Wild Heart (2 page)

Pulling into my parents’ driveway, I park next to Nadia’s car and cut the engine.

Jesus. What the fuck’s she doin’ here?

I sure as shit didn’t invite her. Hell, I didn’t even bother returning the three missed calls from her earlier. She’s only met my parents a few times in the five months we’ve been dating, and I know if Mom knew Emerson would be here, she would never have reached out and invited Nadia.

But the more I think about her being here, the better it sounds.

I recline my seat, not ready to get out just yet. I need a few minutes to pull my shit together.

Taking a deep breath, I let my head fall back against the headrest.

I drove here in a haze. How I went from driving home from work to going to the store and now, sitting outside my parents’ house with Emerson inside, I have not one single fucking clue.

This shit is so wrong
.

I’ve made it almost ten years without hearing anything about the woman. Looks like that’s about to change.

I stopped hearing about Emerson after she left. Maybe it’s more like I stopped talking about her and cut anyone out that did. Sure, I was asked about her, but I didn’t have shit to offer. I didn’t have anything to say. I was done with her then, just as I’m done with her now. But, here she is, back in my goddamn life.

I should have kept driving, taking myself straight to the border.

Reaching into the bag on the passenger seat, I pull out a beer, pop the top and shoot it back in a single swallow, welcoming the cool tang.

I go for another, because why the fuck not? Liquid courage and all that.

Polishing off my second, I watch the back door, waiting for someone to come looking for me. I know they heard me pull up, and it’s only a matter of time before they come for me.

I move on to beer number three. Shooting it back, just as fast as the others, I start to feel a nice buzz settle in. I’m gonna need it.

Getting out of my truck, I toss the empties in the bed and linger for a minute. I know I’m running out of time, so I might as well get it over with.

Like ripping off a fucking Band-Aid
.

The gravel under my boots crunches as I walk. It feels like I’m on death row, being led towards the chair, when it’s just the front door.

Sure, I
could have gone home, but I didn’t want to go the next ten years of my life having it held against me. At this point, all I can do is chug this fourth beer, buck the fuck up and go in to deal with this shit. Both are painful, but at least the latter only lasts hours instead of years.

And deep down there’s some sick, morbid need to see if she
really is back. I want to see her face when she sees me again after all these years. Maybe she’ll look the same way I feel.

Maybe
.

Walking through the door, I find the living room empty, and I thank fuck I can breath for a minute longer.

A few more steps inside and I hear it—
her laugh
.

It’s like a sucker punch right to the gut. The sound leaves me winded, stopping me dead in my tracks.

It’s exactly the same, yet vastly different.

The hole in my chest stretches wider, accommodating for more painful memories to flood in and drown me.

Sitting on the dock, fishing. Long walks. Drinking around a campfire. Running through the rain. Marathon movie watching. Fridays on the field. Sundays around the dinner table.
Saturdays in the woods.

All of it spent laughing, having a hell of a time,
together
.

Her laugh still sounds lively and beautiful, and it still brings a smile to my face when I wish like hell it wouldn’t.

I should have had a few more beers before coming in.

Standing in the middle of the living room, I try to prepare myself, even though I know there isn’t shit I can do to be ready for this.

This is not how I saw my night going.

I don’t hear her walk up behind me, but I feel her as soon as she’s on me.

“You’re here.” Nadia slips a hand around my waist, only to jerk it back a second later. “You’re dirty,” she huffs, sounding offended.

“I didn’t have time to go home for a shower,” I mutter absently, listening to the chaos coming from the kitchen. Pots are banging, women are laughing, and the smell of coffee and pot-roast float through the kitchen door. It’s all so fucking familiar, and all so wrong.

Nadia keeps talking, but I’m not hearing her.

This shit is surreal
.

I feel like I’m right back in high school.

“Zac?”

“Huh?” Twisting my neck, I look down at Nadia to find her frowning up at me. Wearing some fancy pink dress and heels, she looks out of place here in my parents’ farmhouse living room and its
whimsical
décor, as my mom calls it. It’s quite the mess with roosters on the walls, blue gingham couch and matching curtains, cow pillows, and a time capsule of mismatched framed family pictures on every other available surface. Nadia just doesn’t fit, and she probably never will.

“You should’ve gone home and showered first.” Picking at my shirt, she adds, “At least changed your shirt.” I don’t miss the look of disgust that flashes across her face. I don’t mention that she met me just like this. I don’t remind her that she picked out this damn shirt. I just let it go. “You could have—”

“And be late for
dinner
?” I snap, shaking my head. I value my life. My mom would kill me if I skipped out on her.

“Zac, baby. Is that you?” Mom hollers, her voice full of happiness. She’s got her girl back. Why wouldn’t she be happy? We’re all just one big happy fucking family in her rose-colored glasses. I’m real damn glad someone in this house is happy
she’s
back, because I’m sure the hell not.

Standing in the living room, I hesitate, not sure of what I’m going to do or say. It’s been ten years, and after all that time, the only thing that separates Emerson and me is a wall. I’m not real goddamn sure I’m ready for this, but I have no choice now.

“Get in here,” my mom chuckles as she peeks her head around the corner, a dishtowel dangling from her hand and a smile on her face.

I nod, swallowing thickly. “Yeah. Be right in.”

~~~~~~

She’s laughing again—loudly—at something my dad’s said. I missed what it was. Actually, I’m missing everything while trying to stomach the situation playing out in front of me.

Picking at my food, I stare at my plate, wishing I had something stronger than beer.

My mom and Mrs. Maddison are drinking coffee, chatting, while my dad, Mr. Maddison, and my brother are eating pie, the pie that just had to have butter. Me? I’m drinking as much beer as I can consume without killing myself at my mom’s table.

Emerson is watching me, I can feel it. Those wild brown eyes of hers haven’t left me since I walked into the kitchen to greet my mom.

I’ve thought about what it would be like to see Em again after all these years, but actually living it is a hell of a lot more different than just thinking it. I feel like I’m having an out of body experience. Maybe it’s a stroke. I can’t seem to get my words out right, and I’m wound tighter than an old watch.

Jesus.

We’re all together like nothing ever happened; like ten years hasn’t passed while she’s been off doing fuck knows what. They’re acting as if nothing’s changed.

This whole dinner—my family, her family, my
girlfriend
—is beyond fucked up. It’s like some cosmic fucking joke, and I’m the only one not in on it.

I’m not sure if Nadia quite understands what the hell is going on here at the table she’s sitting at. She’s seen some of the pictures, heard a few of the stories, and she’s seen the tattoo, but honestly, I don’t think she
gets
it. Nadia does have a hard time seeing things outside of herself, though. She doesn’t see any women as a threat to her. She’s a conceited, arrogant know-it-all, and the last thing I need to deal with is a jealous, insecure woman at this point in my life.

Nadia touches my thigh under the table. “When I heard you talking to your mom earlier this week, inviting you to dinner, I decided to surprise you all. I thought it was time to make an effort to meet your family, even though we’ve seen each other around a few times. This feels more…
official
, don’t you think? I mean, it’s good for them and everyone else to know we’re together, and that we’re happy.”

Everything she’s said is heard by everyone in the room, including Emerson, who the conversation seems to be geared towards. I know this because she looks directly at Em with a smile on her face. I guess her jealousy needed the right woman to bring it out of her.

Dammit
!

My mom notices this too, along with the rest of the group, and begins moving the conversation in a different direction. I’m grateful for it. I’m shocked to hear this coming from Nadia. We have fun, and agreed to not see other people as long as we are together. She’s a pretty high maintenance girlfriend who constantly needs to be complimented. I’ve found that easy enough, since she is a beautiful girl. I haven’t thought much as to where our relationship will go, and she’s never pressured me for any promises for our future, and that seems to be what has made what we have work. She gives me what I need, and I do the same, at least I think I do, and it’s worked out for the both of us so far. But now, I’m lost as hell as to what she’s saying.

Once everyone is back to their socializing, Nadia asks me quietly, squeezing my leg. “Are you okay, sweetheart?”

“Feelin’ a little sick,” I mutter. It’s not a lie. I am feeling sick.

“Could be the beers you downed in your truck,” my dad chuckles, thinking he’s the funniest man in the room.

“Yeah,” I grunt.

Looking up, I catch Emerson watching me, her head tipped slightly. There’s a beautiful mocking smile on her lips, and it’s aimed at me.

Everything tips on its motherfucking head. I feel more than sick.

I can’t do this shit, with Nadia or Emerson.

“Might be.” Pushing away from the table, I get up. “Or it might be the company,” I huff, looking Em in the eyes for the first time tonight.

I leave the table and head right for the door without looking back. The back door slams into the siding on the house, but I keep walking.

The night air hits my face and does nothing to help.

Someone follows behind me. Their footsteps in the gravel are loud in the suffocating silence.

A few paces ahead of them, I duck into the barn, hoping they’ll give up the chase, but I know damn well it’s wishful thinking.

Standing in the middle of the barn, I shake my arms out, trying to calm down. Counting doesn’t help, and drinking only takes the edge off. Nothing’s working. This night has turned out worse than I expected it to.

Why did Em have to come back? Why now? Why here? Why fuck with me?

For a moment, the only thing I hear are crickets, but sadly, it doesn’t last.

“You still hate me, don’t you?” It’s Emerson. Her voice is soft and sweet, it’s like a knife to my chest. Hearing her words directed at me is like being hit by lightning.

I don’t bother looking over my shoulder, and I don’t put down the bottles of beer in my hand I snagged from my truck on the way out.

“I don’t feel any way about you, Emerson,” I scoff, staring down at my dirty boots. I feel nothing for Emerson Jae Maddison. I couldn’t hold on to those feelings anymore after a few years. They were dragging me down, threatening to consume me. There isn’t any room for her shit in my life anymore. For me, love is an all or nothing thing, and that was especially true when it came to her. But, that was a long time ago.

“You don’t?” she asks, a laugh tinting her question. She thinks I’m bullshitting her. Maybe I am.

Looking up from the ground, I see her leaning against the big barn door, her ankles crossed and her arms hanging loosely by her sides.

For the first time tonight, I actually
see
her.