Rekindling the Flame (Smoky Heights #1)

Chapter 26

TWENTY-SIX

WYATT

Ever since the town’s staple diner closed, when Rory and Lexi’s dad—the owner and cook—left the Heights, we’ve had a real lack of decent food options here. A couple people have tried to open places, but nothing has stuck. The entire downtown isn’t what it used to be, truthfully. Barely a shadow of the vibrant community we once had.

Economy isn’t my specialty, but something is off with ours in this town. I dunno if we just don’t have enough people, if they don’t have enough money, or maybe everyone is still in the mindset of a home-cooked supper around the table with their family every night, but for a bachelor like me, the lack of restaurants, cafés, or diners means my stomach is rumbling with not much to do about it. My fridge has nothing left in it but the rest of that cider, and I’m not ready to go to the corner market to pick up groceries and have every person I run into talk to me about Laura Lee dying. The garage has been my hideout since that news broke, and even there Gonzo and every single customer that’s come by have all tried to talk my ear off about it. Like it might not be a painful subject for me, the guy who should’ve been her son-in-law.

I’ve been trying to avoid Suds since the explosion with Aurora. I’ve been honoring the bar as her turf, but looks like I’m gonna have to give in and head over if I want to survive the night. Plus, it’s been, like, a week since that day at the garage and I haven’t seen or heard from her. She hasn’t even read my text asking if we could talk.

All that to say, I don’t know what I’m walking into when I arrive at the bar for the first time in days, but I didn’t expect it to be Rory and Duke sitting at a high-top in the far corner, both wiping their eyes, smiling, and sharing in a hug.

He walks away from the table first, spotting me as he steps away from her, and heads my way. All he gives me is a pat on the shoulder and a slight nod, but it feels like he’s directing me to take his seat. Jerk my chin at Dallas and mouth my order at him as I pass him, going to the high-top by the games, right by the billiards table where I have a new top ten memory with her. They’re all of her, really. The only ones in color, at least. Bright spots in a half a lifetime of dark fog.

Her eyes sparkle more than usual, glittering topaz instead of the usual chocolate, evidence of the conversation—the tears—she just shared. Aurora meets my gaze as I move in her direction and tilts her head to the open seat in invitation.

No time to second-guess this now, eh, Grady?

Even the crowd of rowdy regulars, even Ernie himself, must sense not to fuck with the vibe in here tonight, because when I sit down at the table with her, nobody catcalls, shouts anything inappropriate at us, or tries to tell the same story about a trout that never existed for the millionth night in a row. They all just carry on with their conversations at respectful volumes, even if I do feel curious eyes darting over to us at regular intervals. It’s the closest thing to privacy I’ve ever gotten in this town.

“Can we … ?” Aurora asks tentatively.

Something is different about her from the last time I saw her, and I guess I should be thankful for that. Never wanna see her that way again.

If I had to guess, I’d say it’s clarity, determination in her features, brightening her eyes, beyond what the remnants of tears are doing.

“Yeah, of course.”

“Just wanted to clear the air.” She sets the expectations for this conversation, like a good attorney. I half expect her to outline some bullet points to discuss next. “Not just about the other day,” she adds on.

“I’m sorry,” I reply automatically. Because making her run away crying was never what I wanted. I just wanted her to see why we can’t pretend it’s safe to let feelings get involved when all that’s here for her is her past. Her future is almost a thousand miles away.

“You shouldn’t be,” she says, just as quickly. “I want to apologize to you.”

“It’s okay.” I’m still trying to reassure her, even after the way I broke her the last time we tried to talk things out.

“It’s not.” It might be a whisper, but it’s firm.

My chin dips in a nod, hearing her. “Then tell me, Aurora.”

“It’s a cliché, really. But humor me, anyway.” She sniffs a laugh, but it’s not a joyful one. “My dad … leaving ,” she chooses the word carefully, “really shook me. My mom and I have always been so similar, I’m just the Wish dot com version of her, I think.” That gets an actual laugh from both of us, her because she thinks it’s funny and me because it’s laughable that she thinks she isn’t an original, an absolute work of art of a human being, a masterpiece, and completely one-of-a-kind. “But if the man I grew up worshiping could do that to her, what did my future look like here? What was I in for if I stayed? You know I always had my eye on more, but that?” She blows out a big breath and meets my eyes. “That made me scared to stay. It destroyed my trust and made me fear my own future. It would probably take years of therapy to unpack it in a way that makes sense, so I don’t know what to tell you right now other than I’m so sorry. You deserved better.”

My head twists to the side, rejecting her statement. “No, Aurora, you did. Like you said before, we had our issues back then. I had my head up my ass. I wasn’t even aware you were struggling, beyond the surface level bullshit. I wasn’t there for you the way you needed. I’ve never been the man you deserve.”

Her eyes brighten again, and she shakes her head a bit, but tears don’t fall.

“I’ve been coming to terms with the damage I did for the first time. You were right. I’ve been scared of the truth. Having to face how deeply I hurt everyone here, it hasn’t been easy. I don’t know how to make up for the way I left and what that did to you, but I’m starting by telling you I’m sorry. I’m sorry for not trying to fix what we had, for not giving you the chance to try, and … I’m sorry you can’t have kids because of me.”

One shoulder pops up toward my ear. I only ever wanted them with her. Seems fair to me if you ask me.

“That part has its perks,” I say, trying to lighten that load on her shoulders.

Her brows raise and that beautiful mouth quirks. “Sure does.”

Truthfully, I don’t need any more of an apology from her. I don’t have some groveling kink, as much as I like to see her on her knees. All I wanted was us on the same page, and her head on straight about what’s waiting for her when she’s done in the Heights. No false hope for either of us.

Would I have done anything to give her what she needed back then? I’d like to think the answer is yes, but she’s got a point. Neither of us were ready to do the things it took to be the best partner we could be back then. In fact, I’m pretty damn sure that if I hadn’t gotten the fresh perspective of how miserable life is without her in it, I may never have grown into someone who appreciates every chance to have her like I do now. And if we’re back on track, if we both know what this is, that it’s got a time limit on it, and we have the rules of our pact to keep us on track, am I na?ve for hoping we can keep that going? So I can have more of her before she’s gone?

“So does that mean we can go back to our arrangement ?” I float the question with a tilt of my lips.

That gets a half a smile out of her. “Sorry for violating your terms. I can appreciate this for what it is while I’m still here if you can.”

Don’t think I didn’t catch what she did there. Absolutely no mention of not letting feelings enter the chat. That makes it easier for me, though. Not as direct of a lie I’ll have to tell.

“I’m good with that.”

You’re gonna tell me I can have a sliver of the best I’ll ever have or nothing at all, that’s the easiest fucking choice I’ve ever made.

She’s the only woman I’ll ever love. Twelve years apart has proven that.

Aurora Weiss is the only thing I’ve ever wanted for myself, and I’m going to take whatever I can get, while I can.

A double ding of a sharp bell rings out from the window to the kitchen before Dallas drops off my food and fresh beers for us both, and we spend the evening catching up on her family, the case against the bank while we play darts and down beer like we’re at a kegger.

When we finally head upstairs and I push into her, raw, it’s me that looks away this time, unable to meet her gaze when I know we both lied tonight, and neither of us are getting out of this unscathed, but I’m not strong enough to stay away while she’s here and wants me.

Every thrust is digging my own grave, but I don’t stop. No way I’ll be okay after she leaves again, but I’m too far gone in her to care.