Sitting in a coffee shop with Abigail and Christy went better than expected. When I wasn't working at The Starlighter or underneath the sheets with Wyatt, I was sketching away design ideas for the first time in over a year. I gave up that dream a long time ago in New York. I failed. But as my anxious eyes dart between Abigail and Christy who stare at the pages in awe, my fears slowly drift away.

The sketches were designed to suit the audience who would be in attendance. Skorts for girls who rode horses and boots durable enough to step over rocks and be cleaned easily from mud. The ideas flowed so easily to me because I once was a fashionable girl who came to Darlington and had to encounter all of these obstacles. I wanted to create pieces that those in the audience would actually want to buy because they were useful and cute.

"These are incredible," Christy mutters as she continues to scan the pages. She's a woman in her mid-forties with bright red hair that is obviously dyed and a plump body hugged tightly by a form-fitting dress. "You'll have enough time to get these done before the show? It's only four weeks away."

I consider it thoughtfully, then nod. "I don't see why not." I'd have to work myself to the bone, but for a good cause, I'd make time. Plus, this fashion show is giving me the excuse to make clothes again, and as much as I hate to admit it, I'm excited to do this.

"We might break the record this year," Abigal hums. She shakes her iced coffee around in the cup, rattling the ice before she takes another sip. "I'm buying every piece, Macey. I love them all. You're a genius."

"Let's not get our hopes up," I reply. "It's been a while since I've made anything, and although the sketches may look good..."

Christy reaches across the tiny table to give my hand a squeeze. "They're going to be amazing. Have some faith in yourself, honey."

I lost faith in myself a long time ago. When I was two weeks away from getting evicted and being so broke after losing my retail job. I had failed myself, and since I failed, I gave up my dream, too. If it weren't for Loretta's offer, I don't know what I would have done, but I certainly wouldn't have chosen to come back here to Darlington.

That's why I think Wyatt has been on edge ever since I told him about this fashion show. As much as he supports me, he knows that my dream doesn't involve me staying in Darlington, and if I start making clothes and fall in love with my passion again, will I want to move back to the city?

The barista calling someone's name pulls me from my thoughts. The aroma of coffee beans allows me to release a deep breath, all of the fears and outcomes coming out with it. "Thanks," I tell them. "As soon as I finish something, I'll show it to you. Do we have models yet? I'll need to get their measurements."

Abigail shakes her head. "Not yet, but all it'll take is a couple of local high schoolers to volunteer. I'll go ahead and make a few phone calls. Give me a few days and I'll have some rounded up in no time."

"Christy leans forward with a mischievous grin like she's a teenager herself. "Now that business is out of the way... Tell us what it's like to be back with Wyatt."

I arch a brow. "Is it really all over town?"

She shrugs and taps a pencil on the table. "Theories. No one is for sure yet, but Wyatt pickin' you up and twirlin' you around at The Starlighter is making it's way. Won't be long before the truth is out, so spill."

"Please," Abigail adds, giving a little whine. "I'm going to live vicariously through you since I haven't had any action in two years."

My mouth gapes. "Years?"

"What do you expect? Living in a small town like this, there's only a select few people to choose from. I've either grown up with them in a way that classifies them as family, I've already dated them, or they aren't worth my time and chase liquor more than females. I don't have many people too choose from, but Wyatt? Now he is a man."

Christy laughs. "You can say that again. Sometimes I'll stop by The Starlighter just to watch him lift all those heavy beams and nail em' in or whatever the hell it is he does with them. I'm just there for the muscles."

God, he certainly is a man. The past week has been the most memorable of my life. It beats going to New York for the first time. It tops buying my first sewing machine. Being in Wyatt's arms again makes me question why I ever left in the first place. If only I had stayed. If only I had fought. I wish I knew back then that I never would have made it in New York. How different things would be if that were the case.

My cheeks are red as Christy drawls on about how many abs he has, Abigail soaking in the mental images as much as possible.

"You guys have too much time on your hands," I interrupt with a smile, "but Wyatt and I are good. Really good." Despite how weird he's been about avoiding my decision to create these clothes for the charity event.

"Just don't screw it up this time, Macey Taylor," Christy warns, wagging a finger in my face. "That man deserves the world."

***

It's karaoke night at The Starlighter, and I'm too busy laughing with Wyatt and Abigail at the drunk couple that's stumbling through the words of the song, off beat and flat to pay attention to much else.

It's cold outside from the chilly autumn weather, but the fire heaters on the deck are keeping me warm. Wyatt's arms are around my waist as I sit on his lap with my back against his large chest, and every few minutes or so he places a kiss on my shoulder, causing my thighs to clench together. If the whole town of Darlington didn't know we were back together before, they certainly do now.

"They're so drunk." Abigail is gripping her sides from laughing so hard when the husband bumps into the mic stand and trips over his own two feet. The woman beside him tries to keep him on his feet, but since she's unsteady herself, they both are a mess of limbs as they tumble to the deck floor.

"Alright, alright." Loretta shoos them away with her hands and they hold each other to help themselves back to their table. "Next up we've got one of our favorites. Get on up here, Wyatt."

My body stills when he lifts me off his lap and sets me back down in the chair. He leans in close to whisper into my ear, "This'll bring back memories, Macey Taylor."

I'm still in shock when his long legs stride up to the elevated stage, grabbing his guitar he must have snuck in here earlier, and I stare at him in awe as he begins to make sure everything is ready to go. Bringing the mic stand up to his height. Adjusting the strap of his guitar. 

The crowd has gone silent around us, or maybe that's because I'm completely zeroed in on him when his eyes lock with mine.

He begins to play Tenneesee Whiskey by Chris Stapleton, our song, and I'm already blubbering like a baby, unable to stop the tears from flowing down my cheeks.

Who would have thought we'd be here again eight years later? I never got over him. I thought about him every single day while I was in New York, and I should have known then that New York wasn't where I belonged. The truth is, home is wherever he is. I'll never be happy if he's not with me.

I'm too lost in his voice, too lost in the lyrics to notice the figure that's approached my side. It's only when the guitar comes to an abrupt halt, Wyatt's voice cutting out instantly that I bother to glance up.

The crowd turns to look at me, to the person beside me. The person Wyatt is staring at down with a terrifying glare.

Parker is looming over me, one hand on the back of my chair, and he's awaiting an answer to a question I didn't even hear him ask. I'm too focused darting my eyes between him and Wyatt, the blood running ice cold through my body.

I haven't seen Parker since that night.

The night that ruined everything.

Everyone in Darlington knows what went down. It was the gossip of the century at the time. Almost instantly, all of the bodies on the deck turn in their chairs to face us. Abigial leans back  and eats her fries greedily. Loretta pauses a drink she's making and eyes the bat that's underneath the bar.

"What?" I ask, blinking repeatedly. This all must be some sort of nightmare. There's no way Parker is here right now. Last I heard, he went to Los Angeles for college and put Darlington behind him as much as he could. He hated it here.

Even now, he's not dressed like the people who live here. He's in ripped skinny jeans and an old band t-shirt. A new eyebrow and lip piercing have been established since I last saw him, and he's got a cross tattoo on his exposed forearm.

"I heard you were back in town," he says, clearing his throat from all the attention on us. "Can we go somewhere and talk? In private?"

And then, like my nightmare fully comes to life, Wyatt pounces off the elevated stage, taking five long strides before his fist connects to the side of Parker's face. I watch in horror as he throws his body down on our table, causing it to collapse. Dishes break, silverware goes flying, and they begin to wrestle on top of the tablecloth and the remainder of Abigail's fries.

I watch in horror, my body seeming to be frozen right to this chair. It doesn't register in my mind that they're actually fighting until a beer bottle breaks in Wyatt's hand and he brings it right to Parker's throat. "I swear to God I'll fuckin' kill you," he sneers.

"Wyatt, stop!" I fling from my chair and grip his bicep, dragging him backwards. He doesn't move an inch. "What the hell are you doing? You can't kill him!"

Parker groans beneath him, blood spilling from his mouth. "If you would just fucking hear me out, then I could—"

I grab the beer bottle out of Wyatt's hands before he decides to use it, but it only gives him an excuse to punch him again. I hear the crack of bone, the impact his fist makes into Parker's face, and then the man beneath him grows limp. He's knocked out cold and Wyatt refuses to stop. He keeps going, keeps punching, and it takes two grown men sitting beside us to pry him off, Wyatt's body thrashing to be released.

"What the fuck is he doin' back here?!" Wyatt screams at Loretta.

With a scoff, Loretta grabs the bat beneath the bar and walks around it to meet us. "I'm gonna ask you to leave nicely one time, Wyatt. I don't tolerate fightin' in my bar, and I certainly won't have you cussin' at me. Keep that filthy language to yourself and get the hell outta here to cool down."

"Wyatt, let's go," I whisper through my tears and then slide my gaze to Loretta's. "Parker needs an ambulance."

With a sharp tug, Wyatt steps out of my grasp and stalks off for the car. Blood is trailing behind him though, and it's not until now that I notice his hand is gushing blood. Probably from the beer bottle. "Oh my god!" I gasp, grabbing his elbow to keep him back. "What the hell did you do to yourself? You need stitches."

"I'm fuckin' fine," he pants, eyeing the rest of practically the whole damn town staring at him. "I'm fuckin' fine!" Kicking a chair beside him, it goes flying and hurtles toward the wall, cracking beneath the impact. Everyone around us remains silent in shock, their eyes wide, awaiting what will happen next, and Wyatt cusses again, storming off to the gravel parking lot to pace back and forth.

"I'm so sorry," I say to Loretta. "I-I have to take him to the hospital. Is someone calling an ambulance for Parker? Is he breathing?"

Someone is already kneeling beside him. Cathy. A registered nurse who works at the local doctor's office. "He's breathing," she says, inspecting the injuries. "He might need a few stitches on his cheek, but he should come to soon enough. The ambulance is on the way."

How does a night go from being so incredible to such a disaster? I'm trying to get my breathing under control when Loretta's hand gives a reassuring squeeze to my arm. "Go take care of Wyatt," she says lowly enough for no one around us to hear. "I don't know how he knew you were back, but it wasn't me that spilled the beans. I ain't talked to Parker since y'all were friends."

"Okay," I tell her with a shaky inhale of breath. "Okay, I'll... I'll take Wyatt to the hospital. Will you let me know if Parker's alright?"

She nods and whirls around to try and make space around Parker as they wait for the ambulance to arrive. My vision is blurry when I walk out to the parking lot to a pacing Wyatt, his blood coating the gravel beneath him. "Wyatt, I'm taking you to the hospital," I say calmly.

He whirls to face me, nothing but pure rage in his eyes. I know he would never hurt me, I've never been afraid of him, but what he just did to Parker... I thought maybe a part of him had moved on after that night, that maybe he forgot what I did, but the tears hidden behind his eyes prove he's never gotten over it. I don't think he ever will.

"Why do you want to take me when you could take Parker? He's right there, Macey. By all means, go ahead. Wouldn't be the first time you chose him over me."

"Wyatt—" My voice breaks from the heartbroken expression on his face. "You've been drinking, so it's probably not best if we talk about this right now. We need to get you to the hospital. You're bleeding."

"Whatever." He rummages in his pocket and pulls out his keys, passing them over to me. "Avoid explaining yourself just like you did that night, Macey. I don't know why I'm surprised."

Leaving me speechless, he brushes past me and heads to his truck, slamming the passenger side door before I can think of something to reply.