Rekindling the Flame (Smoky Heights #1)

Chapter 33

THIRTY-THREE

WESTON

Does he even know how much I’ve gone through to find him?

I have a life of my own. But when your mom calls you and says no one has seen or heard from your only sibling in days, there’s been an emergency and you’re the only one who can probably tap into his psyche and find him … Well, we might have a strained relationship, but I’m not a heartless dick. That’s more his thing.

Dropped everything, made the five-hour drive out to Smoky Heights overnight, and spent the entire day in the woods we grew up camping in, searching for the spot I knew he’d be.

It’s been almost twenty years since I was here, and I was just a kid then, but I kept going, determination leading the way. And lo and behold. Here’s the grumpy fucker now.

Fuzzy, overgrown face glaring at me through a small opening in the tent flap, looking like he doesn’t recognize me, or maybe he just can’t figure out why the fuck I’m here. Why I tracked him down and why I’m invading his precious alone time. Like I’m encroaching on his territory and ruining his life by daring to interrupt his solo camping sesh on our family’s land. Like I’m here to mess with his plans, the tagalong little brother he can’t stand, rather than tell him something important, something he wants to hear.

I don’t seem like a great choice for this mission, considering Wyatt’s never taken me seriously. He doesn’t even listen when I talk. And if he does, he sure as fuck doesn’t hear what I have to say.

But he needs to hear this.

I start out strong, with a wry, “I know, I’m who you blame for everything, the reason anything in your life sucks, but this time, hold that thought and listen to what I’m here to say.”

His eyes narrow, but at least he unzips the flap the rest of the way. “What do you want, Weston?”

“It’s Rory,” I say solemnly, a rare tone for me. “Well,” I clarify, “it’s her mom.”