Reckless Hearts (Oak Harbor #2)(61)

I thought I had it all figured out: if you had to fight for a guy, he wasn’t worth it. If you had to chase him, he didn’t want you enough from the start.

But here I am, and all I can do is think about Will. Wanting him. Not wild and reckless, but those other, quieter moments too: my head tucked in that nook against his shoulder, his hand, so steady on my back. It kills me to think those moments could be lost forever, but at the same time, there’s still a voice in my head saying I can’t trust him again, that I’d be na?ve to go back, setting myself up to be hurt all over again down the line, but worse. If anything could be worse than this.

All my life I’ve been proud that I never needed a man to be happy, and everything that happened with my parents only made me believe it all the more. But that was before I met Will, and realized everything I’d been missing out on—how good it can be to open up and truly let someone into my heart, to know how it feels to depend on someone and feel like they’ve got your back no matter what.

To feel loved, like my heart is so full it could burst clear from my chest.

It’s not that I can’t go on without him; I love my life, and I know that eventually, I’ll be OK.

But what if I want more than OK?

What if he’s the one worth fighting for?

As I approach home again, I find myself turning past my street and taking the winding highway out of town instead, towards Will’s place. Trying to ignore him isn’t working; I just have all these unanswered questions tormenting me every day. Maybe if I give him a chance and talk, really talk, I can find an answer through all of this.

But I’m scared. Terrified he won’t have the answers I need, or, even worse, that he will—but they won’t make me feel any differently. But I’m missing him too much already, and my heart is in my throat by the time I pull up that bumpy dirt road and reach the house. There’s construction, and guys up on the roof, but his truck isn’t in the driveway, and when I get out and go around to the workshop in back, it’s locked up tight. He’s nowhere to be found.

My heart sinks.

“Hey.” Ryland comes around the corner, carrying a stack of wood planks. “I didn’t think I’d see you here. What’s up?”

“I was looking for Will,” I ask, nervous. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“He didn’t say, but I’m guessing a few months or more.” Ryland sets the wood down and looks up at the house, assessing.

“A few months?” I echo, panicking.

“Yeah. He’s gone back to New York.”





Twenty-One.


“So that’s it. He went back to her.” I slump lower in my seat, and take a mournful bite of donut, but even the sugar melting on my tongue can’t make me feel any better. “I was just the rebound, after all, and now they’re going to have their perfect life together.”

“That’s crazy, and you know it,” Lottie says sternly. She dropped by the realty office with treats to try and cheer me up, but I’m not cheering. “He doesn’t love her, he loves you.”

“So what’s he doing eight hundred miles away?” I counter, miserable. “He said he would be here if I ever changed my mind.”

“And have you?” Lottie presses.

“I don’t know!”

“Yes, you do.” She gives me a look. “You should go after him.”

I shake my head. “I can’t do that.”

“You went to him once already, to his place. That means something.”

“No, I went to talk. Just showing up in New York . . .”

“Is romantic,” Lottie declares.

“Stupid,” I correct her.

She shrugs. “Same difference.”

“You mean love is about taking leave of all your senses?” I ask, biting into the donut again. I finish it in a few short mouthfuls, but for some reason, it can’t fill the aching space in my heart.

“No,” Lottie says with a wistful expression. “It’s about following your heart, not your head, sometimes. Making a leap on pure faith without knowing it’ll ever pay off.”

“Sounds like a recipe for heartbreak to me.”

She quirks an eyebrow. “Because being calm and rational has worked out great for you so far.”

“That’s not fair,” I say quietly, hit with another wave of regret. “I made a leap, I put my faith in him, and now look at me.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” she says quickly. “I would be hurt if I were you too. I guess all that matters now is if you think there’s a chance you could forgive him.”

There it is again, that one little word that’s got my heart tied up in knots. I want to forgive him, but how do I know I’m even capable of moving on? Will I say the words, but feel that mistrust still eating away at me for years to come—questioning every time he forgets to tell me something, wondering if there’s something else I should know? That kind of thing can be poisonous and doom a relationship no matter how hard we try.

So is it better to make a clean break now despite the pain, instead of falling even deeper in love with him, but always holding back, too scared to trust again?

My thoughts are interrupted by the bell above the door. I quickly wipe powdered sugar from my face in case it’s a client, but instead, Marcie waltzes back in. She’s tanned and smiling, and instead of her usual business outfits, she’s in loose pants and a tank top, her usually blown-straight hair in riotous natural curls.