Page 83 of Swift and Saddled

I’d spent the last few weeks falling deeper and deeper into whatever it was between Wes and me when I should’ve been trying to keep some distance between us.

Because leaving him fucking hurt.

Why hadn’t I done what I said I was going to do? Why hadn’t I just stayed away from him? Why had I gotten us into a situation where both of us were going to end up hurt when I left?

Because I wanted Wes. Even if it was just for a short time.

But in that short time, I’d gotten more than I’d bargained for.

So I’d left without a word.

Just like Chance had done to me.

I hadn’t realized that that’s what I was doing. I didn’t think I was doing it on purpose, but in the quiet cab of the truck, with only the sound of the engine and my heartbeat to keep me company, I started to feel like the worst person alive.

By leaving without telling him, I didn’t have to endure his fighting to keep me. I could get the best of both worlds, and I wouldn’t have to pick up any of the pieces.

This way, the wreckage that I left behind wasn’t my responsibility.

That thought hit me like a freight train, and ithurt.The realization that I was doing to Wes what someone had done to me made me want to vomit.

I pulled the truck off the road onto the dirt shoulder. I forgot to push the clutch in when I stopped, so the truck shuddered and died—fitting for how I was feeling.

Tears leaked out of my eyes like a badly patched roof, and I collapsed, my head landing on the steering wheel.

My body was racked with sobs. How could I fuck things up so royally in less than a few hours? How did I go from wanting someone to leaving him? From feeling at home to fleeing? From happy to brokenhearted?

Was I really so scared of my feelings for Wes that I was willing to become a person I didn’t like? Did I really want to live with the fact that I’d abandoned the man that I loved because the possibility of my happiness looked different than I expected it to?

No, I didn’t want to live with that.

I wanted Wes.

I didn’t want to call him out of the blue nearly two years later and hope that he answered. I still didn’t know why Chance had called me—I didn’t care—but I hated that he felt like he could. I didn’t want to be that person for Wes.

And this was the shittiest part of it all: When it came down to it, I knew Wes would forgive me. I knew if I left now and showed back up in a few months, a year, he’d forgive me. He would take away the burden and the guilt that I felt for leaving by giving me absolution.

He’d let everything be okay.

Because he was deeply caring, kind, and gentle. He often carried the things that were too heavy for others by himself. Not for any sort of recognition or praise—simply because he cared.

I couldn’t let him do that. Not for me, not for this.

Because this—leaving—was the dumbest thing I’d ever done.

Wes once said to me that I was the moon, and I’d scoffedat him. But he was right. I was the moon, and the moon couldn’t glow without the sun.

And my sun was in Meadowlark, Wyoming.

This was a mistake.

I had to go back. I couldn’t follow through on leaving him. I didn’t want to.

Rebel Blue Ranch was my home now. It was the first place that had ever felt like it, and I was an idiot for even thinking about leaving.

I pushed in the clutch, started the engine, and whipped the truck off the shoulder. Dirt and rocks went flying, and I sent a silent thank-you to the sky that I’d never once seen a cop car in Meadowlark.

Once I was headed in the right direction, I took a second to admire the world around me. The mountains and trees in Wyoming felt like my friends. It felt like they were cheering for me—that they’d told the wind to blow behind me so I could get to Wes faster.

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