Page 80 of The Promises We Were Never Meant To Keep

Sadness moves through Mom’s eyes, but it’s swept under the rug fast. She doesn’t want me to see it.

I pretend I don’t. “Mabel asked me when Tate was coming home again today.”

“Oh, honey.”

I bob my head like this is just any conversation and not breaking chunks off my frozen soul. It’s all I have left now that my heart has been obliterated by the Wilder brothers. “She proceeded to tell me she wished to go to Heaven.”

Mom winces. “That might be my fault.”

“It’s no one’s fault. There’s no right or wrong answer to the questions she asks.” Mom turns and reaches into the cupboard for a wine glass. She pours a bubbly white into a glass and hands it to me. “I can’t. I have to get home. It’s bath night.”

“Mabel loves her baths. Let her have her bath. You have a glass of wine.”

I should refuse, but I really don’t want to.

I swipe the glass from the counter and murmur, “Love you, Mom.”

She forces another flash of sad under that rug, covering it with a smile. “Love you most, baby girl.”

With that, I walk myself, Duke, and the freshly poured wine back home. I’ll deliver Mom her glass sometime in the future.

5

TEN STEPS BACK

APRIL 2023 – PRESENT DAY

Islam the cupboard, pissed for the first time since I bought the condo that it’s a soft-close. There’s no vindication in slamming a soft-close.

Dad might not have heard my intent when it came to the cupboard, but he knows I’m edging on pissed. Like an angry bull, there’s steam puffing from my nostrils with every breath. None are measured.

Rubble Ridge might think I’m an unfeeling asshole for staying away all this time, but they couldn’t be more wrong. It’s the sheer breadth of my feelings that has kept me away. The scale of my anger. The guage of my resentment. My regret.

I can’t go back there. The few hours I spent in Rubble Ridge fourteen months ago had been hard enough. Brutal.

I’m still trying to get over seeing her again. Faye.

Faye Wilder. Goddammit.

I always knew she’d have my last name. I just thought I’d be the man to give it to her.

Fuck.

I pivot from the coffee cup to the fridge, popping the top off a beer and taking a hefty swig. Then I glare at the empty mug on the counter and the machine that would have spit out a fancy brew in less than a minute. So much for good intentions.

I take another swig. I wish it was whiskey.

“Sorry, Pop.” I hold the neck of the bottle between two fingers as I stroll from the kitchen to the living room. Of course, I’ve got a waterfront view. “I can’t.”

“I need you here, son. I go in for surgery in a week.”

“How long have you had this surgery booked for?” I can practically see the way his square jaw sets. “That’s what I thought. You’ve had time to find someone.”

“I started Wilder Builds and Renos from the ground. I built it up from nothing, laying bricks and stones until it became what it is today.” Here we go. “This company has a reputation to uphold. A reputation that when you book with us, you’re getting a business run by family. Cared for by family. If I’m not there, there’s no family.” Dad sniffs. “Unless Faye marries Tanner Moore. Boy’s been sniffing around, so that could be the case soon enough I suppose.”

I hardly hear the old man as he prattles on through the buzzing in my ears. I swallow down a gulp of beer to help cool the acid that threatens to burn through my gut.

“But he isn’t family yet. So that means I need you, Holt. A true Wilder.”