Thirty minutes later, Wyatt stumbles through the door. His eyes meet mine as I stand at the door to the bedroom.

“You’re still here?” he slurs.

Great. He’s fucking drunk. “Where have you been?”

“What do you care?”

“What do I care?” I spit the words back at him. “I’ve been worried. Where have you been?”

“Out.”

“Well, that’s nice.” I huff.

“What does it matter anyway? You’re leavin’, and we’re done.”

“So, you’re going to really stand by that you never loved me? Everything we felt, everything we shared, was all a lie?”

He comes closer, and all I smell is alcohol and cheap perfume. “Nothing was a lie, until I destroyed it all.” He points to my chest. “Because you’re better off being where you wanted to be anyway. I’m doin’ you a favor.”

“By pushing me away?”

Wyatt throws his hands up and then lets them fall. “I’ve been tryin’ to tell you, baby. I’m lettin’ you go. You and I can move on now. You don’t have to look at me and see the man who took it all away!”

“You don’t know anything.” I stare into his eyes.

He squints and purses his lips. “I know what I know.”

“You’re drunk.”

“Yup!” He laughs. “I finally feel nothing. I can breathe and see straight.”

I roll my eyes and start to walk away, but he grabs my wrist and pulls me against him. Our bodies slam together, and my heart races. It’s the first time he’s touched me in weeks. We stand for a moment, breathing each other in. I’ve missed his touch. I’ve craved for him to be close to me like this, but it hurts too much. I see the hurt in his eyes. I don’t know how drunk he is or if he’ll remember this in the morning, so I decide to lay it out.

“I love you. I know you’re hurting. I know that you think all this is your fault . . .” I say as I run my hand along his jaw, feeling the scruff that covers his skin. “It’s not. It was a terrible accident where we both lost something precious to us. But I would’ve given my life up for you, not because of her, but because I love you.” Wyatt’s eyes close and a tear leaks out. “I don’t believe you’re this man. This angry, hurt, foolish man who goes out and drinks himself stupid. You’re the man who moves all your clothes out of the closet to give me room. The one who learns how to make my favorite drink. The guy who laid with me in bed and let me soak your shirt with my tears. The guy who took me fishing and showed me I could let go. The man I fell in love with wanted our first time as a couple to mean something. He fought through a very tough exterior to make me fall in love with him.” I trail my hand from his jaw so it can rest over his heart. “The man that stands here isn’t him. I’m begging you to find him. Find him before this new man finds himself alone.”

Wyatt wipes the tear from my face. “You’re leavin’ anyway. Just like you were always going to.”

I shake my head. “I’m going back for a week. It’s up to you if I return.”

I press my lips against his. I can’t stop myself. I’ve missed this so much. The kiss deepens as he lets go a little more. His hands grab my cheeks as he holds me tight. I hold his face, keeping him to me as my heart aches thinking this could be it. This could be our last kiss. I try not to let my mind go there, but my emotions are at war with each other.

I love him, but he’s hurting me.

I want to save him, but he won’t let me.

I want to hold on to him, but he’s pushing me away.

His arms begin to loosen, and I grip him tighter.

No. Hold on to me. I beg in my mind. “Let me love you, Wyatt.”

Wyatt rests his forehead on mine. “Let me go before I hurt you more.”

“This is what’s hurting,” I murmur. “If you love something, you have to fight for it. Fight for me. Fight for what we could’ve been.”

His eyes lift as he drops his arms. “I have no fight left, and I don’t love you. Go back home, Angie.”

Wyatt

MY FUCKING HEAD IS POUNDING. How much did I drink last night? I rub the side of my head and try to recall what happened.

I remember getting to the bar, drinking a shitload of shots, and seeing Beau, the guy who didn’t save Faith. He should’ve done something more. I remember telling him all that, and then I think my brother showed up.

My eyes open, and I look around, only vaguely realizing that something’s different. I’m still too hungover to give a fuck, though.

I grab my phone to check the time. Holy shit! It’s three in the afternoon, and I have four missed calls. Two from Presley, one from Trent, and one from Mama. I toss the phone back on the couch and cover my eyes with my arm. No way I want to hear from any of them. All three will tell me what a fuck up I’m being—as if I didn’t already know. I can’t seem to stop myself.

“Open the damn door, you asshole!” Presley yells from the other side of the front door.

Maybe she’ll go away.

“Goddamn it, Wyatt Hennington!” she screams.

I sit up and drop my head into my hands. I don’t need this right now.

“I know you’re in there.” She kicks the door.

This won’t end well. I get up and open the door to find her staring at me with so much anger in her eyes it forces me to step back. “Good morning, Cowgirl.”

“Don’t!” Her small hands push against my chest. “Don’t talk! I will beat the shit out of you with my bare hands. I can’t even believe you right now. Who are you? Do you think you’re the only man who’s dealt with loss? Do you think at all? No. I don’t think you do! I can’t believe you said those things to her! I can’t believe you just let her walk away!” Presley rants and yells as she continues to hit me.

“What the hell are you talkin’ about?”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” She shoots straight to rage.

“Presley.” I sigh. “I have no clue why you’re yellin’ at me.”

“Look around, Wyatt. Look around your house, and let me know what you see, you stupid idiot.”

I take a second and try to place what I thought was off. Everything is like I remember it, except it’s not. The photo of Presley and Angie that sat on the mantle is gone. The quilt that Angie brought from home, which was draped over the back of the couch, is missing. Little things that she put out aren’t there.

My feet move to the bedroom, and I throw open the closet. It’s all gone. There’s no clothes hanging. I rush to the bathroom to find all her girly crap is gone too. She’s gone.

Then I remember what happened when I got home. It comes in chunks, but I recall the fight. The way she begged me, and how I put the final nail in the coffin. I made her think I never felt anything for her.

I lied.

And she’s really gone.

In my head, I knew this was coming. It’s the life she wanted, so I was trying to give her a reason to let me go. Hurting her went against everything I stand for, but keeping her here was selfish. She thought she loved me. I know she loved her life before me. When we lost Faith, there was no reason for her to stay.