Page 45 of Whiskey and Wildfire

We sat in silence for a moment, the weight of her words settling over us. Then, almost involuntarily, I leaned forward and hugged her tightly. She held me close, stroking my hair like she used to when I was a child.

The last light of day disappeared as we sat there. Night closed in around us and by the time we finally pulled apart, the wounds of the past had already begun to heal. I knew the process would be slow and painful for both of us. But for the first time since I could remember, I felt like the connection between us was heading in a good direction.

Now I just had to figure out what the hell was wrong with Logan.

Chapter 17

Logan

When I woke, it was dark outside. And from the moment I opened my eyes, my head was pounding like it had been hit with a sledgehammer. I groaned, reaching up and grinding my palms against my eyes in a vain attempt to make it go away. What had happened to me?

It didn’t take long for the memories to start to return. The bank, the bar, the whiskey bottle, and then Dakota screaming at me for being fucking stupid. And the worst part was, he was right.

Guilt twisted at my stomach, making me feel more nauseous than I already was. I knew he’d grown up in a house with an alcoholic, one that apparently had a penchant for being abusive. And yet I’d gone out and gotten drunk as a goddamn skunk then drove myself home. He was right, I was fucking stupid. And for the life of me, I couldn’t figure out why I’d done that to him. What an asshole thing to do.

Well, the truth was I knew the reason, but now that I was sitting in the dark with the worst headache of my life and Dakota pissed at me, it no longer seemed worth it. Even though we’d only been seeing one another officially for a couple days, I’ddeveloped feelings for him quite a while ago. And now I’d hurt him. He deserved better.

I pushed myself up, wincing as the room spun around me. My mouth felt like sandpaper, and my stomach churned with every movement. But I had to find Dakota, had to make this right somehow.

Stumbling out of bed, I grabbed onto the nightstand for support. The house was quiet, really quiet. Had he left? The thought sent a jolt of panic through me.

“Dakota?” I called out, my voice hoarse and weak. No answer.

I made my way down the hallway, using the wall for support. The living room was empty, but I noticed his hat still hanging by the door. He hadn’t gone far, then.

That’s when I heard it - the soft rhythmic sound of chopping wood coming from outside. Of course. Dakota always took to physical labor when he was upset or needed to think. But judging by a quick glance at the clock, it was one in the morning.

I stepped out onto the porch, squinting against the glaring porch light the illuminated the front yard.

There he was, his broad back to me, muscles rippling under his sweat-soaked shirt as he brought the axe down again and again. The steady thunk of metal meeting wood echoed through the still night air. I could see the tension in his shoulders, the rigid set of his jaw as he worked.

“Dakota,” I called out softly, my voice cracking.

He froze mid-swing, his back stiffening. Slowly, he lowered the axe and turned to face me. His eyes were dark, unreadable in the harsh porch light.

“You should be in bed,” he said, his voice low and gravelly. “Sleeping off your stupid decisions.”

I winced but took a tentative step forward anyway. My head throbbed as I held onto the porch rail for support. “I... I needed to talk to you. To apologize.”

Dakota’s jaw clenched, and he turned back to the woodpile, grabbing another log. He positioned it on the chopping block, his movements sharp and agitated.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” he said, his voice tight. “You made your choice.”

I took another unsteady step forward, fighting against the dizziness. “Dakota, please. I know I messed up. I know I hurt you. But I want to explain.”

He brought the axe down with a resounding crack, splitting the log cleanly in two. The pieces fell to either side as he straightened, his chest heaving with exertion and emotion.

“You don’t get it, do you?” he said, finally turning to face me again. His eyes blazed in the dim light. “It’s not just about you getting drunk. It’s about you not thinking about the consequences. About you making me relive every bad memory I’ve ever had all at once even though I told you about it. And told you how I felt about alcohol.”

“Dakota, I know. And I’m sorry. But I have a good reason if you’ll just?—”

“A good reason?!” he cried, throwing the axe to the ground. “What possible reason could you have for putting your life in danger like that? For risking everything when I was just finally starting to feel alright about opening up to you?” He stared at me for a long moment, his brows furrowed. “Did your father die or something?”

“No,” I said quickly. “God no.”

“Then why the fuck are you being so stupid, Logan?!”

I just stood there, my head swimming as I tried to make sense of the mess I was in.

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