Writhing knot of dread deep in the pit of my stomach? Check.
As I sit here in Wes’ living room, tracing my finger around the rim of my warm mug, I can’t help but thinking that I’m in for a major change. It’s like the barometric pressure in my life just bottomed out. Something is looming on the horizon. Wes hasn’t given any indication of what he wants to talk about, but I’m absolutely certain that it’s about us.
Before we went to the hospital earlier today, Wes and I were at a strange crossroads, and I felt like we were spinning in circles instead of choosing a way. First, he told me he didn’t want to be with me, then he chased me to my car and kissed me. Next, he was right back to not wanting me. His moods have seemed to teeter-totter all day, and damn it, I’m tired of this ride.
Wes walks back into the living room after changing into a loose t-shirt and jersey knit shorts. “Need a refill?” he asks, motioning to my cup.
“I’m good for now.” As he heads into the kitchen, I glance out the window at the first sliver of moonlight peeking through the trees. I have a feeling it’s going to be a long night.
He lazily strolls back in, mug in hand, and carefully sinks into the couch beside me and takes a hesitant sip. “I don’t know how you drink coffee in the middle of the summer, but I’m hoping it helps me lift the fog I’m in. I feel like my brain is a pile of shit baking in the desert heat right now.”
I smirk. “Impressive analogy.”
“I never claimed to be a poet.” He cuts his eyes at me, but the corner of his mouth curves up in the slightest grin. I almost forgot what he looks like when he smiles. Playful. Charming. Hot.
“What’s that weird thing you’re doing with your mouth? It almost looks like a smile, but the great and powerful Wesley Baxter wouldn’t dare.” My joking brings it out full-force. My God, he’s gorgeous.
“I smile all the time, asshole.” He swats at me with a throw pillow. “Maybe if you’d stop making it your life’s mission to piss me off, you’d see it more often.”
My jaw drops. “Me?”
“You.”
“Excuse me, but wasn’t it you who openly admitted to being an ass to push me away?”
Wes’ smile slides right off his face. “I guess you’re right.” He sets his mug on the thick stone coaster on the coffee table and shifts to face me. “That’s kinda what I want to talk to you about.”
“I’m not going to push anymore, Wes. If and when you decide you want anything more, we can talk about it. I’m here to be your friend, and you don’t have a choice in that matter. But I can’t force you to love me. I know that.”
He lets out a groan. “Do you ever let anyone talk before you throw your two cents in?” He takes my coffee away and sets it next to his before grabbing both of my hands and looking directly at me. “Look, I know why you pushed me to meet my mother, and you and my mom are completely right. It’s something I’ve needed. Even though we’ve only shared just a few words, I feel more complete somehow, settled. Meeting her was probably one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself. But . . .”
“Of course, you’d have to throw a ‘but’ in there.”
He looks down at our hands, exhales a long, slow breath, and eases his weightless gaze back up to peer directly into my eyes. “I know you thought that I needed to meet her in order to find some peace in my life, to be able to allow myself to love someone. But when we were here earlier today, and you were about to leave, I realized that all I’ve ever needed was you. You’ve helped me see that I want more out of my life. Right before your phone rang, I was about to tell you something that I’ve only said to my family and one other person, and I question now whether I meant it or not then. But to be honest, when you got that call, I was relieved I didn’t. I was thankful that I had some time to talk myself out of it. And even though I’ve tried like hell to do that all damn day, I can’t seem to stop thinking it.”
My breath is heaving in and out of my lungs, and adrenaline has every muscle in my body twitching nervously. “You can always be honest with me and tell me exactly what you’re thinking, Wes. You don’t have to keep everything to yourself anymore.”
“I know,” he says, his gentle blue eyes brighten slightly. “I couldn’t keep it to myself any longer, if I tried. Callie . . . I’m hopelessly, irreversibly, and completely . . . I mean . . . damn it.” He grimaces, his top lip in a half-snarl. “Let me start over. Callie . . . I’m in love with you.”