Snow Job by Tara Wyatt (best classic books to read TXT) 📕

take my calls, so.” She’d sighed heavily. “Maybe I let myself get caught up in the excitement of everything…the snowstorm and the amazing sex and…I don’t know anymore.” She hated that he’d made her doubt what they’d had. That he’d made her doubt herself and what she wanted.

“Maybe he just needs some time.”

But now, it had been a week and she hadn’t heard anything from him. She’d stopped texting and calling. There was no point, obviously.

She headed into her room and changed into a pair of yoga pants and an old sweatshirt, putting her hair up in a bun. Before, she’d often had plans after work. Meeting people for drinks, going to dinner with friends, catching a movie with Willa. But none of that held any appeal, not because she was scared to go out—she wasn’t—but because she just wanted to be left alone. She was deep in the throes of wallowing.

When she stepped into the kitchen, she was surprised to find Lucian there. He was hardly ever home, spending his time running his various businesses and doing God only knew what else.

“Hi,” she said, feeling a little shy despite the fact that she’d been crashing with him for a week.

“Kayla.” He studied her, his dark brown gaze intense. “Please don’t take this the wrong way darling, but you look terrible.”

“Probably because I feel terrible.” She stepped around him and pulled down a mug.

“For what it’s worth, so does he.”

She whirled around, almost dropping the mug. “Because of us, or because he’s mired in hating himself?”

“Oh, both. Definitely both.” He sighed. “I threatened to punch him when he told me what he’d done.”

She laughed, but it sounded dry and brittle, even to her own ears. “I appreciate that. I think.” She tilted her head, studying him. “You’re very protective.”

He nodded slowly. “I am. After the way we all grew up, someone had to be.”

“He’s not talking to me, you know.” She set the fancy kettle on the stove and opened the cupboard where she’d found a stash of fancy tea, including Palais des Thés, a brand she’d fallen in love with during her time in France.

“I know. He’s not trying to punish you. Only himself.”

She selected a tea bag and dropped it into her mug. “Which isn’t doing anyone any good.”

“Nope.” He sighed. “Give him time.”

Something inside her snapped and she whirled on Lucian. “I’m not just going to wait around for him forever while he’s off whipping himself for something he couldn’t have prevented.” The words came out hot and angry, and her vision blurred as tears gathered.

“No one’s asking you to.”

“No, just expecting.”

“I didn’t mean it like that.”

She closed her eyes and sucked in a breath. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to snap at you, especially after everything you’ve done.” Her throat thickened with unshed tears. She’d cried so much over the past several days that she was probably dehydrated at this point.

“Kayla, listen to me. He loves you. But right now, he doesn’t love himself. And that’s not something anyone can help him with. But he’s come so far. I have to believe that he’ll realize the mistake he’s made in letting you go.”

“And if he doesn’t?” She asked, her foolish heart hoping just the tiniest bit that Lucian was right.

“Then I really will punch him in the face.”

She shot him a half-hearted smile. “I don’t doubt it.”

But as satisfying as it was to imagine the idiot getting decked by his brother, it did nothing to ease the ache deep inside her. She’d deviated from the plan, and look what had happened. She’d fallen in love with Mr. Wrong and all she had to show for it was a broken heart.

Sebastian put his board and boots away in the pro room and then walked back to his cabin through the snow, needing to burn off the energy. Despite the long day he’d just put in—getting up at dawn to ride, a full day of lessons, including another session with Chase, another long ride at the end of the day—he felt restless. On edge. Like something was bubbling up inside him, getting hotter and harder to contain, like lava in a volcano. Like an itch that he knew he shouldn’t scratch.

It was months after he’d hit rock bottom and he felt like he was right back where he’d started. All of those urges, the ones he’d worked so hard to tame, were back with a vengeance. All he could think about was doing something big and risky and dangerous that would give him a jolt of adrenaline and get him over the hump. Make him feel better, even if it was just for a little while. And even though he knew that path only held bad things, he kept thinking about it all the same.

Once he reached the cabin, he took off his boots and coat and looked around, seeing Kayla everywhere he looked. The bed. The couch. In front of the fire. The kitchen table. Sometimes, when he closed his eyes, he imagined he could still smell her sexy French perfume that she loved so much. He closed his eyes against the pain crashing through him at losing her.

But he hadn’t had a choice. He’d had to let her go. He’d been so wrong to think that he’d ever be worthy of someone like her. For a while, he’d felt like he could be, but then reality had slapped him upside the head and reminded him of who he truly was. Reminded him of the mess he’d made of his life, and how it would tarnish everything it touched, like rust on silver. Just eating up anything good and beautiful. Anything worth a damn.

He stalked to the fridge and pulled the door open, his eyes roving over the contents. There was nothing he wanted. Nothing he needed.

Fuck it. He was going to head into town and find a pub. Just one beer to take the edge off. It’d be fine. And besides, it wasn’t like