Page 48 of The Ex Project (The Heartwood #3)

HUDSON

It started pouring on the drive back to the hotel, cool rain coming down in sheets by the time the cab pulled up out front.

The warmth of summer has been replaced by the first chill of autumn, and by the time I get from my cab to the front door of the hotel, my tux is soaked and I’m cold.

I peel it off as soon as I get into the room.

While it was fun to play dress up with Wren, to see us both looking like the power couple she wishes we could be, my body sags with relief when I get it off.

It isn’t me. It’s me trying once again to change myself for Wren. This is a life she clearly belongs in, but I don’t. The way she fit in at the gallery—everyone fawning over her work—makes me wonder if I’ve ever truly known her.

The Wren I fell in love with, the woman I’ve reconnected with, she’s a denim-overall-with-nothing-on-underneath kind of woman.

A barefoot, silver-toe-ring-wearing kind of woman.

She’s nothing like the Wren I saw tonight.

And while I’m in love with every new iteration of Wren I’ve come to know, I struggle to see how we could be compatible.

Not without her compromising for me. She would have to sacrifice too much. Like she always has.

I didn’t mind it when she gave up on engineering because deep down, it wasn’t for her.

She never wanted it. But this … this is different.

This is what she wants—what she needs. Art is what sets Wren on fire.

What kind of man would I be if I asked her to put out that flame for a chance at a relationship with her?

Loosening my tie with one hand, I unbutton my shirt with the other and take it off. When I throw it down on the bed, the first thing I see is the perfect red lipstick mark on my collar. My chest clenches, tied tight in a knot, desperately trying to secure itself to Wren, holding on for dear life.

When I’m finished undressing, I wander into the bathroom and twist the shower on, stepping under the stream.

I need to think. I need to figure out if there’s any way to build a bridge over the chasm between Wren and I.

The white noise of the spray allows my mind to wander freely, but the more time I spend thinking about it, the more questions—and fewer answers—I have.

The handle squeaks as I shut off the water and grab a towel off the rack to dry off before pulling on my sweatpants. I grab another towel to roughly dry my hair as I leave the bathroom, and when I pull it away from my face, Wren is staring back at me.

She’s soaked, her dark hair plastered to her face, mascara running down her cheeks. My eyes linger on her form where she’s perched on the end of the bed, the way her drenched red dress clings to every inch of her body. Goosebumps dot her arms and she’s shivering.

“Did you walk here in the rain?” I ask, striding over to her and picking a blanket up off the bed to wrap around her shoulders. She offers me a shy smile, wrapping it tight around her as I kneel in front of her and rub her arms to warm her up. “You shouldn’t have come back, Wren.”

“You say that as if you don’t want me here.”

“I, um … I just thought you’d stay at the gallery longer.”

“I wanted to come back with you. Besides, all the compliments were getting old. By the fifth time someone told me my art was ‘inspired’, I was done.” She chuckles softly. “I thought I might be able to catch you before you went out to get some food.”

I press the heel of my palm between my eyes and stand again, turning away from where she’s sitting.

This is exactly what I didn’t want. Leaving the gallery was supposed to make sure I didn’t get in the way.

And here she is, having left early because of me.

How many other curators were there like the man I saw outside?

Willing to offer her the opportunity of a lifetime by the end of the night.

She already turned one down, and now she won’t even be there if any others come her way.

“You should go back,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. This is not what I wanted, but at the same time … I do. I want more than anything for Wren to prioritize me, but it’s not what’s best for her. And I want what’s best for her more. I always have. That’s why I ended it in the first place.

She missed out on opportunities then, too.

She chose to stay in and skip out on a networking event because we were supposed to have a phone call.

The weekend she was meant to come back to Heartwood for Thanksgiving, I found out her engineering program was having a gala, and she decided she didn’t want to attend.

All for me. Wren had been so driven, so motivated, she pushed me to be driven and motivated, too, and when I wasn’t … all I did was hold her back.

I had to be the one to end it then, before she turned away from everything she was trying to accomplish. Maybe I have to be the one to end it now, too.

“Why?” she asks, eyebrows pinching together. She stands now, too, and steps in front of me so we’re face to face again.

“Because you need to be there. Not here, in the hotel room with me.” I throw my hands up and bring them down again to land on my hips.

“You should really listen better,” she says, the corner of her mouth ticking upward. “I informed you earlier I won’t be told what to do.”

A sigh escapes from my throat with a huff. I roll my head from side to side, exasperated.

“God, you’re fucking stubborn.” My eyes snap back to Wren, and lock on her auburn gaze, the mascara smudges making her brown irises light up.

“I am. I am stubborn. And unfortunately for you, there’s nothing you can do about it.”

“Why did you say no to going to France, Wren?”

“I—” The question catches her off guard, and she pulls away from me. She stammers, and a part of me thinks it’s because she’s stalling saying the answer we both know to be true.

“Tell me, and be honest, if I weren’t in the picture and you had gotten the same opportunity, would you have said yes?

” The heartbreak in Wren’s eyes tells me exactly what I need to know.

It’s the confirmation I needed. The only thing keeping Wren from reaching her true potential is me.

She doesn’t need to say it. I’m not going to make her say it.

I move to turn away, but she reaches out and grabs my hand.

The expression in her eyes has shifted. It’s not heartbreak, it’s the burning intensity of determination she gets sometimes.

It flashes amber in her eyes when she knows she’s about to prove me wrong.

“I didn’t turn down the opportunity to go to Paris for you.

I turned it down because that guy was fucking creepy, and I wasn’t about to go to his private studio in France.

I have a feeling it would have turned out like some Taken situation, and let’s be real, you’re no Liam Neeson, okay? I would have been fucked.”

I let out a laugh because Wren’s right, and because, perhaps for the first time ever, I’m relieved about it. Something tugs at the back of my mind. That was one opportunity, but she’s still standing here and she could be missing out on more.

“I’m never going to be able to fully support you because I’m always going to be on the sidelines, distracting you from playing the game.

” I peer deeply into her eyes and brush my fingers up and down the length of her bicep.

“I want you to have everything you have ever wanted. All of the success you’ve ever dreamt of.

And you can’t do it with me,” I whisper.

“The only thing I dream about now is you. You and me, and our future. Together.” She brushes her lips against mine, feather light and soft. And then she murmurs against my mouth. “Us against the problem, not us against each other.”

I wrap my arms around the small of her waist and bury my face in her neck, breathing in the soft floral scent of her. Her body presses against me. I want to trust Wren—I want that more than anything.

“We still have things to talk about, shit to work through,” I remind her, my voice muffled by her hair. Her hand gently strokes the back of my head, fingers playing in my damp hair.

“I know.”

“And it’s going to be hard.”

“I know.”

I pull back so I can look at her, my eyes finding her gaze. The look in hers is determined, but I can only guess the look in mine is not as confident.

“What if it doesn’t work? What if we end up hurt again? What if the reasons we broke up the first time are unfixable? What if we’re simply incompatible?” That word cracks my chest in two, because saying it out loud, I know it isn’t true.

“That’s a lot of what-ifs, Landry,” she says.

“And that doesn’t sound like the man I fell in love with.

” She repeats my words from earlier, cupping my face in her hands.

“The man I fell in love with lives for a challenge. He looks at a problem head-on and decides he’s going to fix it.

And then he does.” Wren perches on her tiptoes and plants a feather-light kiss on my lips.

“We don’t have to solve this right now. I love you. ”

“I love you,” I murmur, resting my forehead on hers. “ But I wish you’d go back and enjoy the evening at the gallery.”

“Nope.” Wren takes a step back away from me this time, and although her dress was cold against me, I’m colder now without her touching me.

She turns on her heel to start towards the bathroom.

“I told you, Landry. You’re not getting rid of me.

I’m going to warm up and change, and then we’re going to get something to eat. Whether you like it or not.”

I smile to myself as she disappears around the corner. While Wren goes to shower, I find her some sweats and a comfy T-shirt to wear. The only one she brought with her is the one with my name on the back. The one telling everyone who she’s with when she wears it. That she’s mine.

As I lay it out on the bed for her, her words echo in my head.

Us against the problem.

I want so badly for those words to be true.