“I didn’t think you’d be back so soon,” Dax mutters, not as harshly. Perhaps he is too relieved to see them back safe to stare murderously like Huxley is. Completely oblivious, Garrett peels off his jacket and tosses it onto the chair by the window. He moves to the bathroom, leaning over the small sink in the corner to wash his hands with a little too much force. In my peripheral, Wyatt steps towards the bed, raking a hand through his hair.
“Angel,” Wyatt speaks directly to me. I scoff, avoiding his eyes. “Can we talk?”
“I don’t know, can we? Or do you want to write it down in another letter?” I snap back. I finally look at him, and as I knew it would, all of the anger I’ve been holding onto rushes to the surface. He was expecting my reaction, his head slightly bowed. His T-shirt is crumpled and sweaty, a smudge of something dark across his front.
“I deserved that,” he unclenches his fists at his sides. “But I reallythink it would be best if we stepped outside.” My narrowed eyes bore a hole in his face, and Hux widens his stance in front of the door. Wyatt isn’t taking me anywhere.
“Whatever it is, just say it, Wyatt,” Axel grounds out. His hand rests against his chest, pressing down to keep his breathing even. My fingers tangle in the fabric of his T-shirt, an attempt to ground us both.
“Fredrick is dead,” Garrett announces, striding back in with a small hand towel drying his hands. He lets out a humorless laugh and tosses it against the wall. “Someone put a bullet in his head before we even got there.”
I freeze, forgetting how to react.Dead. The man who ruined my childhood, haunted my dreams and then returned to do it all over again. The monster I had to survive twice.Dead. I’ve wished to hear those words so many times, wanting to close the door on my past and no longer let it bleed into my future. I return my gaze to Wyatt, watching his throat bob as he swallows.
“And Meg?” I ask tentatively. I know the answer because she’s not here. They didn’t bring her back, but I need the confirmation.
“We searched everywhere,” Wyatt sighs. “There was no sign of her beyond the mess of a struggle.”
Silence spreads like a stain across the room. The air feels thick, pressing down on my chest like Axel's, making it harder to breathe. My fingers tighten in his T-shirt, but I barely feel the fabric beneath my grip. Fredrick has left this world with answers I will never retrieve, snatching my closure in one final act of cruelty. My heartbeat pulses in my ears, louder than the creak of the motel walls, louder than the sharp exhale Wyatt lets out.
I was hoping Wyatt’s dramatic exit was for a reason. That his written apology was a placeholder for the real one, in which he marched Meg through the door and said, ‘ta da’'. I don’t blame him directly. If she wasn’t there, then there was nothing he could do. But I can’t help the betrayal that cuts me so deeply as if Wyatt himself has deceived me.
My mouth feels dry, as if I’ve swallowed dust. I want to ask a hundred questions. Who else was there? How bad was the struggle? Was there blood? But I can’t seem to form the words.
I glance at Garrett, at the set of his jaw, the way his nostrils flareslightly as he leans against the wall with the forced casualness he wears like armor. He won’t meet my eyes, and that tells me enough. It was bad.
Huxley speaks first, a prolonged growl from the front of the room.
“And you just left?!” The veins in his arms clench, tracing lines across his forearms. Garrett lifts his head, his expression blank.
“No, Hux. We stayed and had a fucking tea party with his corpse.”
“Asshole,” Huxley spits, that nervous energy coming back. Flinging his arms down, Hux spins and throws the door open, declaring he’s going to find Thiago. I feel bad for the Brazilian who’s about to be on the receiving end of his frustration, and apparently, so does his cousin. Dax exhales, raking a hand through his damp curls.
“I’d better make sure Hux’s fists only fly at the walls,” he grumbles and exits a moment later. Wyatt doesn’t move at all. He watches me closely, his eyes dark and his jaw locked so tight, I half expect his teeth to shatter.
“I would really like a moment alone with you if you don’t mind,” Wyatt tries to ask me again. I resolutely look to the ceiling, huffing through my nose. A rejection is on my tongue when Axel nudges my arm, his voice a low croak.
“Go. I need to say a few choice words to Garrett anyway.” Axel’s breathing is ragged, his whole body shaking with unspent rage, but after a beat, he lets go. His hand drops to his side, his shoulders heaving in an effort to stay calm. I don’t feel comfortable leaving him, but Wyatt takes his cue to hold out his hand. I wriggle forward and accept it with a rough squeeze meant to hurt, but I know it won’t even phase him.
“You’d better grovel properly,” I glare at Garrett. A devilish smirk crosses his face that he has no business letting loose.
“I’ll be on my knees and begging for forgiveness, Peach.” I roll my eyes but let Wyatt accompany me into the night air. It’s a fresh balm after a day cooped up and hardly moving. I’m guided along the motel building, passing door after door and turning at the end corner. The streetlamp doesn’t quite reach this patch of grass, a bush creating a dead end. Once we’re out of sight, I wrench my hand out of Wyatt’s and spin on him.
“What? What could you possibly have to say to me?” He steps into my space, and I shove at his chest. Wyatt continues to advance,effectively backing me into a corner. My shove might as well be a whisper against the steeliness of his chest. Sharp breaths slice through the thick air between us, and even though I can’t see them, I can feel his eyes are on me. Wild, burning green, containing everything he felt unable to say in front of an audience.
He should be apologizing, telling me that he meant to take me with him to Fredrick’s house, but he has a valid reason for leaving me behind. Instead, he moves faster than I expect, closing the distance between us with one step. One movement, one decision, and then his hands are on me.
His fingers dig into my jaw, tipping my face up, and before I can snarl another word, his mouth crashes down on mine. He steals my kiss, his thumbs prying my mouth open and his tongue sweeping inside. Wyatt avoids my teeth as I try to bite back, his lips crushing against mine without permission.
It’s not soft. It’s not an apology. It’s raw and desperate, but I won’t let him take my forgiveness so easily this time. I’m done with showing Wyatt mercy.
I shove at him again, harder this time. My fists find his shoulders and rain down blows, but he doesn’t move. He simply tightens his grip on my face and pins me against the brick wall. I’m forced to feel him, to taste his anger, his regret, and his obsession. My nails bite into his arms, dragging deep enough to sting. For a moment, it almost works. His breath stutters over my face, his lips parted, but he still doesn’t let me go. I hit him again, trying to twist myself free.
“You don’t get to do this, Wyatt,” I half-heartedly snarl. My words lose their edge coming from bruised lips. His forehead presses against mine, his fingers trembling where they cup my jaw and shift to my hair and nape.
“I have to,” he murmurs roughly. “You won’t listen to me otherwise.”
A sharp laugh rips out of me, the shift of my chest momentarily dislodging his. I try to step aside because Wyatt still has me where he wants me, and one carefully placed leg blocks my exit. There’s no space to move, so I settle for speaking my mind instead.
