody Cowboy two days ago, and now he's eating you out on garden furniture? Maeve, love, you'regonna have to fill in the gaps for me here.”

Well, shit. I’ve accidentally ghosted my best mate for two days. Oops. But in my defence, I’ve been slightly distracted by secrets and an eye-rolling orgasm.

I do as she asks and fill in the gaps. Given the number of gasps coming from this girl, you'd think she's landed a role in a period drama.

“Girl, this is mental!” Her voice racks up about three octaves.