Page 134 of Chasing the Wild
My stupid heart deflates, because, for the tiniest moment, I don’t know…I hoped.
I hoped he would be here.
As much as I tried to pretend that glimmer wasn’t there, it was. That foolish, romantic heart of mine, combined with the way the back of my neck tingled for the duration of the ceremony…
But, no. Of course, the sea of faces staring back at me is composed entirely of strangers.
Hurriedly collecting my certificate, I’m off the stage in a blink and return to my seat, while the remainder of the ceremony passes in more of a whirlwind.
I nibble on my bottom lip. Maybe I’ll send him an email after all, to let him know I’ve graduated and show him a copy of my certificate. He was myboss, and helped me get to this very place.
God, he was so much more than any one thing to me. My cowboy, for a brief moment in time. Possibly even my lover? I feel like I can only consider what we had to be so much more than a singular, defining word.
An email. A few lines to say hello. That would be totally normal and not like a stalker, right? Just a quick, friendly message, thanking him for the work placement and recommendation on my resume.
However, despite those sentiments, my heart is a bird with a tender little broken wing. What would I even say? Colt hasn’t attempted to contact me at all, not even when it was my actual birthday, although the man gave me his hat as a gift and insisted I took it with me when I left Crimson Ridge. Which in all honesty, if our circumstances were different, that’s the cowboy equivalent of going down on one knee. So, while Kayce might have given us his blessing—and all the relief that comes with knowing he wouldn’t hate Colt forever if something more was to happen between us—I can’t deny that it leaves me feeling unsettled all the same.
At no time during the past five months has Colton Wilder made any move to communicate with me, and the tears that accompany my head hitting the pillow every night are threatening to make a dramatic entrance.
Blinking quickly, I fight it all back down. There is no way I’m ruining this makeup.
Although, if tears do escape, at least I won’t be the only one here today with running mascara. I can pretend they’rehappygraduation tears.
“Now, can I ask that all graduates return to the stage, and we’ll take one last photo before you may all go celebrate with your nearest and dearest.” The woman leans into the microphone and joins the rapturous applause as the final person completes their walk.
We are all arranged into tiers, a photographer waves her arms around, making sure she can see all of our faces, and I wrestle my expression into a semblance of a smile. Shutters click. People cheer.
“Thank you, and happy graduation!” The rich lady dressed in cream and gold shouts while there are some quick hugs between myself and the strangers around me on stage, excitement finally spilling over.
It takes a moment to make my way over to the steps leading off the platform, and as I grab the handrail, my eyes lift to the large oak tree just off to one side of the area where the ceremony has been held.
Broad shoulders I would recognize anywhere.
Hazel eyes.
Roguish hair.
A black shirt with cuffs rolled up and dark jeans.
My fingers grip the railing so tight my knuckles pale. I feel like if I don’t hold on for dear life, there is every chance I might fall face-first down these steps.
Colt stands under the shade of the leafy branches, leaning one shoulder against the broad trunk, watching me descend from the stage. One hand is tucked in his front pocket, and in the other, he’s got something wrapped in brown paper.
Oh my god.
I’m floating, unsteady on my feet. My racing pulse and utter disbelief carry me across the grass. While I don’t want to immediately start crying at the sight of him, not wanting to look like I’ve been a complete and utter disaster without him, I can’t fucking help it. There is no way to fight back the surge of emotion rolling to the surface like waves thundering against a shoreline. By the time I close the distance between us, reaching the dappled shade and cool patch of grass, there are already hot tears rolling down my face.
“Hey, baby.” The rich, rumbling tone of his voice winds straight into my bloodstream. A smile creases the lines around his eyes, and he scoops me against his chest in a tight hug. My graduation cap tips off my head, falling onto the ground, and I don’t give a single fuck. His warm, secure palm cradles the back of my neck, while the other hand presses into my spine. My cowboy is here, and I’m a mess. Blurry vision. Silent sobs. The longer he holds me, the more that faint scent of leather mixed with cedar coats me, fills me, nourishes me back to life.
It’s like all the vividness of the world rushes back in, and for the first time in five agonizingly long months, I feel like oxygen has returned to expand my lungs.
“Angel, you look beautiful,” he says against my hair. Not letting me go. Keeping me tucked into his chest and the sound of his voice reverberates through every inch of my body. “Sorry I was late.”
I sniffle and pull back enough that I can crane my neck to look at him. His palm cups my cheek, and a thumb strokes my tears away. “How did you know…”
“Took me a minute to get here after you posted that photo.”
Blinking fast, my stare flits between his eyes and his mouth. Surely those were not the words he just uttered. How could this man have seen my photo? He doesn’t own a phone. Stubbornly avoids social media.
