Killing all the lights, I run to the sofa and throw myself onto a throw pillow like a broken-hearted teenager and silently sob.
I don’t do it for long. Because I listen to his horse. The crunch of movement on my front porch.
He’s still here.
He doesn’t knock. He doesn’t call.
He’s just here.
Deciding it doesn’t matter what he does, I go to the bathroom and wash my face. Then change into an oversized T-shirt.
I reply to a text from Willow and then set my phone aside.
I was positive he’d have left by now, but I still hear Tuscan lingering outside the small house.
My chest squeezes as I decide to get the one-on-one lecture over with.
Marching over, I twist the knob on the four locks and pull the door open.
Wilder is leaning on the door frame, passing out.
“Sorry to wake you,” I stammer, partially in defense of what’s coming.
He straightens with a groan, instantly towering over me. He blinks a few times, looking into my eyes. “Can I come in?”
“You sure you don’t prefer to yell at me where everyone can hear you?”
He doesn’t answer. His eyes are glued to my face. He moves toward me, and I stand my ground. “Whether you like it or not, I can actually block you from coming in here.”
“You forgot something back at the stables.”
I frown.
His chest rises and falls, dragging in a shaky breath as if he’dbeen running.
“What?”
“To slap me.”
I shake my head. “What?”
He steps inside. “You warned me. When people yell, you have a habit of slapping them. I’m not leaving here until you do.”
I stare back at him. “I usually get fired after doing that.”
He swallows hard, like he’s afraid of something. “I was under the impression you were going to leave with or without that.”
I narrow my eyes. “And?”
“And I’d let you slap me every day if you stayed.”
“Are you drunk?”
“I’m tired, Rose. I’m tired of hiding from this, tired of avoiding you.”
I step back, skeptical.
“I’m sorry, baby. I’m sorry I yelled. The audience, the things I said. All of it.”
