by Jaci J
Wild Heart © 2016 Jaci J
All Rights Reserved.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author or publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the address below
[email protected]
This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to any person or persons, living or dead, any place, event, occurrence, or incident is purely coincidental. The characters and story lines are created and thought up from the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.
Cover art;
Bigstockphotos.com
Model: Nodya Korobkova (74375305)
Background: Olga Gavrilova (82847270)
Cover Design;
Margreet Asselbergs - Rebel Edit & Design
Editing;
Dana Hook – Rebel Edit & Design
Proofreading;
Chris Kovacich – Rebel Edit & Design
Formatting & Promotions;
Silla Webb
Masque of the Red Pen
Table of Contents
Playlist
Prologue
One
Two
Three
Four
Five
Six
Seven
Eight
Nine
Ten
Eleven
Twelve
Thirteen
Fourteen
Fifteen
Sixteen
Seventeen
Epilogue
About the Author
“Bourbon” – Gallant
“Last Cigarette” – Ro James
“Never Be Like You” – Flume ft. Kai
“Love Drought” - Beyonce
“Small Town USA” – Justin Moore
“Gorgeous” – X Ambassadors
“My Girl” – The Temptations
“Permission” – Ro James
“Don’t Dream It’s Over” – Crowded House
“Way Down We Go” – Kaleo
“Watch The Wind Blow By” – Tim McGraw
“Crazy Love” – Van Morrison
“YOUTH” – Troye Sivan
“Something To Talk About” – Bonnie Raitt
My mama always said that falling in love for the first time would be one of the greatest feelings on Earth. She also said it would be one of the worst. She didn't lie.
A lot can happen in ten years—people grow, feelings change, life moves on—but what happens when none of those things ever change? What happens when you never grow, when your feelings stay the same, and you never move on?
Do you stay, or do you decide to change it all and move on, leaving that kind of love behind?
Thank you,
Dana, Margreet, Silla, and Chris.
Without you none of this would be possible.
A big thanks to Rhonda Kirby for your awkward first kiss story.
I had to borrow it.
This book is for all the eternal optimists.
For the lovers of love.
For the happily ever after’s and the one true loves.
Real love never dies.
This one is for my Grandma Jean and my Cousin Hannah.
Grocery shopping is not for the faint of heart, that’s for goddamn sure.
Rubbing at my face, I groan in frustration.
If the price of food doesn’t stress you the hell out, then the slow ass lady wearing spandex pants covered in cat hair, along with an unflattering top, going slower than if she were walking backwards will.
The aisles are too small, the food is full of healthy shit no one really wants to eat,
and the checkout lines are so fucking long.
My idea of food shopping consists of calling for pizza, picking up meat to grill from the butcher, or sitting down at my parents’ table.
I avoid this place at all costs, but here I am, on a Wednesday.
It doesn’t help my shopping experience either when I got stopped by a few townsfolk wanting to chat and catch up. With an unfriendly frown on my face and snappy responses, they continued to hound me. Hell, it took me fifteen minutes to make it past the damn cart corral. That’s small town living for ya, I suppose.
I wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for the panicked phone call I got on my way home from work thirty minutes ago. I should have ignored it like I did Nadia’s calls, but you don’t ignore my mother. That woman won’t stop blowing up your phone until you answer.
“I need butter,” she blurted out when I answered, practically in tears.
Butter.
Only my mother would lose her damn mind over such a thing. So, here I am, getting her precious butter.
Pulling off my flannel, I chuck it into the cart, stressed the hell out.
I grab three boxes of Lucky Charms and toss them into the cart on my way to the butter. Maybe some Coco Puffs? Might as well stock up while I’m here, ’cause I’m not doing this shit again anytime soon.
“Zac? Zac Moore?”
Holding an industrial size box of Pop-Tarts, I turn around and damn near knock spandex wearing lady down. She glares at me before she waddles off, grumbling under her breath. Behind her is Bard Blevins, waving, trotting right down the aisle towards me.
Well, fuck.
I contemplate running, but figure she’ll chase me down. She might be pudgy, but she’s quick. I’ve watched her chase the neighbor’s kids out of her flowerbeds with a hose a time or two, and she gets them every time.
“Hey, Mrs. Blevins. How ya doin’?” I ask her over my shoulder, tossing the Pop-Tarts into the cart with my growing stockpile of breakfast shit.
Mrs. Blevins has the biggest mouth in the state. The woman knows everything about everyone in Riverside. She knows who’s cheating on who, who lost their homes and jobs, and why. She knows what your kids have been up to before you do. She knows every juicy little thing that happens within these city limits. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had an ‘in’ with the city a few miles down the highway, too.
Don’t tell Barb Blevins anything you don’t want the whole goddamn town to know about before tomorrow’s newspaper hits your front porch.
“Good…that’s good,” she prattles on, looking me up and down. Nodding, her gray hair bobbles around under her floppy sun hat. “How about you? How’s your Mom? Your brother?” My mom’s probably covered in flour and pacing her kitchen, waiting on her butter.
“Good.”
“And your Dad?”
He’s probably drinking a beer out in the barn right about now, avoiding the kitchen and my panicked mother.
Lucky bastard.
“Busy, but he’s doing fine.”
“Oh, that’s great. I know things have been a bit busy down at the store…” she jabbers on, telling me shit I already know. My dad owns the local saw shop. Things tend to pick up this time of year, but it’s not anything the old man can’t handle. He’s been doing it longer than I’ve been alive. “He should hire more help. Summer’s about over. Time to hire some of high schoolers before they’re back in school.” I tune out about ninety percent of the things that come out of her mouth, because really, they don’t mean a goddamn thing to me.
“So…” I wait for it. It’s inevitable. It’s been happening for ten fucking years.
The questions always start simple; asking about the family, commenting about the weather. Then, a little town gossip finds its way into her polite, idle chitchat, but it never ends th
ere.
“Did ya hear...” Barb leans in close, looking from side to side, ready to let me in on a secret I couldn’t care less about. “Emerson is back in town,” she says in a hushed whisper.
It takes a moment for the words to sink in, and when they do, they sink straight to the bottom of my gut.
Oh, Jesus. Fuck me.
My heart twists in my chest, a feeling I haven’t experienced in a long damn time, making me wince. I sure as hell wasn’t expecting that to come out of the old gossip’s mouth.
“Ya don’t say,” I choke out, the words stuck in the back of my throat.
“Yep. Guess she’s moved back. Saw her with her Mama at Lou’s Diner last night.”
I try to act like that shit didn’t just punch a hole straight into my goddamn chest, rocking me to my core. So, I smile, or I hope like hell it looks like one, because on the inside, I feel like I’m drowning.
Never, not in a million goddamn years did I expect her to come back.
“Oh yeah? That’s wonderful,” I grind out through my teeth. I’m trying real hard to be polite, but it’s painful.
Now it all makes sense. The last minute dinner on a fucking Wednesday night, that Mom insisted I show up for. I should’ve known better.
I’m sure Mrs. Blevins is full of gossip about Emerson, but I’m just not interested. “Yeah. She’s—” I don’t let her finish.
“Nice seein’ ya, Mrs. Blevins.”
I walk off, bypassing the butter, and head straight for the beer.
Pulling into my parents’ driveway, I park next to Nadia’s car and cut the engine.
Jesus. What the fuck’s she doin’ here?
I sure as shit didn’t invite her. Hell, I didn’t even bother returning the three missed calls from her earlier. She’s only met my parents a few times in the five months we’ve been dating, and I know if Mom knew Emerson would be here, she would never have reached out and invited Nadia.
But the more I think about her being here, the better it sounds.
I recline my seat, not ready to get out just yet. I need a few minutes to pull my shit together.
Taking a deep breath, I let my head fall back against the headrest.
I drove here in a haze. How I went from driving home from work to going to the store and now, sitting outside my parents’ house with Emerson inside, I have not one single fucking clue.
This shit is so wrong.
I’ve made it almost ten years without hearing anything about the woman. Looks like that’s about to change.
I stopped hearing about Emerson after she left. Maybe it’s more like I stopped talking about her and cut anyone out that did. Sure, I was asked about her, but I didn’t have shit to offer. I didn’t have anything to say. I was done with her then, just as I’m done with her now. But, here she is, back in my goddamn life.
I should have kept driving, taking myself straight to the border.
Reaching into the bag on the passenger seat, I pull out a beer, pop the top and shoot it back in a single swallow, welcoming the cool tang.
I go for another, because why the fuck not? Liquid courage and all that.
Polishing off my second, I watch the back door, waiting for someone to come looking for me. I know they heard me pull up, and it’s only a matter of time before they come for me.
I move on to beer number three. Shooting it back, just as fast as the others, I start to feel a nice buzz settle in. I’m gonna need it.
Getting out of my truck, I toss the empties in the bed and linger for a minute. I know I’m running out of time, so I might as well get it over with.
Like ripping off a fucking Band-Aid.
The gravel under my boots crunches as I walk. It feels like I’m on death row, being led towards the chair, when it’s just the front door.
Sure, I could have gone home, but I didn’t want to go the next ten years of my life having it held against me. At this point, all I can do is chug this fourth beer, buck the fuck up and go in to deal with this shit. Both are painful, but at least the latter only lasts hours instead of years.
And deep down there’s some sick, morbid need to see if she really is back. I want to see her face when she sees me again after all these years. Maybe she’ll look the same way I feel.
Maybe.
Walking through the door, I find the living room empty, and I thank fuck I can breath for a minute longer.
A few more steps inside and I hear it—her laugh.
It’s like a sucker punch right to the gut. The sound leaves me winded, stopping me dead in my tracks.
It’s exactly the same, yet vastly different.
The hole in my chest stretches wider, accommodating for more painful memories to flood in and drown me.
Sitting on the dock, fishing. Long walks. Drinking around a campfire. Running through the rain. Marathon movie watching. Fridays on the field. Sundays around the dinner table. Saturdays in the woods.
All of it spent laughing, having a hell of a time, together.
Her laugh still sounds lively and beautiful, and it still brings a smile to my face when I wish like hell it wouldn’t.
I should have had a few more beers before coming in.
Standing in the middle of the living room, I try to prepare myself, even though I know there isn’t shit I can do to be ready for this.
This is not how I saw my night going.
I don’t hear her walk up behind me, but I feel her as soon as she’s on me.
“You’re here.” Nadia slips a hand around my waist, only to jerk it back a second later. “You’re dirty,” she huffs, sounding offended.
“I didn’t have time to go home for a shower,” I mutter absently, listening to the chaos coming from the kitchen. Pots are banging, women are laughing, and the smell of coffee and pot-roast float through the kitchen door. It’s all so fucking familiar, and all so wrong.
Nadia keeps talking, but I’m not hearing her.
This shit is surreal.
I feel like I’m right back in high school.
“Zac?”
“Huh?” Twisting my neck, I look down at Nadia to find her frowning up at me. Wearing some fancy pink dress and heels, she looks out of place here in my parents’ farmhouse living room and its whimsical décor, as my mom calls it. It’s quite the mess with roosters on the walls, blue gingham couch and matching curtains, cow pillows, and a time capsule of mismatched framed family pictures on every other available surface. Nadia just doesn’t fit, and she probably never will.
“You should’ve gone home and showered first.” Picking at my shirt, she adds, “At least changed your shirt.” I don’t miss the look of disgust that flashes across her face. I don’t mention that she met me just like this. I don’t remind her that she picked out this damn shirt. I just let it go. “You could have—”
“And be late for dinner?” I snap, shaking my head. I value my life. My mom would kill me if I skipped out on her.
“Zac, baby. Is that you?” Mom hollers, her voice full of happiness. She’s got her girl back. Why wouldn’t she be happy? We’re all just one big happy fucking family in her rose-colored glasses. I’m real damn glad someone in this house is happy she’s back, because I’m sure the hell not.
Standing in the living room, I hesitate, not sure of what I’m going to do or say. It’s been ten years, and after all that time, the only thing that separates Emerson and me is a wall. I’m not real goddamn sure I’m ready for this, but I have no choice now.
“Get in here,” my mom chuckles as she peeks her head around the corner, a dishtowel dangling from her hand and a smile on her face.
I nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. Be right in.”
~~~~~~
She’s laughing again—loudly—at something my dad’s said. I missed what it was. Actually, I’m missing everything while trying to stomach the situation playing out in front of me.
Picking at my food, I stare at my plate, wishing I had something stronger than beer.
My mom and Mrs.
Maddison are drinking coffee, chatting, while my dad, Mr. Maddison, and my brother are eating pie, the pie that just had to have butter. Me? I’m drinking as much beer as I can consume without killing myself at my mom’s table.
Emerson is watching me, I can feel it. Those wild brown eyes of hers haven’t left me since I walked into the kitchen to greet my mom.
I’ve thought about what it would be like to see Em again after all these years, but actually living it is a hell of a lot more different than just thinking it. I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. Maybe it’s a stroke. I can’t seem to get my words out right, and I’m wound tighter than an old watch.
Jesus.
We’re all together like nothing ever happened; like ten years hasn’t passed while she’s been off doing fuck knows what. They’re acting as if nothing’s changed.
This whole dinner—my family, her family, my girlfriend—is beyond fucked up. It’s like some cosmic fucking joke, and I’m the only one not in on it.
I’m not sure if Nadia quite understands what the hell is going on here at the table she’s sitting at. She’s seen some of the pictures, heard a few of the stories, and she’s seen the tattoo, but honestly, I don’t think she gets it. Nadia does have a hard time seeing things outside of herself, though. She doesn’t see any women as a threat to her. She’s a conceited, arrogant know-it-all, and the last thing I need to deal with is a jealous, insecure woman at this point in my life.
Nadia touches my thigh under the table. “When I heard you talking to your mom earlier this week, inviting you to dinner, I decided to surprise you all. I thought it was time to make an effort to meet your family, even though we’ve seen each other around a few times. This feels more…official, don’t you think? I mean, it’s good for them and everyone else to know we’re together, and that we’re happy.”
Everything she’s said is heard by everyone in the room, including Emerson, who the conversation seems to be geared towards. I know this because she looks directly at Em with a smile on her face. I guess her jealousy needed the right woman to bring it out of her.
