Page 43 of Wild Heart
Maybe Tate had been right to be disappointed with me. I was disappointed with myself for having done this to them.
“What is all the commotion?—”
As my best friend’s voice filled the air, Evelyn shifted and gave Ivy an answer to the question she didn’t need to finish asking.
Ivy, who wasn’t one to get overly emotional, burst into tears and charged forward. Her body crashed into mine, and we stumbled backward. Liam caught us before we fell, and as soon as he was certain we were steady on our feet, he walked away. I didn’t pay attention to where he went and simply held on to my friend like she’d vanish if I let her go.
Ivy and I stayed like that for a long time, loosening our hold on one another only after Jules had joined us.
The tip of my nose tingled, a lump forming in my throat.
I was so deeply moved by the love this family had for me, the way they accepted me back without thinking twice. Their first reactions to seeing me had warmed my heart tremendously, and after months of not having this connection with them, it felt undeniably good.
After Jules, Ivy, and I separated from one another and wiped at the tears that had fallen, I was ushered away from the front door and deeper into the house. Along the way, I saw Cooper and Skye, as well as Tate’s Aunt Mina and two of her children.
By the time I’d reached the kitchen, I found Wyatt and Rhea there with Wyatt’s grandparents, Larry and Wendy. They’d all welcomed me back with open arms and more love than I thought I deserved, considering how I’d left so abruptly.
“We were just getting ready to sit down for dinner,” Evelyn said. “We’ll get another spot set for you, Ava.”
“I’ll grab the place setting,” Jules declared.
“Perfect. Ivy, Rhea, and Skye, would you mind helping me carry these serving platters into the dining room? Everyone else can go grab seats.”
As everyone fell into step, following Evelyn’s instructions, I remained rooted to the spot, my eyes seeking. Scanning.
The crowd around me had thinned substantially. When my eyes glanced in the direction of the living room, I saw Liam exiting it and making his way toward the dining room. His gaze had landed on me briefly, something tentative in his stare.
A moment later, I understood the meaning behind that look. Because Tate stepped cautiously out of the living room. Our eyes locked, my heart hammering.
Liam moved past me and toward the dining room, Tate and I simply staring at one another.
I guess you aren’t the woman I thought you were.
I had to ignore the way my stomach twisted painfully recalling those words. Despite the weakness in my knees, the trembling in my limbs, and the overwhelming desire to just run for the exit, I moved in his direction, away from the kitchen and the dining room.
He watched me, his body growing more and more tense the closer I got. Twelve weeks away to move on from him. I hadn’t made an ounce of progress. Seeing his handsome face, despite the unwelcoming look in his expression, my mind instantly drifted back to the night of his brother’s wedding. I could recall every movement of his body, every touch of his fingers on my skin.
God, I’d missed him.
When I came to a stop in front of him, I instantly wished I had some magical powers that would allow me to disappear on the spot. Never, not once in all the years that I’d known him, had Tate ever looked at me the way he was looking at me now—like he’d just popped something bitter in his mouth.
Whether it was stupidity or a shred of that fearlessness Liam had just noted about me minutes before, I didn’t know. But I didn’t heed the warning signs and excuse myself.
Instead, I tipped my chin up, held out the gift, and rasped, “Happy Birthday, Tate.”
His lips formed a thin line, his features tightening as he glanced down at the gift in my hands. He didn’t take it from me; although, a flash of longing in his gaze told me he knew what was inside. “I’m not sure if I’d agree on the happy part.”
Tate’s voice was vicious, caustic. The fire and spark I used to feel between us was gone, but there was still a burn there. It was just that, this time, I was convinced Tate wanted to incinerate me with it.
My stomach was roiling. It was only by some miracle that I didn’t hurl up my guts right at his feet. With a trembling chin and quivering bottom lip, I whispered, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for leaving like I did and not telling you the truth. I’m sorry for never taking your calls or returning them. I’m so sorry, Tate.”
I could have sworn I saw the rage swirling in his eyes falter for just a moment, but I had to have been seeing what I wanted to see. Because there was nothing but bitterness dripping from every word when he seethed, “Yeah, me, too. I’m sorry for allowing myself to be fooled into believing your lies, into believing that you wanted something between us all these years, and that you actually enjoyed what we had that night.”
Without waiting for a response or giving me the opportunity to right myself from the physical blow his words had caused, Tate sidestepped me and made his way to the dining room with his family.
I put my hand out on the decorative table beside me, setting Tate’s gift on top of it. Bracing myself with my palms on the edge of the table, I tried to calm my racing heart. I was suddenly hot, feeling the sweat bead up on the back of my neck.
This was so much worse than I thought it would be. Tate Westwood was the most rigid of the Westwood siblings, but this was a level of harshness I’d never seen from him. Did I deserve it? Probably. Did I ever think he’d have the power to be this way with me? Never.