Wild Love: Chapter 16

Cora yawns so wide that I wonder if it hurts. Her hands curl into fists and her dark lashes flutter shut. I smile softly at her, propped up against the opposite arm of the couch. For all her sarcastic one-liners and no-nonsense persona, she looks very young right now.

I wonder when she last got a hug. The last one I got was from my dad when I pulled up unexpectedly at my parents’ house.

“I liked this movie,” she announces, settling into the couch as we bask in Elle Woods’ victory.

I push my feet, clad in fuzzy socks, under her blanket and give her legs a slight nudge. “It’s all the pink isn’t it, my little storm cloud?”

She scoffs and rolls her eyes, nudging my legs back with her own. “I don’t hate pink.”

I curve a teasing brow at her.

Her eyes flash up to the neon scrunchie in my hair. “I think it looks nice on you.”

“Thank you.”

“But you’re pretty. It makes sense.”

My head tilts as I regard her. We had a fun night. It was wholesome. We ate too much pizza. I did up root beer floats for us. We made fun of Ford behind his back and laughed. She even told me about school, where she’s found two other little storm clouds to roam with. And I love that for her.

What I don’t love is what she just told me.

“Anyone can wear pink, Cora. And you? You aren’t just pretty, you’re beautiful. Inside and out. And that has nothing to do with the colors you wear”—I wave a hand over her— “or in your case, shades. You could wear pink if you wanted.”

Her eyes drop and her fingers fiddle with the blanket as the credits roll across the screen.

“Do you ever feel like you… like you… I don’t know. Just want to re-create yourself?”

God. Damn. Talk about an unknowing punch to the gut.

“You’re talking to the girl who freaked out and fled her life less than a week ago. So yeah, I know that feeling. I’ve done it successfully a few times.”

Cora nods, a question on her face as she rolls her lips together.

This time, I rub my foot against her leg to reassure her. “Hey, Cora.”

She lifts her eyes to look at me.

“Pink and black go great together. If you want to wear pink, do it. Ten out of ten you can pull it off. I mean, come on. You’ve got the genetics of the World’s Hottest Billionaire.”

At that, she huffs out a giggle, dropping her chin shyly.

“If anyone says anything, just scowl at them and say, ‘Do you even know who I am?’” Now she laughs.

“I’d milk the hell outta that title if I were you.”

“You could too, if you wanted.” Her eyes dance with amusement, and my gaze flicks back and forth between them.

“I don’t think I look young enough to convince people that Ford is my daddy.”

I broke every speed limit to get to you.

That fucking sentence has played on repeat in my head all day. I’ve thought about it countless times, to the point I’m not sure it holds any meaning anymore.

Except… the fact I’m obsessing over it does mean something.

But did it mean something coming from him? Or was it off the cuff? Was it even true, or was he fucking with me?

Right back down the rabbit hole I go.

“Are you going to go back to the city?” Cora’s question drags me out of my spiral.

“Sorry?”

“Are you going to move back?”

“Wow. Most people get to warm up with simple kid questions before they get hit with the hard-hitting ones.”

“Sucks to be you,” Cora says with a snotty little shrug.

I can’t decide if that makes me want to laugh or cry, so I prop my head back on the couch and stare up at the wooden beams stretching across the ceiling. “I don’t know. I feel this pressure to live that city life. Ya know? I’m the first person in my family to go to university. Staying here in Rose Hill would have been simple, but I made it out. I did the thing. It feels counterproductive to come back here in some ways. And yet…”

“And yet?”

My lips quirk. This girl should become a journalist with all her hard-hitting questions.

“And yet I love it here. It feels like home. The condo in the city doesn’t. That life doesn’t. It feels like I’m in a race that I don’t give a flying fuck about winning. One I’m signed up for just to say I took part.”

“What about your boyfriend?” She says the word with a dose of disdain I didn’t see coming.

Next time you ask me that, make sure you are.

That’s the sentence I obsessed over last night. That sentence is the reason I stayed up all night reading my journal. Trying to affirm to myself that I have all these entries that prove Ford and I hate each other the way we’ve always said we do.

But now, as an adult, I’m not sure they read that way at all. I went looking for proof there’s nothing between us, and all I found was evidence to the contrary. I feel like one of those cartoon characters with stunned eyes and question marks circling above their head.

“Ryan?”

“Yeah.”

I’m starting to think he’s avoiding me. I messaged him today. Told him that if he couldn’t make it out here sooner, I wanted to come back for a visit next weekend. I left out the part about how by visit I meant break up. But apparently, he’s going to be away with work. Again.

“You asked me about re-creating yourself, and I think that he and I both have. We’ve changed, our lives have changed. Sometimes you grow together, and sometimes you grow apart. If I go back, it won’t be for him—it will be for myself.”

It’s the first time I’ve given voice to that realization. I’ve thought about it a lot. Maybe I’ve been dragging it out longer than necessary, paralyzed by feelings of obligation. But you don’t just blow up a two-year relationship with a decent person without sleeping on it—without being sure.

Somewhere along the way, I’ve come to realize I wasted a lot of years chasing a life I thought I was supposed to have. Spent a lot of time checking off milestones I thought I was supposed to reach. Achieving goals I thought were supposed to make me feel like I’d finally accomplished something.

I was chasing a fantasy that was supposed to satisfy me. And Ryan was part of that fantasy—the one I was supposed to want.

But now, I know I don’t want what I’m supposed to. And there’s no coming back from that. I’m going to look him in the eye, say it to his face, and give him a hug when I end it. I respect him enough for that.

“That’s very mature of you.” Cora nods like she’s impressed, and I clear my throat to cover a laugh.

“Thank you,” I say simply. “And you know, if I move back, you don’t have to worry. Ford was adamant about coming with me to pick you up today, so he knows what to do. You’re in good hands.”

Cora snorts and hides behind her hands as she bursts into a fit of girlish giggles. “That’s not why he went with you.”

My face scrunches in confusion. “What do you mean? Of course it is.”

“No.” Cora grins, mischief dancing in her eyes. “It’s because I told him about all the other perv dads eyeing you up.”

I scoff. “Ford doesn’t care about that.”

“Don’t re-create yourself as someone oblivious, Rosie. It doesn’t suit you.” She pats me on the leg like I’m dumb, hops off the couch, and gives me a quick and borderline awkward hug. “Thanks for tonight. I had fun. Even with all the pink.”

Then she’s off to bed.

And I’m left spiraling, just like I have been for the past twenty-four hours.

I wake to the feel of calloused fingers gently pushing my hair behind my ear. A corduroy pillow, both velvety and ribbed, rubs against my cheek. The smell of fried chicken, beer, and sandalwood swirls in my nostrils.

When I pry my eyes open, I’m faced with Ford looking rugged and heart-stopping as he sits on the coffee table watching me. Broad shoulders straining against his brown leather jacket, strong thighs filling out a pair of faded blue jeans. Even his stupid, expensive leather boots are still on his feet.

Like he saw me lying here when he walked in and came straight for me.

I broke every speed limit to get to you.

“Hey,” I murmur as I sit up. “Sorry. I fell asleep once Cora went to bed. Not before—I swear I was responsible.”

He smiles softly and reaches forward as if to stroke my hair again, but he quickly withdraws and props his elbows on his knees. “I know you were.”

“How was bowling?” I ask, pulling in a deep breath, trying to wake myself up.

The grin he hits me with is almost blinding, especially since he usually keeps it hidden behind a scowl.

“Are you drunk?”

“No.” He rakes a hand through his hair with a raspy chuckle. “I just… I had fun. It was stupid, but also… relaxing? Social?”

I’m suddenly aware of how dim the light is, how quiet the house is, and how close we are.

I’m suddenly self-conscious as hell.

“Right on.” I wince. That sounded dumb. “Well, I, uh, yeah. I’m happy to do a girls’ night with Cora on the days you have bowling.”

With a hushed laugh, I unfold my body and stand. The couch and the table are so close I find myself standing between his knees. His green eyes glow like he’s drinking me in for the first time, his stubble just the right length to lend him a slightly unpolished look.

“What’s so funny?”

“You. Bowling.” I drag my front teeth over my bottom lip. His eyes trace the motion and my skin itches. “You can crash here if that’s easier. You could just… sleep over on those nights.”

When I glance down, his fingers are clamped onto his thighs, bracketing where I stand between them.

I’m struck by the whiteness of his knuckles. The clear tension in his body. I wonder what he’d do to me with those hands if he just let go.

Next time you ask me that, make sure you are.

I clear my throat and think of West. I think of Ryan. I think of what a mess I am right now and resolve that no one needs my current personal life added to their plate.

Then I step around his knee.

“Oh, nah. I’ll get outta your hair. I just want to check on Cora before I go.”

“Rosie, wait.” Before I can step out from between his legs his hands let go. They go from gripping that table to holding me in place. One big, strong palm on the outside of each thigh.

All the air freezes in my lungs, but the skin beneath my leggings sizzles with throbbing heat.

I can’t look away from it.

His hands.

My legs.

It makes me want to step closer. But instead, I just focus on forcing myself to keep breathing and watch. He does the same. When I peek at him, he appears entranced. Motionless.

Seconds pass, but neither of us moves. My heart beats so hard it aches.

And then he finally sucks in a ragged breath and turns his eyes up to me. They’re wild, and green, and brimming with heat. “Thank you. For all your help.”

I offer him a simple, speechless nod. I feel his fingertips pulse on my legs, and that spurs me to step away from him. His hands lose contact, and I fight the urge to move back into them.

“I’ll be right back,” I whisper with a soft tremor to my voice. His head doesn’t turn to follow my motion, but he nods all the same.

With a deep breath, I dash upstairs, deciding not to overthink what was a simple thank you. We’ve touched before. It’s nothing new. And I can’t go there right now anyway.

I wince as the floorboards creak beneath me letting out a sigh of relief when I poke my head into Cora’s room. With her black sheets and bright red lava lamp, it really feels like Dracula’s lair in here.

But I pull my hair down and drop the neon-pink scrunchie on her bedside table all the same before taking a moment to watch her. She looks downright sweet when she’s sleeping.

She’s pretty enough to wear any fucking color she wants. And as I watch her sleeping form, I make a silent vow to teach her as much.

When I turn to leave, I skid to a halt. Because Ford followed me up here and has caught me basically baby-gazing at his sleeping daughter. An expression has fallen over his face that I can’t quite place. It’s soft. Laced with longing.

We exchange no words, but as I pass him, his hand hovers over the small of my back. A whisper of a touch— nothing more.

He trails me down the stairs and goes for my jacket, holding it up with that signature bitchy look back on his face. Right where it belongs.

“I’m walking you home,” he whispers roughly.

There’s no may I, there’s no Rosie would you like—it’s just a fact. This is what he’s doing, and I suspect if I told him not to, he’d ignore me and do it anyway.

So, I shrug and say, “Okay,” before sliding my arms into the sleeves.

We step out into the cool night and turn toward the lake. I could take the main road, but step for step, it’s probably three times as far. Plus, I love to pass by the water. Especially when it’s dark out like tonight. When the soft lapping against the shore is the loudest thing within earshot and the crescent moon casts a shimmering reflection off the inky water.

There is water in Vancouver but not like this. Not water like glass. Not water that smells like fresh rain.

“You can leave me here,” I say when we get to the fence line. “I may go hang on the dock for a bit.”

Try to get my bearings.

But Ford doesn’t pick up on my need for space. Instead, he nods and follows me onto the dock, hands shoved into his jean pockets.

I could tell him to get off my dock, stomp my feet, fall back into our comfortable bickering, but I’m too tired tonight. There’s a softness between us right now that I don’t want to ruin.

And whether or not I want to admit it to myself, I like that he followed me out here.

We both stop at the edge of the dock. Side by side, taking it in.

“I missed this,” I murmur.

He’s quiet for a few beats, and then, “Same.”

“It’s so… uncivilized out here. It’s hot, it’s cold, there’s snow, there’s fire. Bears, cougars, leeches. I missed the heart-pounding excitement of being somewhere so untamed. We were so carefree when we were kids here, weren’t we?”

From the corner of my eye, I see him give a stern nod. “The city gets monotonous. It changes you. You adapt. And you almost forget what this feels like.”

My heartbeat quickens. I know he’s talking about living in the city, but somehow my brain interprets it as more. I don’t think I forgot what this place feels like. I was just so focused on being the bright spot for my family—the fun-loving, career-driven child—that I ignored any twinges of longing I had for it.

“Do you think you’ll go back?” He rocks on his feet as he says it.

“Cora asked me the same thing tonight.”

“Yeah? What did you tell her?”

“That this feels like home.”

“The job is yours for as long as you want it.”

I grin up at him. “Until I drive you crazy enough that you lose it and fire me.”

He snorts. “Do your worst, Belmont. But we should make it more official. I’ll file that résumé and you can send me your references. Then no one can ever say you got a handout.”

I freeze. References. Why had I not thought of references?

I want to hug him for knowing I’d never want to be perceived as getting a handout. And I want to pull the tiny hairs at the back of his neck for reminding me that my references are royally fucked.

My breathing speeds up as my anxiety rises. Again, I’m forced to think about a split second in time, an unwanted advance that should be easy to get over. But I’m not over it. I hear that sharp intake of breath echo in my ears and am transported to that boardroom all over again.

“You all right?”

I hear the concern in his voice. Usually, I’d want to do everything in my power to avoid this kind of attention. To smooth things over and not be a problem for anyone.

Maybe it’s too quiet, maybe I’m too tired, maybe I trust Ford more than I ever realized and that’s why I’ve never felt the need to be perfect for him.

But I respond with a quiet, “No.”

That one word has him turning to face me. “What’s going on?”

Tears prick at my eyes, spurred by embarrassment. A heat in my chest that feels like it could choke me as it spreads to my throat. “I can’t give you my references. Or at least not what should have been my best ones.”

“Why not?”

His voice is harsh now, yet I know deep down it’s not directed at me.

Has it ever been?

“Because I got fired.” The words spill from my lips, and it’s such a relief to confide in someone instead of walking around with it all bottled up and feeling guilty.

“Why the fuck would they fire you?”

I nibble at my bottom lip and tears gather on my bottom lashes. One blink and they’ll fall. So I don’t look at Ford. I keep my eyes on the water.

“My boss had a bad case of wandering hands, and I told him where he could shove it. I’m not sure of the company’s inner workings beyond that point, but he clearly got to HR before I did. The company decided it was easier to let me go without cause than hear my side.”

He says nothing, but I can feel his gaze on me.

I shrug. “So I can give you their contact information, but I doubt they’ll have many nice things to say about me.”

I blink, and two fat tears lurch over my lashes. I imagine the sound of them in my head. Bloop, bloop.

With a forced smile, I reach up to wipe them away.

Ryan hadn’t known what to say when they fired me. I’d cried, and he’d assured me something better would come along.

Ford doesn’t give me pretty words that do nothing to make it better. Instead, he reaches for me gruffly and tugs me against his chest. One strong arm clamps over my shoulders and the other wraps around the back of my head, like he’s shielding me.

For the second time tonight, I feel his fingers in my hair. And for the second time tonight, I take a deep inhale of his heady, masculine scent.

For the second time tonight, tears fall.

And I don’t stop myself from nuzzling against his chest. His cotton shirt soaks up my tears and I roll the silver chain hanging from his neck between my fingers. I feel the pendant against my cheek.

“I’m a mess. My life is a mess. I got fired. I’ve spent two years of my life with a perfectly decent man, and I don’t know how to tell him I’m not in love with him anymore. I’m living in my brother’s shitty bunkhouse and cooking on a hot plate. I eat chips every day. I’m swimming in a sea of student debt. I feel guilty all the time, for abandoning my life, for running away, for failing. And I’m so tired, Ford. I’m so fucking tired.”

His stubble prickles at my scalp as he presses a kiss to my hair and nuzzles his cheek on the top of my head. “Just rest for a minute then, Rosie. I got you.”

His words only make me cry harder.

I don’t know how long we stand here while Ford lets me fall apart in his arms. Taking all my anguish so I don’t need to carry it around myself.

His hand never stops stroking my head. Even when my tears run dry.

I feel spent. Dopey. Like I could fall asleep right here.

“Lately, I’ve wondered if I’d have been better off rising above the whole thing,” I say against the safety of his chest. “Ignoring it.”

I’m talking about the job, the assault, and he knows it.

His arms tighten around me, and his voice comes out like pure venom when he says, “No one should ever have made you feel like it’s your job to rise above this. You’re allowed to process however you need to, Rosie. But me? I’m going to ruin them.”

Ford’s rough words wash the anxiety from my body, and I sigh. “Please don’t tell anyone. Only you and Ryan know. And I don’t want to rehash this all.”

He stiffens and his voice is chill when he asks, “And what did Ryan do about it?”

“I don’t need anyone to do anything about it,” I answer vaguely, burying my face against him even harder, like I have only once before in my life. I was scared then too. “Just telling you feels good.”

His only response is to kiss my hair again and hold me for a few more seconds.

Then Ford lets me go and walks me to my door like a perfect gentleman. And when I crawl into bed, I don’t replay any of his words. With that secret off my chest, safe in Ford’s capable hands, I finally relax and sleep like the dead.

Because as much as I don’t need a knight in shining armor to defend my honor, I’m relieved I have one who feels compelled to do so.