Page 47 of Wild Rose (Blue River Springs #1)

Rose

It’s been five days since he left my cottage with a promise to talk soon.

But he can’t avoid me today. It’s Thursday and he needs to sign off on payroll.

He wouldn’t avoid me—not when I’m supposed to leave in two days.

I came in early today to total up the cards a few times before going to see him. I’ve been too anxious and can’t have it show in my work.

Ginger swings back in her chair. “You going to run those over soon? I can get started on them early today. It’s a little slow.”

“Yep, just finishing up,” I tell her.

“Great, and then .?.?.” She looks around. “Well, maybe you can rearrange some of the display shelves over by the gift shop?”

I swallow. “Ginger, you don’t really have anything for me to do, do you?”

“Not really, you’ve been pretty efficient.”

I smile at her. “Well, I’ll go get these signed off for you and then maybe take a long lunch.”

“There you go.” She swivels back to her desk.

My heart sinks to my stomach. Will he want to see me?

Will he finally talk to me?

I’ve been looking forward to seeing him all morning, and now, I don’t know if I can stomach it.

I hop in my golf cart and ride over. It’s a nice breezy day today, a bit gloomy, but we’re not supposed to be getting any rain.

Maybe it’s just me?

I’m holding my breath as I walk up to the door of the Saddle Room. Pushing it open, I freeze at the threshold.

“Oh hey, Rose,” Dallas greets me from Wilder’s chair.

I step in tentatively, closing the door behind me. “Where’s Wilder?”

“We were just in here going through the budget, then he said he had to run out for a bit.”

Run out.

He knew I was coming.

And he left.

My chest is tight with something even I can’t figure out. I’m not disappointed.

I don’t even think I’m hurt.

This is more of a hollow ache. Like something that was never mine to lose.

“Rose?”

I blink up as Dallas pushes off the chair like I’m about to faint.

“Are you all right? You look pale.”

“I’m cold,” I whisper honestly. Because I do feel cold.

And empty.

He left, knowing I was coming.

My hands shake as I cross the room to the desk and place the cards down.

“Oh, here.” Dallas pulls his black hoodie off and hands it to me. “Take this.”

“Thank you.” I accept it because I can’t do anything else. A reality that I’ve been avoiding hits me like a ton of bricks.

No one is waiting for me.

I’m the one who’s waiting.

And what I’m waiting for, I won’t find in this room.

In my haze, I see his eyes drop to the stack. “I’ll have Wilder take a look at these.”

I stare at them as my mind searches for the next right thing.

“You sure you’re all right?”

“I just remembered”—I snap my head up—“I have something I need to do tomorrow,” I mutter. “Would you do me a favor?”

“Anything.”

I shuffle for my timecard. I cross off the hours I pre- populated for Friday. “Will you sign off on this for me?”

He studies it, then looks at me. “But, uh .?.?. I might need you tomorrow. You did an amazing job in Ellie’s room. The detail on those flowers along the back wa—”

I drop the card and flip around. “Forget I asked.” I head to the door.

“Rose, wait.”

I pause midway and turn.

“Tell me what happened. Maybe I can help.” He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Millie and I didn’t fight much, but when we did, I usually knew how to fix it.”

I shake my head. “Something bad happened—not with Wilder—with me, a few years ago. Life’s been .

.?. different since.” Tears build up in my eyes.

“Like a long pause filled with mistakes and wasted energy.” I take a breath.

“But with him, I found something steady, something safe and fun, and warm. He doesn’t share much, but he listens, he’s patient.

.?.” I swallow. And up until a few days ago, he didn’t judge.

Dallas tilts his head to the side. “Then what on earth’s the problem?”

“Something I did caught up with me and it tested his patience. I’ve been .?.?. waiting for him to get past it.”

“You just need to give him t—”

“No, I think .?.?.” I blink with a low headshake. “I think I’ve been waiting for the wrong person to get past it.”

He watches me for a moment. His features are naturally hard, but he’s warm and understanding.

Without a word, he walks back to the desk and lifts my timecard, signing it. “I’ll bring these back to Ginger myself.”

I release a breath. “Thanks.”

“You got my number. Call if you need anything. I mean it.”

“I know. Thank you.”

I take the rest of the afternoon to make calls. I know which ones I’ve needed to make for a while and now .?.?. I’m ready.

Wilder and Wesley giving up on me shouldn’t have been my push, my wake-up call. But the silence they left behind didn’t settle—it itched like a question I couldn’t shake.

What am I doing?

I’ve been holding on to Wesley finally understanding. To Wilder choosing me over everything that holds him back. I’d forgotten that I came here for a reset.

A chance to recharge, reorganize my thoughts, my objectives, and most of all, my sanity.

I’ve been blaming myself when the answer all along was to move on . Not change who I am or question my ability to help others.

I may have lost two years, but I can catch up quickly.

I’ve always wanted to be a therapist. I let the idea that I couldn’t help someone when I could barely help myself derail me, confuse me, and take control.

Sandra, the therapist I ghosted several months ago, was my first call. I made an appointment at her office next week, but she wanted to take some time to catch up first. So I filled her in and she talked me through a few crucial next steps.

I felt unshackled. Like I’d been carrying something heavy for too long.

Through a new perspective, I was in complete awe listening to her. The care, attention, and knowledge she provided. The checklist she insisted I make. And the constant reassurance that I’m not alone.

I called my dad next, and he agreed to pay for the remaining credits I need to graduate. Then I scheduled a call for Monday with an advisor at NYU.

Finally, after dinner, I pack.

I’ve got an early morning, so at nine o’clock, I start to shut down. I send a quick text to Willow letting her know I’m good for tonight and to stop setting her alarm in the middle of the night just to check on me. After tomorrow, the two-hour time difference will never be an issue for us again.

I linger by the front door for a moment, turning the latch on one lock.

Good enough. It’s good enough.

I lock one more, shut off the light, and go to bed.

Friday morning, I step back into the house just after eight. I wash the white paint off my hands and change out of my stained clothes.

Painting the cart back to white was painful, but no one around here needs a reminder of the wild Rose and “the bullet the bossman dodged.”

OK, so maybe no one would say that last part, but the more I convince myself I’m not wanted here .?.?. the easier it will be to leave.

Fortunately, I was able to find a cheap last-minute flight to New York. Unfortunately, I can only afford to check one bag. So whatever is left of my supplies has to stay.

There’s a knock on my door as I spot-check the rooms. “Almost ready,” I call out, then grab my suitcase and open the door.

I frown. “Wesley.”

His eyes drop to my bag. “Where are you going? Your flight is tomorrow.”

I start to close the door on him.

“Wait.” He pushes against it and I don’t fight him. “Can we talk?”

I step back and start moving about the floor, looking for any contents I may have left behind.

He watches me for a moment. “Rose, slow down. Can we sit or something?”

“I don’t have time to sit or talk. But you’re free to.”

He rubs his forehead. “I guess it’s over with you and Wilder?”

“Yes. Is that all?” I peel my eyes off the trashcan near the kitchen, that manilla folder still peeking out.

Definitely not taking those .

“No. That’s not all. Wilder says there’s something you need to tell me?”

I release a breath then shake my head.

“Come on, Rose. You can tell me anything.” He steps closer but a little awkwardly. There’s tenderness in his voice but I’m too hurt and angry to accept it.

I pause and lock eyes with him, “No. I really can’t.”

He blinks but doesn’t back down. After a beat, he chances another step closer.

“I promise you, you can.” He stuffs his hands in his pockets.

“You know everything Wilder said about you is true. You’re smart, talented, maybe a little too open-minded sometimes, but that’s better than not at all, I suppose. ”

I glare at him impatiently.

His shoulders sag. “I’m sorry,” he rasps.

“I messed up and I know it. I thought I was protecting you but all I did was hurt you. And I know I violated your privacy and I’m so sorry for that.

It’s just that, Rose .?.?. I know half-truths when I hear them.

And that’s all you ever give me. Something’s been going on with you and I hate not knowing what it is.

” His eyes glisten as he glances at my packed bag.

“Rose, please don’t go yet. I was blindsided and angry, I shouldn’t have blown up at you like that.

And I certainly shouldn’t have shown those photos to him.

It was private, it was yours, and I was out of line. ”

I stand still, my heart heavy because this changes nothing. This is guilt. A last-minute apology so I don’t hate him when I leave.

And this isn’t the therapist in me. This is the scorned sister in me.

“What do you need to tell me?” he asks softly.

“Need is a strong word. Maybe you should be asking what you deserve to know.”

He drops his head with a nod. “I take it that isn’t much?”

My shoulders slump with a breath. “I fell in love with your best friend.”

He lifts his brows. “In love?”

“This is the part where you tell me I don’t know what that is.”

He runs his hand along his face like this is something he wasn’t expecting. “Have you told him how you feel?”

There’s a honk outside my cottage. I swallow. “That’s my ride.”

He stiffens. “Wait. That wasn’t what you need to tell me. There’s something else, I know there is. What have I been missing, Rose? Please just tell me so I can help you.”

“I don’t need your help,” I shout. “I needed you to listen. How can I tell you what’s going on with me when you’d just—”

“I’d what?”

“You’d just blame me,” I choke out, tears threatening.

He reaches for me, but I step back, taking off my sweater and holding out my arm to show him the scars again. “This didn’t happen here. They happened two years ago when someone came into my dorm room and attacked me and my roommate.”

He pales. “What?”

“I was able to fight him off but just barely. The only reason he stopped is because he threw me against a mirror and it shattered over me. He and his friend ran.”

“Rose—”

“My door wasn’t locked, Wes.” I shrug. “I didn’t lock it like you always told me to. I didn’t call the police, I didn’t even go to the hospital.”

“Ro.” He releases a breath. “Why didn’t you call me? I would have been there.”

“You warned me about staying safe out there. And I didn’t even lock the door.”

He pulls me into his arms, and I let him hold me for a long moment, my arms at my sides. “I’m so sorry,” he whispers.

There’s a hard knock on my door. “I’ve got to go.”

“Don’t go,” he pleads softly, holding me tight.

“I’ll miss my flight.”

He pulls back, looking at me, his eyes red. “Don’t go at all,” he begs. “I know I’ve been hard on you, but I want to make things right.”

I nod, grabbing my suitcase. “Great. You know where to find me.”

“Ro, I don’t want to lose you. I love you. We need each other.” The desperation in his voice makes me turn.

I watch him, my expression hard, and it’s not fair.

It’s not the way to fix this. I release my suitcase and take a breath.

“I love you too. But I can’t stay. I’ve got a plan now, I’m taking care of it.

” I glance out the window. “I don’t know if New York is for me, but I’m going to get my school records and maybe .

.?. move back home for a bit. Willow will kill me since we planned on moving in together, but I can’t go to school and pay rent. ”

He starts to argue, but I stop him. “And you won’t either.”

He smirks. “We could get our own place together here, you know? Denver’s got some great schools. Less than an hour commute.”

I give him a small smile. “Thanks, but I don’t think living with my brother in his prime is the best idea.”

I roll my suitcase around him and open the door.

“Christ, you New Yorkers,” Dusty mutters. She points a finger at me. “Consider this the last favor I do you.”

“Dusty Callahan?” Wesley barks behind me. “You called her ?”

“Wes, I’ve been up for hours. I’ve got a long flight, please don’t start with me.”

“Want me to deck him?” Dusty offers.

“No. Then I’d have to tell our parents I let a girl hit him.”

“Your brother. Explains a lot.”

Wes reaches for my suitcase, ignoring the blonde. “Rose, I’ll take you to the airport.”

“The lady said no,” Dusty growls.

“Like you’ve got any manners,” he bites back.

I put a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll call you from the airport.”

“If you get there,” he mutters, still glaring at Dusty.

She rolls her eyes. “I’ll be in the car.”

10:30 a.m.

Rose: Heading to airport.

Willow: Really?

Rose: Why wouldn’t I be?

Willow: Just thought there’d be some last-minute proclamation of love or something.

I laugh, and Dusty glances over at me from behind the wheel.

Rose: No. I’m coming home.

Willow: Airport. There’s going to be an airport chase. Someone’s going to get arrested.

Rose: Wanna get dinner later?

Willow: Check your voicemail before you board. You don’t want that Ross and Rachel thing where she almost doesn’t get off the plane.

I roll my eyes.

Rose: I’m with Dusty. I’ve got to go.

Willow: Who’s Dusty? Is he cute?

“Thanks for coming,” I say to the not-so-intimidating blonde.

She keeps her eyes on the road. “Only gave you my number to piss off the boys. Didn’t think you’d actually use it.”

I grin. “Yet here you are.”

She cocks her head. “Here I am.”

I do get to the airport on time and in one piece, so there’s something to be said for trusting my instincts.

Can’t say the same for my heart.

Because like a fool, I wait for him at the airport and even look back before I board.