Page 38 of Wild Heart

And how could she have been even remotely attracted to me—let alone in love with me—if she thought I was the kind of guy who could do something like this?

I needed to set things right.

Shaking my head, feeling such disappointment, I said, “I can’t believe this.”

“She didn’t want me to say anything to you. She didn’t want this to come between us. But I’m telling you right now, you need to fix this. You need to get her back here. I’ll never forgive you for hurting her like this if you don’t.”

That made two of us. “You don’t have to worry about that, because I won’t forgive myself if she never comes back.”

My chest felt like it had caved in, and I still couldn’t catch a full breath.

She left.

She left and never planned to tell me the truth.

Had keeping my distance from her all those years and finally giving in to what I felt for her led to this?

Would I ever be able to fix it?

Understanding, and perhaps a bit of sympathy, washed over my sister’s expression. Then she stood and walked to the door. Stopping there, she looked back and said, “I don’t know what reasons you could possibly have for not wanting something special with Ava. She’s extraordinary, Tate. So, whatever it is that’s kept you from pursuing her all these years, I genuinely hope you can get over it. This family won’t be the same without her in it. But more than that, I worry about what her life will be like without our family.”

My throat had clogged with emotions, so all I could do was offer a nod of agreement and acknowledgement in return.

And once Ivy stepped out of my office and closed the door behind her, I picked up my cell phone to call Ava.

She never answered.

She never returned my call.

And she didn’t show up on a plane two days later, either.

10

AVA

“Ava.Ava, please don’t do this. Come home. Talk to me. I need to explain, and I don’t want to do this in a voicemail. I don’t even want to do it over the phone. But please, Ava, please call me.”

I pulled the phone away from my ear and went to my text messages. Just like I’d done with his voicemails, I’d read through Tate’s text messages again. I’d done it no less than a hundred times since receiving them.

While I couldn’t bring myself to call him back or do as he requested to just come home, I struggled to stop listening to the voicemails. I craved hearing his voice, and there was a part of me that tried to analyze his tone in each one of them.

My mind understood that he was merely reaching out to me because Ivy had gone on to talk to him about what happened between him and me. But my heart wanted to believe he was calling me because he truly missed me. Because he genuinely wanted me to come back.

Maybe, on some level, he did. But I questioned whether that was more about him wanting to ease the guilt he felt about how this was impacting his sister or, perhaps, the rest of his family.

I hated that I’d reached this point, too. Because I’d never believed the worst about Tate. I couldn’t have fallen in love with a man I genuinely thought was capable of leaving messages like this, begging me to reach out simply if they were for his own self-serving interests.

But for some reason, I couldn’t do it. Despite having those deep-seated thoughts about the kind of man Tate was, I just couldn’t bring myself to connect with him again. Because even if he shared the truth about his reasons for not wanting something more than that single night with me, even if his reasons were valid, I’d have to face the truth—there was something about me he didn’t like when it came to the possibility of having a real relationship.

I’d spent enough of my life thinking about what I’d done wrong to warrant the hand I’d been dealt when it came to my parents. I didn’t need to face additional rejection from a man who had been mostly kind and affectionate toward me for as long as I’d known him. And the way I saw it, at least if I was the one who kept myself away, I’d be the one making the decision to leave. As much as it hurt, it hurt less to not hear about all the things that were wrong with me.

It wasn’t easy, though.

Every time I listened to the voicemails Tate left or read through the half a dozen text messages he’d sent, I struggled not to pick up the phone and return his call. I fought against responding to even one text.

I desperately wanted to maintain that connection with him. But I wouldn’t be helping myself get to a place of peace if I did the very opposite of what was bound to keep my heart from suffering additional heartbreak.

Moving on shouldn’t have been this hard. It had been nearly five weeks since Wyatt’s wedding, and I was still just as devastated as ever.