American Made (Against the Tides #2) (20 page)

“Do you happen to remember what I told you about bein’ the reason that smile vanishes from her face?”

The eerily calm and menacing tone that Knox is trying scare me with doesn’t faze me the way he hopes. I don’t bother turning to face him until I’m packed and need to get through the door. He stands up straight, trying to intimidate me with his size.

“Yeah, Knox, I remember. Some shit about droppin’ me off in the middle of the Atlantic. I get it, OK. I fucked up but I’m already drowning enough here. Nothing you do to me can fuck up my life worse than her walkin’ away.”

I attempt to walk past him but he steps back into my way. “You think I’m gonna let you chase her down and probably hurt her more?”

“I think you need to step aside and let me go,” I say, keeping my eyes on the floor. I really don’t want more issues than I’m already having today.

“I need to, huh?”

“Yeah.” I nod, finally looking him in the eye again. “You do. Because you know I love her even if you don’t wanna admit it. And even though she won’t say it, she loves me too. That’s why she’s freakin’ out about this shit so badly.”

Knox stands there for a minute, making me think about how hard it would be to take him down so I can get by. I don’t want to fight with him, but if push comes to shove I’ll do what it takes to go find Emerson.

He sighs and begins to drop his guard. “Go find her and try to fix your fuck up. If you can’t, just walk away, Gentry. She doesn’t need to hurt any more than she already is.”

I can’t answer him so I just nod and jog back down the stairs. There’s no way I can verbally agree to walking away from her without a fight. One more conversation just won’t do it for me.

Ignoring everyone, I throw the bags into the bed of the truck and jump in, spitting gravel up as I tear out of the driveway. By the time I reach the end of the road I’m already going crazy. There is no way in hell that she could have made it this far on foot already. I call her, only to remember that she left her phone in the room and I tossed it into her bag when I rushed around packing.

I know I didn’t pass her, I would have noticed or at least seen her dive-bomb into the bushes to hide. The only way she could have beaten me out of here is if someone picked her up and drove her.

Is she fucking crazy? Was she never taught that she shouldn’t get into strangers’ vehicles? People are fucking crazy! We’re in a strange town and state where she doesn’t know anyone. How far could she actually have gotten?

“Take a left up here and then it’s the fourth driveway on the right.”

I point the street sign out to the cab driver and count out enough cash to pay him as he pulls up in front of my house. He doesn’t say anything when I hand him the money and the second the door closes behind me he’s gone. It’s a lot different than the last time I rolled up to my house in a cab. It’s not the only thing that is different. Everything has changed.

I wasn’t sure how I was going to get here when I started walking but I knew I had to get out of there. In hindsight getting into the car with someone I didn’t really know probably wasn’t the smartest idea, but I wasn’t thinking straight. Thankfully it was the bartender from one of the places we had ended up at and she remembered me. She was nice enough to drive me to the train station without questioning why I looked like I was going to have a complete meltdown in her passenger seat. Somehow I managed to hold myself together through that, a train ride, and a cab drive home. However, I don’t see that lasting much longer.

It isn’t until I step up onto my porch that I realize not only did I leave my phone at the house, but I left my keys too. Since the only people with a spare key to my house are Maverick’s parents and I’m not ready for that, and my other set is in the safe upstairs, the only way in is to break in. 

Grabbing a rock from beside the walkway, I pull back and throw it as hard as I can, hoping the sound of shattering glass doesn’t stir up too much drama with my neighbors. After carefully reaching through the broken pane and unlocking the door, I clean up the mess and try to do anything I can to occupy my mind.

Nothing works.

The house is too empty, too still, too quiet…

I’ve grown accustomed to the sound of someone else being around. Laughter had become a constant sound and it was comforting. Even when we made no noise and all I could hear was the sound of Gentry’s breathing as he held me with my head cradled against his chest, it was something. This nothingness I’m surrounded by right now means the only thing I hear are my thoughts and I want nothing to do with them.

I don’t want to think about Gentry because it will just remind me of how much I hurt right now. It will prove that I let myself feel something when I should have kept myself closed off. Believing I had no heart is better than knowing I have a broken one.

I let him change me. I let him make me something I never wanted to be. It was only supposed to be sex so how did I let things get this out of hand?

Everywhere I look I see him. There isn’t an inch of this house that Gentry hasn’t touched. No surface he hasn’t spent some amount of time touching my body on. Even if I could stop thinking about him, I can’t stop seeing him and I don’t know which is worse yet.

This shouldn’t hurt this much.

Footsteps on my porch a while later put me on guard. I figured he wouldn’t be far behind me, but I was hoping he would just let me go. I’m tired of fighting. I’m tired of trying to do something I’m not capable of doing. Even though I don’t plan on letting him in if it is him, I stand up to see who is at the door when they knock. Gentry has never knocked before and I doubt he’d start now just because I broke it off with him.

 “I thought I made myself clear when I said we were through,” I growl, pulling the door open when all I can see is men’s legs through the broken area of frosted glass.

“If I remember correctly you weren’t saying a whole lot the last time I saw you.”

“Holy shit!” I yell. Stepping out onto the porch, I throw my arms around his neck and just as quickly pull back. “Wyatt fuckin’ Grant.”

“Actually it’s Wyatt
Harrison
Grant. I’d think you would know that by now.” He shrugs, a smile breaking out across his tired looking face. “I like fuckin’ better, though. More badass.”

“Yeah,” I laugh. “You definitely need something to help you with your badassery. Get the hell in here.”

As I close the door behind him, he looks down at me, narrowing his eyes. He knows something is wrong with me without me even having to say anything. It’s something he has always been good at. It’s part of the reason we worked so well together; he always knew when I needed him.

“Expecting someone else?” he asks, raising his brow at me.

I turn away so he can’t see my face. “Nobody important,” I lie.

“Mmmhmm.”

“What?”

Wyatt cocks his head and sits down at the island. Shaking my head, I have to force myself not to think about everything that has happened on this surface. 

“Do you think just ‘cause I can’t see your face I can’t tell you’re lying?”

“What are you doin’ here, Wyatt?” I ask, trying to change the subject. “How did you even know I was here? I’ve been out of town most of the week and I just got back a little while ago.”

He laughs, dragging his hands over his face. Something seems off about him. He looks like he hasn’t slept in a while and even though he’s acting like he wants to talk, I can tell he’s distracted.

“I told you that you’d be my first stop when I got home. I got here a few days ago but your neighbor said you were gone so I gave her my number and asked her to give me a shout when you got back.”

“So you just hung out and waited for me? Don’t you have family or something waitin’ for you back home?”

He shrugs, staring at his hands while he picks at the callouses covering them. “Flight leaves tomorrow afternoon. Needed to see you first.”

Needed to see me?
He stuck around town with no clue when I was going to get back because he needed to see me. What the hell does that mean?

“Gonna tell me about him?” he mutters when I fail to keep the conversation going. We’ve never had this issue before but I can’t stop my mind from wandering to places I don’t want it to go.

“About who?”

He lifts his chin toward the refrigerator and like a fool I turn to see what he’s looking at. Every feeling I’ve spent the past few hours fighting off is back to sitting on my chest, slowly crushing me. 

Stupid fucking photos.

Stupid fucking memories.

Stupid fucking Gentry.

Stupid. Fucking. Heart.

I shake my head and walk away without answering. I know he’ll follow me and that’s fine, but I can’t stay in there with the photos staring at me. They’re just hanging there taunting me. A reminder of something I failed at despite how bad I think I may have wanted it.

“Holy shit,” Wyatt mutters, dropping down beside me on the swing in my backyard. I stare at the fence in front of us, following the direction of the grain in the wood to keep my mind busy. I know what he’s going to say, I can hear it in the baffled tone of his voice. I’m not the only one to think I’d never be in a relationship.

“How about we talk about you?” I suggest, trying anything to keep him from saying it.

“I’m fine. What do you want to talk about me for?”

Turning on the swing, I pull my legs up under me and watch him carefully. “Let’s start with why you look like you haven’t slept in at least a week.”

“Bad hotel beds and travel make it hard to get my beauty sleep.”

I purse my lips. “I believe that about as much as you believed the nobody important statement from a few minutes ago.”

His chest shakes as he forces a laugh. “Bitch please. I’m like the Princess and the Pea but in BDU’s.” His fake laughter dies out when he realizes that I’m not joining in.

“Wyatt,” I whisper, trying desperately to convey how worried I am about him without actually having to say it. “When’s the last time you slept?”

“If I don’t sleep I can’t have nightmares.” He pauses for a second before laughing but there’s no humor in the sound. “But it doesn’t even matter if I’m sleeping because I see the shit when I’m wide awake too.”

As I watch him, I count how long it has been since I’ve been home and realize that unless they kept them longer than originally planned, he should have been home months ago.

“How long have you been home, Wyatt?”

“Not buying that I just got here, huh?”

“I can count. I didn’t get shot in the head and lose my math skills.”

“Always gotta be the best at everything, don’t you, Hollis?

“Not everything. Just the things you’re good at. Now answer me.”

As Wyatt shakes his head, his fingers dig into his thighs and I know I’m pushing the edge of a line I shouldn’t cross.

“Too long,” he finally answers. “I don’t know how to do this anymore, Emerson. I thought I’d come back and be fine like I have before, but I didn’t. No matter what I do, I can’t seem to get acclimated to being home. I drive down the road and notice every piece of debris and I swerve around every pothole even if it means almost hitting other people. I punched my younger brother for trying to take my beer away because
all
I seem to wanna do is drink. I’ve woken up with my parents screaming at me because I have my dad’s gun pressed against my head and I don’t remember how I got to that point. I’ve woken up hiding in the bushes in the middle of the town square back home with no clue how I got there. Every car backfire, every alarm, every—”

I grab his arm, getting his focus back on me instead of everything flashing through is head. Making him think about it wasn’t what I wanted, but I needed to know what he was dealing with. When he looks at me I can see how scared he is and it tears me apart inside.

“I went into the military to keep the war away from my family and just ended up bringing it home with me. I feel like a terrorist in my own damn house and I only know one way to make sure they’re safe from me.”

For the first time since I came home it’s not my issues that are at the forefront of my mind. Nothing I’m dealing with matters at this very moment. Not work, not Gentry, not even memories of Sam are bogging me down. Nothing matters but the words coming out of Wyatt’s mouth. I can’t let him continue to deal with this alone if he doesn’t need to.

“Have you talked to anyone?”

He drops his head into his hands and leans his elbows against his thighs. “There’s no reason to, Emerson. Talking’s not gonna do shit for me.”

“You don’t know until you try. They have people that specialize in PTSD. There’s groups filled with people goin’ through the same thing. There’s meds that can help ease some of the symptoms.”

“Can we please talk about something else?” he barks. He’s starting to get irritated and I know if I keep pushing I’ll lose any chance at helping him at all.

“I’ll make you a deal. You talk to someone and I’ll tell you whatever you wanna know about the shit I’m tryin’ to avoid.”

It takes him a minute to pull himself together but when he does he leans back and smirks at me. I take a deep breath, knowing exactly what he’s going to want to know about and as much as I don’t want to talk about it, I’ll do anything right now to get his mind in a better spot.