CHAPTER 63

jackson

I t was one thing to be ditched for a date, it was something entirely different to get a call at one in the morning that West was fucking drunk. To say I was livid was an understatement. But I dragged my ass out of bed anyway because I wasn’t about to let a drunken West end up in a ditch or worse.

By the time I found him, he was staggering his way out of town—presumably heading toward the ranch. I eased off the brake until I was practically crawling alongside him. I kept enough of a distance to make sure he didn’t stumble in front of my truck and get his ass run over.

“Go away,” West snapped when I rolled down my window.

“Get in the truck, West,” I ordered

“Go the fuck away.”

“Get your fucking ass in the truck.” Fuck his attitude. I was fucking tired and wanted to go home. I didn’t want to be driving alongside his dumbass.

He ignored me, shoving his hands in his pockets. Yeah, I wasn’t having that bullshit.

“What the hell were you thinking?” I demanded loudly.

“I don’t want to fucking think!” West exploded. His words slurred together as his breathing turned heavy with anger. “I don’t want to fucking think! I don’t want to fucking feel a goddamn thing! I don’t want to fucking remember! Today of all fucking days I don’t want to remember a fucking thing!”

Without another word, he continued storming down the street. I slowed to a stop and watched him in my headlights. Today? What the fuck happened today? We’d had a goddamn normal day on the ranch besides me dealing with Amy, but that had nothing to do with him.

Horses.

Cows.

Fencing.

All of it was normal shit.

So, what the hell was today? I replayed his ranting in my head. It wasn’t his birthday. His mother died around Thanksgiving. He’d run away in June when we were kids.

All that was left was… fuck.

The realization of what the date had to be for him punched the breath right out of my lungs. There was only one fucking day that I could imagine would make him deteriorate like a landslide.

“Fuck,” I muttered. I parked on the side of the road and hopped out, chasing after him. Rolling around in my truck and yelling at him wouldn’t help a damn thing.

“Get the fuck out of here,” West snarled as I fell in step beside him. The smell of alcohol was overwhelming. What the hell had he done? Drink the whole damn bar?

“No,” I said.

“I don’t fucking want you here.”

“I know.”

“So, go the fuck away!”

“I am going away,” I retorted. “ This way. Which just so happens to be the same way you’re going.”

“Jesus fuck,” he growled. “You don’t know when to give up, do you?”

“My mama always told me I was stubborn to a fault,” I told him .

“I don’t fucking want you here!” he continued to rage. I let it roll off my back, knowing full well he didn’t mean it. “Jesus fucking Christ, you’re dense.”

He stumbled, and I resisted the urge to catch him as he tried to right himself. It took everything I had to keep my hands to myself, but there was a damn good chance he’d hit me if I touched him. And I hated that.

“You’re going home, and I’m—”

“You don’t have a fucking clue where I’m going,” he interrupted roughly. I pressed my lips together and counted back from ten to keep from saying something stupid. Even with everything I knew, his pushback was getting under my skin.

“Where else do you have to go, West?” I asked.

“Fuck you.”

“I know, I know.” It was a low blow. He had nowhere to go if he didn’t come home to the ranch. “Now, we’re both going to the ranch. Either we can walk the whole way there, or you can get in my truck and let me take you home.”

“Fuck you. I don’t need your stupid fucking help.”

I held my tongue. Yeah, we fucking established that. There was no point in fighting him. It’d get me nowhere except further away from my fucking truck.

“I know.”

“I don’t need your goddamn pity.”

“I don’t pity you, West,” I told him quietly. But my heart did break for him. There was so much pain built up inside him that I couldn’t begin to touch or take away for him. It killed me. I wanted nothing more than to help him and I couldn’t.

“Fine,” he relented. He stumbled as he turned, and I clenched my fists to keep from reaching out. Fuck, I hated this.

I kept my distance as we walked back to my truck—close enough to intervene if I absolutely had to, far enough to remind myself where my hands belonged.

West disappeared when we got back to the house. I probably should’ve checked on exactly where he’d gone, but at least he was in the house. I knew he was safe, which was about the best I was going to get.

But that didn’t put my mind at ease. There was no way in hell I was going back to sleep. And so I stood in my kitchen doing the dishes I’d avoided doing earlier in the evening when I went to bed. I didn’t even use the goddamn dishwasher. I just let the hot water sting my hands and angrily scrubbed every single one.

I didn’t hear West join me, but I stilled as his arms wrapped around my waist from behind. I felt how he pressed his forehead to the back of my neck, his hot breath washing over my skin. How the hell did I respond?

Hug him back? Tell him to get off? Every instinct told me to turn around and hold him, but I wasn’t sure I could. Maybe he could hug me and it didn’t bother him, but maybe I couldn’t hug him back.

Fuck, this touch thing was stressful. I didn’t want to set him off, but I didn’t know how to comfort him either. I didn’t have a fucking clue what to do, so I just stood there with my hands resting on the sink.

“Please, don’t hate me,” West whispered, the words slurring together.

“I couldn’t hate you.”

“You should.”

“I never will.” That was a promise. Sure, I’d hated him before he came back, but I hadn’t known everything about why he’d left. Back then, I couldn’t see all the puzzle pieces that made up West’s life. Hell, I still didn’t. And every little piece he did share with me only gave me a clearer image of what his life had been like and how it affected him. Broken him. I could never hate him for that.

“It just hurts,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “Everything fucking… hurts…”

A sob ate up anything else he was going to say.

I turned slowly, maneuvering him until he was wrapped up in my arms with his head buried in the crook of my neck. He broke down completely, and I held on tighter than I’d ever held anyone in my life.

And he let me. I bore the brunt of his weight as he gave in. There wasn’t a damn thing I could say, but I wasn’t going anywhere. We could stand against the kitchen sink until the sun rose for all I fucking cared. I wasn’t letting go until he wanted me to.