Page 43 of Wasted Memories
“Just be careful, okay?” My voice was hoarse. My hand rested on hers as I stirred the sauce.
“Always am,” she mumbled into my back.
Chapter Twenty Three
Wesley
Iscrubbedthepotunder scorching water for the third time, wishing it was Emerson’s lips I could scrub off my mind. Though we’d kissed last night and she had seemed into it, I couldn’t cross that line with her again.
I was kidding myself, though, because if she asked, I would do anything.
Emerson and I just recently met, but I was already into her in ways I’d never been into another woman. I couldn’t explain it, the way I wanted to take care of her, make sure she was safe.
Turning the faucet off, I set the pot on the drying rack. A notification buzzed through on my phone and I pulled it out of my pocket to see that it was my mom, checking in for the hundredth time.
My eyes lingered on my lock screen, the photo of me and my dad at Yellowstone National Park standing on the lookout at Artist Point. We had taken a family trip to Yellowstone a year and a half ago, right before my dad got sick. It dawned on me then that there would never be another family trip. No more family dinners. No terrible dad jokes to lighten a bad mood.
Now I stood here with nothing but those memories and these photos, wishing we could have just one more family trip. It made me appreciate those moments we had together a little bit more.
When he got sick and we rode those back roads, or when we'd ride our horses, talking for hours on the trails. Those memories are what kept me on the main streets, stopped me from getting in a saddle again. Those things wouldn't be the same without him.
My dad and I had the same nose, lips, and eyes. When the guilt would crowd my mind at leaving my mom back in Fortsworth, I’d tell myself it was probably better that I had left given the similarities I had to him. I was a walking reminder of him. I’m sure the last thing my mom wanted to do was see him every time she looked at me, bringing the waves of pain back.
When he passed, I couldn’t handle hearing the speeches from people who barely knew him, saying he always had a smile on his face, lighting up a room.
What those people didn’t know was that my dad was the complete opposite. He only genuinely smiled when he was around my mom.
I realized then I didn’t know anything about Emerson’s past, only snippets of her present. Whenever the subject of family or her childhood was brought up, she quickly changed the topic.
Regardless of what her past looked like, I wouldn’t let it affect what I thought of her in the now.
I let other people’s images of her cloud my head before and I wouldn’t do that again. While she put on a front out in town, I saw how raw and selfless she really was. My initial thoughts of her had been that she was selfish, careless, and only cared about her image and how people saw her. That may be how she wanted others to see her, that she had a hard exterior and wasn’t affected by anything, but after spending the last week around her, I quickly found that wasn’t the case.
All she needed was a safe space to feel comfortable enough to be herself. I was glad she found that in my house, with me. I wondered how many people she showed this side of herself to.
A knock sounded from the front door, taking my attention off the photo on my phone. I shoved it in my pocket, deciding to reply to my mothers text later, and made my way to the door.
Emerson had a key and I wasn’t expecting anyone, which made me think it could only be one person. I brought my eye to the peephole, squinting to focus the bubble of a person.
Shit.
Why the fuck was my brother standing on my goddamn porch?
I unlocked the door, pulling it open. He stood there with his hands in his jean pockets, looking at me like him standing on my porch was as casual as a neighbor coming by to ask for fucking sugar.
“Wesley.” He motioned to the door, as if I was going to invite him in.
I filled the frame with my body, making it clear I didn’t want him inside my house. “The fuck are you doing here? How did you find me?”
“Mom told me where you’ve been. Landlord Deanna blabs. It’s a small town, it’s not that hard to find people.”
“Well, you found me. Now get lost.” I didn’t need Easton here trying to convince me to go back home. I left for a reason, needing to get away from family, friends, and especially that damn town.
He shook his head, pushing by me to come in, clearly ignoring my displeasure at his sudden appearance. “I’m here for some work, I’m not staying long.”
“You’re damn right you’re not, and you’re not staying here. House is full.” I closed the door and followed him to the kitchen where he was looking around the place.
He laughed, opening the pantry. Our mom probably told him to make sure I was eating. Does no one know how to leave a man alone?
