At Whit's End (Wells Ranch, #4)(100)

Breathe.

It comes in a stuttering contraction, each inhalation barely getting enough oxygen to keep me alive. And within moments, they turn gasping as sobs rack my entire body. Tears pool in the corners of my mouth, then flow freely—puddling on the floor, matting my hair to my head, leaving a salty taste in my mouth.

My knees curl into my chest, bare legs squealing as they drag across the floor. A scream claws its way up my throat, and I slap a palm over my mouth to stop it.

Breathe.

I can’t.

I think my lungs have incinerated inside my chest.

There’s no approaching footsteps. No knock on the door. No squeaky hinges.

And yet, somebody is pulling me into a cradle. Scooping my corpse into their arms. I lean into the familiar scent, and the gentle shushing, and the warm embrace.

“I’ve got you, honey. I’m here,” he whispers, cutting through all the noise inside my head. “I’ve got you.”

I wrap my arms around his neck like he’s a life preserver and whisper his name to be sure it’s really him.

“I’m here. I don’t know what’s wrong, but let me try and fix it, okay?” He smooths his hands over my wet hair, pushing it away from my burning cheeks.

“I’m sorry,” I mumble between sobs.

“Don’t be sorry, honey.” We’re gently rocking side to side in time with the clunking of my dryer. “Don’t even stop crying until you’re ready.”

His lips plant sweet kisses on my forehead. And he holds me, arms wrapped tight around my body, bearing the weight of my pain. He keeps me afloat, cooing in my ears until my gut-wrenching sobs become slow, meandering rivulets of tears rolling down my cheeks. Until both our shirts are tear-stained and my heartbeat slows to meet his.

“That’s my girl.” He slips his fingers under my chin and tilts my head. I squint under the harsh laundry room light, barely able to see through waterlogged lashes. Colt’s thumb glides under my eye. “We’re okay, honey.”

It’s easy to say we’re okay when he doesn’t know that in a minute we’ll be very, very far from okay. By now, I should be used to the loneliness and heartache that comes with never being enough.

“I-I…I don’t—”

“Let’s not talk about it right now. It’s okay.”

I shake my head and reach up to pat my fingers on my swollen, flushed cheeks. My mind’s whirling wildly, and I shove my way through the storm, determined to focus. “No, I need…we need to talk. I’ve already put it off for too long.”

His body freezes under me, and worry fills the sudden creases in his forehead. “Um…let’s go out to the living room?”

I slowly crawl out of his lap and move to sit cross-legged on the floor. “I don’t want Jonas seeing me like this.”

“Okay then…right here it is. Can we turn this rackety dryer off, though?”

After receiving a tentative nod from me, he shuts it off. Now it’s too quiet. We’re staring at each other, our knees touching, and the only sound is ambient video game music drifting up the stairs.

“So…”

“So,” he repeats. “You’re still in love with him, aren’t you?”

I recoil. “With Alex? No. I haven’t been in love with him in…shit. It’s been a long time.”

“Oh, I thought…” His Adam’s apple bobs with a swallow. “I thought you were upset because you’re still in love with him, and now he’s with somebody else.”

Somehow I’m not entirely out of tears, despite my body feeling shriveled and dehydrated. I blink them away. Falling into another puddle of despair won’t make this conversation any easier.

“Y-you thought that and still sat here consoling me?”

“Of course…I told you I’d be here for you. And maybe it makes me a fucking idiot to sit here soaking up your tears while you cry about somebody else, but I’ll do it anyway. Because I’m a man of my word and also I’m stupidly in love with you.”

That’s all it takes to sever the veins and arteries connecting my heart to the rest of my body.

I don’t deserve that love. I don’t deserve him.

“N-no—you’re not.” My lip wobbles, and I brush at the salt itching my cheek. “I can’t…I can’t be enough for you.”

“Whit, you’re not just enough. You’re everything.”

“No. No, I’m not,” I whisper. “There’s so much you don’t know about me.”

He shakes his head, tongue skating between his teeth. “We went over this. I know what I need to know, and I have no doubt you’ll fill me in on the blanks as we go. That silly stuff doesn’t matter. There’s a connection that’s so much deeper than that—and I know you feel it, too.”

“It’s…” Looking down at my lap, I pluck at the skin I’ve managed to tear apart around my fingernails. They’re red and puffy, which is what I imagine my entire body looks like after sobbing on the floor for so long. “I wasn’t crying because I’m sad about Alex. I’m…” I take a heaving breath. “I’m not the one giving Jonas a sibling. That kills me.”

He rocks forward to slide a hand into my hair, pressing his forehead against mine. Even though I know what’s about to come, I let it happen. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply, I lock away the scent of him in my lungs for safekeeping. If this is the last time I feel his hands on me, I want to soak it in. Memorize every part of his touch.