Page 122 of The Wreckage of Us

He gave me a broken smile. “She’s still here. So I’m going to stay thankful for that.”

Good.

“Okay, well, good night. Let me know if you need anything.”

“You,” he replied so quickly I was almost unsure he’d said that word.

“What?”

“I need you,” he swore. He stuffed his hands into his wet slacks and cleared his throat. “I get it. Something happened, and you’re scared. You’re afraid to share whatever happened to you, and I get that, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want or need you, Hazel. I think you need me too. You know how Grams made you promise not to tell me about what was going on?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Well, she had me make her a promise too. She made me promise to fight for what I love—so no matter what, I’m fighting for you. I’m not running away, Hazel. I’m not building my wall back up. I’m staying in town, and not only am I going to work on myself, but I’m going to work on us. Even if that means just being too damn much in your business. I’m fighting for you whether you like it or not, Hazel Stone. Our love song isn’t over. We’re just getting to the chorus, and I’m going to sing for you, for us, until forever.”

Ian wasn’t kidding—he stayed in town and stayed very much in my business.

He and the band didn’t get on an airplane to head back to Los Angeles to record their rushed album. Instead, they went back to the basics of recording their own tracks in the barn house as they made a plan to tackle their record label.

I hadn’t a clue how they were going to pump out a complete album in such a short period of time, but I also knew if anyone could do it, it was the Wreckage. They were determined to prove to Max Fucking Dickhead that he couldn’t control them.

When Ian wasn’t with his grandparents or recording with the band, he was on the ranch, giving me a run for my money.

Big Paw put me in charge of giving Ian his tasks, and it was as if we’d come full circle.

As he was cleaning out the pigpens, I stopped in to check if he was getting the work done. Also, I simply liked checking in on him, because I couldn’t help but want to be around him.

“How’s it going?” I asked.

“Oddly enough, it’s not too bad. I missed this literal shit storm,” he said, putting his pitchfork down. “I’m a bit slower than I used to be.”

“Yeah, you are,” I joked. I clapped my hands together. “Get it together, or you’ll be here all night.”

“If only I had someone to help me.” He smiled. Gosh, I loved that smile.

“If only.”

“Come on, Haze.” He gestured toward another pitchfork and one of the messy pens. “One more for old times’ sake?”

I narrowed my eyes. “Are you trying to get out of doing your job?”

“No. I just like being around you.”

Butterflies.

So many butterflies.

I took a deep inhale and released it through my lips. Even if Charlie did walk in on Ian and me, it wasn’t as if we were doing anything outside of the normal. We were working; that was all.

At least that was all I thought was going on.

As I began shoveling the soiled hay, Ian spoke. “Confessions?”

I shook my head. “I’m not sure I’m up for it.”

“Why?” He narrowed his eyes. “Afraid of what might be said?”

“Exactly.”

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