Only With Me (Sugarland Creek #4)

Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

Waylon

I sit in my parked truck that’s half a block from the café and watch as Harlow walks to her car across the street ten minutes later. There’s a coffee cup in her hand, so she at least grabbed something before she left.

But her expression is a combination of sad and mad as hell.

I would’ve texted her that I was running late, but my phone slipped out of my hand while I was driving and got caught underneath the passenger seat. Since I didn’t want to waste more time by pulling over to look for it, I waited until I parked and then spent another few minutes trying to dig it out from where it got caught.

The moment I recognized her long, golden brown hair and noticed the pink bow, I panicked. I almost left the café before she saw me.

All this damn time.

It’s been her this whole fucking time, and I had no idea.

Probably didn’t help that I didn’t know many specific details about her in the first place. If we had exchanged names, there’s no way we wouldn’t have realized, and then it would’ve stopped before it ever started.

And clearly, she has no idea either by her reaction to seeing me and assuming I was there on a quick coffee run.

The only reason I asked if she was sitting alone was to confirm—rather, triple-check —that she was, in fact, waiting for someone. Me .

I need to text her and put her out of her misery. Though I hate lying, especially to someone who doesn’t deserve it, the truth would hurt her more.

I can’t be friends with my ex-girlfriend’s little sister.

And if that turned into more? There’s no way Delilah would be cool with that.

Harlow’s too young, too sweet, too forbidden.

Though I’m surprised we had some things in common, we’re at two different paths in our lives, and there’s no point in leading her on to think we could ever be something more.

Fuck . Now I have to pretend to be this other person from the group chat and act like I still have no idea who she is while knowing who she is in real life.

Waylon: Hey, I’m so sorry I didn’t text sooner. A work thing happened, and I wasn’t able to get away.

I can’t suggest we reschedule because I have no intentions on revealing myself after some of the personal things I’ve told her. Not that I don’t trust her, but I wouldn’t have said them if I knew it was her.

Like a creep, I crouch in my seat and wait for her to check her phone.

She gets in her seat, buckles, and then I see her hold it up. It hides more of her face from this angle but enough is shown to see she’s not happy with me. Instead of responding, she sets her phone down and starts the car.

I deserve that.

At this point, I’d be surprised if she responds.

By the time I get home, I feel like utter shit. The guilt is eating at me, and no matter what I do or say, it won’t fix what’s already happened.

I was so wrong about her age and never once considered I knew her in real life or that we’d be connected somehow because nothing seemed familiar.

But still, I can’t be too disappointed it ended up being her because Harlow’s gorgeous, sweet, and honest. I know she’d never tell anyone what was said in our conversations.

I think back to some of them and can now piece together what she told me and what I already know about her.

She admitted there was a time she struggled with her mental health and turned to equine therapy. But now that I’m aware it’s her, I know where those struggles stemmed from.

Her dad’s work accident when she was twelve.

The incident when she was thirteen.

Spending years in and out of the hospital until she was sixteen.

Delilah was a wreck during that time frame and as much as I tried to support her, I was young and selfish in wanting her to spend more time with me. I was also still reeling from what happened with Wilder two years prior. It became obvious neither of us was in a position to be in a relationship.

I hardly saw Harlow while she was recovering, and even after, she only came to the ranch to train and we rarely spoke.

It seemed like I shouldn’t, considering her sister’s and my history, and only God knew what Delilah had told her about me.

Now I wish I could take it all back and not get involved with the group chat because she’s going to feel rejected by me standing her up when there’s nothing wrong with her.

If the situation was different, I would’ve happily introduced myself and had coffee with her.

But there’s no circumstance where it’ll be okay for us to continue texting.

And that sucks because I enjoyed her company and talking to someone I wasn’t related to.

“Wilder? You in here?” I call out, walking deeper into the retreat barn.

He told me he was going to eat at The Lodge, but his truck is still parked outside. It’s possible he walked, though.

Grabbing one of the rakes, I peek into the stalls to see where he left off so I can continue. After I check into the fifth one that’s been completed, I head to the next and am startled to find him passed out on the ground.

“Wilder!” I shout, tossing the rake and opening the door. “Hey, wake up.”

I kick his leg, but he doesn’t move.

“What the hell, man? You’re sleepin’ in horse shit. That’s a new low, even for you.”

I move around him, getting a better view of his face, and realize something’s wrong. There’s something around his mouth.

Kneeling, I listen to see if he’s breathing and feel for a pulse. It’s there, but his breathing is shallow.

“Wilder, wake up…” I shake him and then look for any bleeding around his legs, but there isn’t any.

When I look on the other side next to him, I find a pile of vomit.

“Oh fuck. What’d you take?” I murmur even though he can’t hear me. “We gotta get you to the ER.”

Waiting for an ambulance will take too long, so I haul him over my shoulder and carry him to my truck. His body is limp as I put him in the passenger seat and buckle him in.

“Wilder, if you can hear me, I need you to hang on, okay? I’m takin’ you to the hospital.”

My heart hammers against my ribs as I speed down the country roads. I call my dad and tell him to meet me there, then send a voice memo to our sibling group chat to tell them.

When Wilder got to work this morning, he was in a good mood, which he usually is anyway, so nothing seemed off to me. As far as I know, he wasn’t hungover or drinking for breakfast, so my mind is spiraling with what caused him to lose consciousness.

I called the emergency room to give them a heads-up that we were on the way, so once I arrive, they have a stretcher waiting for him.

“He’s been out cold since I found him twenty-five minutes ago,” I explain.

“His pulse is weak,” one of the nurses states. “Stay here and we’ll get you when he’s stabilized.”

The three of them take him away before I even have a chance to say anything to him.

Not that I had any idea of what I’d tell him.

Please don’t die.

I love you.

I pace in the waiting room, reading through the sibling group chat and their responses. Though I don’t have much of an update, I tell them we made it and he’s in their care now.

Tripp: What do you think happened?

Landen: Was he still breathing?

Noah: Did you check his thighs?

Landen: Any idea how long he was passed out before you found him?

They’re worried sick about him just like I am. It’s been years since his last emergency hospital visit, but we’re still traumatized from the last time.

Waylon: When I left for lunch, he was fine. Yes, he’s breathing but irregularly. And I did check. No blood from what I could see. No idea how long or what happened. Hoping to find out.

And then a thought crosses my mind. If only I’d stayed and gone to lunch with him, I would’ve been here for whatever happened.

But then I remind myself that if I had stayed to have coffee with Harlow, who knows how much longer it would’ve taken for me to find him. We’re lucky I was only gone for thirty minutes as it is.

Noah: As soon as Fisher gets back from a job to watch Poppy, I’m heading up there.

Landen: Tripp and I are on the way now. Be there in 10.

Before I have a chance to respond, Dad and Mom rush in. They must’ve sped here.

“Any word?” Mom asks, wrapping her arms around me.

“Not yet. They just took him back five minutes ago.”

Dad squeezes my shoulder. “I’m gonna let them know we’re here.”

An hour passes and the rest of my siblings arrive, all asking for updates and information, but we still don’t know.

When the emergency room back doors open, the last thing I expect to see is Harlow with her mom. Mrs. Fanning is in her scrubs and works here, so it’s possible Harlow came to visit after I stood her up.

It’s obvious she’s upset and has been crying.

But then I notice there’s a bandage around her hand.

“Harlow?” Noah calls out, standing and rushing over.

Instinctively, I get to my feet, wanting to console her, too.

“What’s wrong?” Noah asks.

“It’s my dad.”