The Drift (Preacher Brothers 3)

He stared at me for a long moment, and then without saying another word, he turned and left, leaving me standing there to think about what he said. I turned to start making my way toward the front again, knowing I had a plan, but my feet were cement pillars, refusing to take me farther. I glanced at where Frankie left then where the only thing stopping me from being with Wilder was a set of sliding glass doors.

The tears were streaming down my cheeks, fat droplets like a spigot had been opened and couldn’t be turned off. I didn’t want to leave Wilder. I didn’t want to ignore how he made me feel.

I didn’t want to run anymore.

My heart was pounding as I turned back around and all but ran to those sliding glass doors. My pulse jumped into my throat as I rounded the corner of the house, to slip through those doors that would take me to Wilder. It was as if a light switch had been turned on in me, this glow washing over my darkest fears and wiping them away.

This wasn’t about falling for Wilder. This wasn’t about caring so deeply for another soul; something else, someone else mattered more than you did. This was about so much more. This was about finding something just for me, finding happiness for the first time in my life. I wanted to utter the words that would link us together, that I wanted to be his the same way I wanted him to be mine.

Was this love? I didn’t know. I’d never loved anyone. I’d never felt love from anyone. Not even my own mother had given me love, an emotion that should have been so natural, being a mother and child.

But I’d finally found something worth more to myself than the need to run, to start over countless times. I’d been running from happiness for far too long, afraid of the possibilities. I didn’t have to run anymore. Maybe Wilder didn’t want me in the bone-deep way I did him, but he cared for me, and that was enough. But I had to tell him I wanted more for us, that I’d fallen hard for the Preacher boy who stole to survive and lived life on the edge.

And so I stepped around the corner of that house and came to an abrupt stop as I watched Wilder all but tear out the back door. He looked frantic, wild as he looked around the yard. He had on no shirt, his sweats were pulled up to right below his hips, that cut V of muscle showing in startling clarity, and his car keys hung from his fingers. He had on a pair of running shoes, and just looking at him, the way he trembled, the haphazard attire he had on, told me he realized I wasn’t beside him, had probably literally jumped out of bed, and had come looking for me.

And then his eyes landed on me, and I sucked in a breath at the wild energy I saw reflected back at me. I lowered my gaze to his chest wound, saw a darkness start to spread from the center of his bandage and seep outward, and my chest ached horribly. He was hurting but still had come looking for me.

I felt like a worthless asshole. I’d been about to leave him without so much as a goodbye, a letter explaining anything.

He was by me before I comprehended it, had his hands wrapped around my shoulders and stared down at me with that same feral and intense focus. He slid his palms up the sides of my neck to cup my face and then smoothed his thumbs over my cheeks, wiping away the tears that still fell.

“Where were you going?” I heard the fear in his voice, the very real fear that I now felt myself.

The air left me violently as I let all these emotions crash into me like water against the ocean shore. I shook, cried harder, and finally Wilder pulled me not the hard embrace of his chest. I felt his warmth, sensed the soothing aura that always came from him when we were near. I let him hold me, stroke my back, whisper things I’d wanted someone to whisper to me my entire life.

“Why were you leaving?” he asked softly against the crown of my head. “I know I’m not a good man, Zoey. Shit, I’m a professional fucking thief.” He pulled back and cupped my cheeks in his big, strong hands again, his thumbs still moving back and forth, wiping away my tears.

I couldn’t stop no matter how much I wanted to, no matter how much I wanted to be strong. He stared into my eyes, the raw emotion on his face so startling it took my breath.