The Resurrection of Wildflowers (Wildflower #2)(9)

“I am happy,” I argue, because it’s true. Could I be happier? Yes. But I’m not unhappy.

“You’re content. There’s a difference.”

She has a point. “I’ll find what brings me joy one day.”

“You will.” Her smile is sad. “I just wish I’d be alive to see it.”

Another crack is added to my already mangled heart.





I wake up at seven in the morning and throw on my running clothes for a jog. I don’t have nightmares anymore—well, rarely, thanks to my return to therapy and sticking with it—but some habits are hard to kick and I do love running early. I just don’t do it before five A.M. anymore.

Popping in my ear buds, I turn on my cardio playlist while I stretch on the driveway. Instead of turning to jog in front of Thayer’s house in the direction I used to go, I turn and head the opposite direction. I never liked this loop as much, it’s hillier, but I’m being petty not wanting to take my old route.

By the time I turn to head back, I’m drenched in sweat and my hair doesn’t want to stay in a ponytail.

I turn onto the street that brings me home when I spot a jogger heading toward me from the opposite direction.

Tall, big build. Obviously, a man.

My steps falter as we both slow—me in front of my mom’s house, him in front of—

I pull my ear buds out, my lips parting as I get my first look at the man I left behind.

“Thayer,” I breathe his name into existence.

He cocks his head, taking me in. Surprise fills his brown eyes.

“Salem.”





CHAPTER 7





SALEM





The man standing in front of me is so different, and yet so similar to the one I left. He’s thirty-seven now, almost thirty-eight if I’m doing the math right in my head. I’m too stunned to think coherently. There’s a hint of gray at his temples, subtle but it’s there, and there’s some of that same color sprinkled into the scruff on his cheeks. I didn’t know gray hair would be a turn on for me, but with Thayer I think everything is. His brown eyes are taking me in as greedily as I do him. The lines around them are more prominent now. His eyes are brighter, clearer than the last time I saw him.

It was the end of that summer, and my hope had waned. I went over to his house one last time, begging and pleading for him to get up, to live, because that’s what Forrest would want. He was drinking his life away, slipping through my fingers. And nothing I did was good enough. In the end, I called his brother and told him Thayer needed him, and I went back to New York City with Lauren. I had a baby to think about and that meant being strong even when I wanted to fall apart too.

I take in his running clothes and shoes, trying desperately to fight my rising smile.

“Hi,” I say stupidly.

His eyes continue to rake over me. “Hi.”

I keep expecting to feel an awkwardness settle in my chest—after all, this is Thayer and I haven’t seen him in ages, but it just feels natural. Like it always did.

He doesn’t look like what I expected.

After the way I last saw him, I guess I expected him to look even worse than he did then. But that was a man that was grieving, and this is one who somehow pulled himself out of that and has healed.

He looks good.

Healthy.

Somehow, that makes the last six years even worse.

“H-How are you? How has life been?” He asks in an uncharacteristic way for him—flustered and taken by surprise. I suppose, despite his friendship with my mom, she didn’t mention me coming back to town.

I take my sweaty ponytail down, brushing my fingers hastily through the strands before putting it back in a low bun on the nape of my neck. His eyes watch my movements and I wonder if he senses how nervous I am. So many things are running through my head and it’s on the tip of my tongue to blurt out, “I had a baby and it’s yours!” But I think that situation needs to be handled with a little more grace.

“I … it’s been … life.”

Wow, so eloquent of you, Salem. Of course, life has been life. Could you sound any dumber?

“Heard you got married.” He squints down at me, lifting his hand to shield his eyes from the rising sun.

It’s not a question.

I hold up my left hand, showing my empty ring finger. “And divorced.”

“He’s an idiot.”

I laugh, a full belly laugh that feels so good to let loose. “No, I’m the idiot.” I look down at the ground between us, toeing my shoe against a piece of loose gravel on the sidewalk. The giddy eighteen-year-old girl inside me is screaming right now in excitement like I’m talking to my crush. But the twenty-five-year-old I am now is screaming at her to stand down, that we have to guard ourselves against this man. “I’m the one that asked for the divorce.”

“Why?” His lips purse, eyes narrowed. He’s surprised, but also curious, and trying to hide those feelings. I wish he wouldn’t do that. He’s so hard to read, and I value any insight he gives me into his thoughts.

“Because, I could never love him like he loves me. Caleb is a great man. But he’s not my forever. I already gave my heart away.”

Oh, God! Why did I blurt out that last part! I couldn’t keep my mouth shut?