“But I’m sure Galloway wouldn't mind. Can’t you ask him?”’
“I am not debating this with you. I will not ask Wyatt for help for YOU!” I stood up and wished I could slap the asshat. He had some nerve.
“I thought he was your boyfriend. That’s the word any way.”
“From where? We had a date and a couple of times we happened to be at the same place at the same time. How I feel about any man has nothing to do with you. You aren't privy to that information and never will be. What he has and his family has is HIS business. There are boundaries, Dad, and I would never cross those. Just like I would expect him to do the same for me.”
“That’s stupid, child.” He held up his arm for another beer.
“What’s stupid is me believing you would change, that you even had a chance.” I walked off with determination in my step. I was so angry I could spit, so frustrated I could strangle him, and so disappointed I believed for half a second that he could chance to be anything but a drunk. He repeatedly drained my hope, popped the balloons over and over.
I sat in my car, and laid my head on the steering wheel. What a disappointment, again. I should have known better. At least we somewhat saw it coming and that helps, so I wasn't blindsided.
No way would I make Wyatt susceptible to being treated exactly the way he feared. I just didn't know what to do about it.
A knock at my window startled me and I jumped out of my seat. It was my father.
I rolled down the window as I rolled my eyes. “What, Dad?”
“Breigh, I owe some money to some people who aren't going to just let it go… this is a last resort.”
“Gambling or what?”
“That doesn't matter. The less information you know, the better.”
I translated in my head: he was doing something illegal.
“I will not bail you out, Dad. One, I can’t. I have zero money. And two, I would never ask a guy that I just started dating, who is a deputy, for money…For something that more than likely is illegal.”
“I just hope it…”
“It is what?”
“Never mind.” He threw his hands up in the air and then walked off.
Guilt trip? Yeah, that is going to work…said no abandoned daughter ever.
17
WYATT
I was five minutes late, and irritated as hell. I hated to be late to anything, but especially to see Breigh. I hadn't gotten to see her lately and with work I’d been buried. Since my promotion I had been working more than I already was. When she invited me over for dinner, I jumped at the chance.
I had no problem with work, or a challenge, but I had a want to spend time with Breigh. Almost like a teen who started a new relationship and wanted to skip school and stay with them the entire time. I was feeling that way.
When I wasn't with her, she always crossed my mind: her hair, her smile, her sweet voice. After seeing her expression with my house, I think there was a part of me that fell for her. I’m just not sure I would share that with her yet.
A quick knock and Breigh was hollering for me to come in.
She met me in the hallway with a hug and a kiss on my lips. I had wondered if our chemistry would still be there. Oh yes, it was.
I wrapped my arms around her and held her for a few minutes. “I have missed you,” I whispered.
“I wanted to call you a few times to talk, or just hear your voice, but thought that might be a bit much.”
She turned and I followed her to her kitchen, holding her dessert in a paper bag. I wanted to surprise her and make her wait until after dinner.
The white farm table was decorated with a wide candle in the center lighting up the table.
She had made a feast.
“Have a seat and I will get you a drink and everything on the table.”
“I can help.”
“I enjoy waiting on you. Please let me…Wine, beer, or tea. What would you like?”
“A beer would be great.”
I watched as she moved around her kitchen, putting everything out in a rhythm, showing she had done this a few times before.
She sat after everything seemed placed and let out a little laugh. “I might have overdone it, but my Grammy always does too. I can’t wait until I have a family to do this for…”
She paused.
“So I made chicken-fried steak, mashed potatoes, fresh green beans, homemade country gravy, and yeast rolls.”
“It looks fantastic. I don't remember my last home-cooked meal; my aunt doesn't like to cook. My mom…she wasn't a cook. Actually my last home cooked meal was at your grandmother’s.” I wasn't going to share how my mother had brought in takeout more often or not. And a couple times a week she had a cook come in and prepare food. She loathed the kitchen.
“Do you mind if we bless our food?” She asked and grabbed for my hand. How could I turn that away?
She blessed our food, thanked God for what we had been blessed with, and prayed for my aunt and her father. Right this moment, I was one-hundred-percent sure she was not someone I was going to let out of my life. Ever.
Before letting go of her hand, I placed a kiss on it. “Thank you for this beautiful meal, Breigh.”
“Then dig in.”
We passed the food back and forth between each other until our plates were filled. I was salivating.
“How has work been?” I asked.
“Busy, my boss has been out. I am starting to get worried, to be honest. He hasn't been back in and that is not like him at all.”
“My aunt said you were fantastic at your job. What exactly do you do though? I
