“You think this is how you get me to listen? By trapping me againsta wall in the dark because you’re too much of a coward to talk to me with others around?” Wyatt stiffens. His jaw clenches so tightly I hear his teeth grind together. “What was it you couldn’t face, your boys thinking you’d gone soft? Or was it apologizing in general?”
“I love you,” he says like a gunshot to the dark. I go still. We’ve danced around the knowledge of how Wyatt feels for a while now, but he’s yet to say those three words out loud. He doesn’t give me time to recover, process, or react. His hands slide down my arms, wrapping around my wrists and trapping them between us.
“I love you, Angel. I’ve loved you since I was too young to know what it meant. I loved you even when I hated myself for it.” His voice drops to a hoarse whisper. “I loved you even when I hurt you.” His honesty slams into me, a juxtaposition of responses filtering through my mind. My throat tightens, and the part of my brain that cares for Wyatt fires back up. His lips touch my cheek, dragging a slow path to my ear.
“That’s what I couldn’t say in front of the others. Not… not for the first time at least, but it’s all I’ve been thinking since I left your bed two nights ago.” A shudder passes between Wyatt’s shoulder blades, almost as if he’s fighting with himself to keep going. To force out the confessions he never thought he’d admit.
“And yeah, I may be a coward, but I also know apologizing is useless. Because I can’t promise I won’t leave again. You’ve known this for a while now that I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe, Angel. If that means walking away, I’ll walk. If that means becoming a monster, I’ll become one.” Returning his mouth to hover over mine, Wyatt ghosts my lips with a tender touch. “But I will never stop loving you.”
I shake my head, weakly trying to break away, but he doesn’t let me. His fingers tighten around my wrists, his grip firm but not cruel. My heart wars with my mind, my emotions and logic clashing. For my own sanity, I can’t keep letting Wyatt make decisions on my behalf, keeping me in the dark, and then offering me snippets of his love in return. But at the same time, I can’t change him. Wyatt has built up his defenses for a reason. He struggles to trust and finds it impossible to admit his feelings. This is why, when I tried to maintain my protests, they sound more like a whimper.
“You don’t get to say that and expect me to accept it.”
“I don’t expect you to accept it,” he says. “I expect you to fight meevery step of the way.” And then he kisses me again, slower this time but just as passionate. A gentle coaxing of my lips, a light teasing of my tongue. As if he’s trying to brand himself into my skin. As if he knows I’ll hate him every time he makes snap judgments for me. And maybe I will, but I kiss him back anyway.
Chapter Forty Two
Somehow, by the grace of a calming tone and a dash of good sense, I convince everyone to pile into the minibus and head to an empty diner down the road. The neon sign outside flashes that the establishment is open twenty-four hours, but judging by the grimace of the lone employee behind the counter, it is not.
The seven of us enter, announced by the ring of a bell over the door, and instantly descend to a long, rectangular table. My cousin opens his laptop, his fingers flying over the keys to bring up news reports that have begun popping up all over the internet. Avery sits beside him, quietly entranced, as I order six coffees and a chocolate milkshake. If looks could kill, the middle-aged man in a pinstripe uniform and apron would have just flayed me on the spot.
I glance over at the table, witnessing the dynamic as an outsider. Garrett paws at Axel, stroking his neck and shoulder, sitting flush to his side whilst Axel remains stoic, his jaw clenched. Hux is drumming his fingers on the table and glaring at Wyatt, who is distracted by the phone in his hand. He gave us a quick rundown about the ransom request in the minibus, but that conversation isn’t as done as he probably hopes it is.
At least we’re out of the dank motel rooms. A change of scenery and an injection of caffeine will do wonders for us all. Some of us arerunning on minimal sleep and empty stomachs. I become this evening’s waiter, handing out steaming mugs two at a time. I’d attempt to carry them all on a tray, but I still don’t trust my fingers to hold up under the strain.
Placing Huxley’s down in front of him, he snatches it aside, spilling the boiling liquid over the table and his hand, although he isn’t phased. He’s too busy being pissed at the side of Wyatt’s head while I grab some napkins and clean up around him.
“There’s no use holding a grudge,” I mutter in Hux’s ear. “He’s not even aware that you’re mad.”
“Then maybe I should tell him,” Hux grips the table’s edge. He is about to stand, but I quickly plant my hand on his shoulder.
“Another time.” I give him a lingering look until he grunts and nods. Where I’m just happy that the boys are back safe, even though they didn’t storm in like the heroes they were hoping to be, Huxley has picked a personal vendetta with Wyatt for not taking him along, too.
I found him outside, kicking the vending machine just after we’d realized Wyatt was missing, ranting that he’s a much better choice. That he is far more level-headed and tough, that he’s been really trying to eat and bulk up for this exact reason. I can’t quite decide if Hux is livid that Wyatt deemed him unfit to go or that Garrett was chosen above him.
Leaving Hux to settle, I take my coffee and Avery’s milkshake from where they’ve been left on the counter and sit on her other side. She doesn’t look over, too engrossed in the laptop, but her hand reaches out seeking mine. I lean over her shoulder, peering at the multiple windows littering the screen.
Each one mimics another, a small tweak to the news headlines and camera angle of the house. It's an ordinary, quaint house on a nice street, with a white picket fence and porch. All of this is illuminated by red and blue flashing lights and surrounded by police tape. The photo in the top left corner of the screen shows the ENTs wheeling out a black body bag.
‘'Police were called following a reported disturbance and found the body of a man suspected to be convicted felon, Fredrick O’Hare. No one else was discovered at the property, although there are signs of a struggle and hair belonging to an unidentified female.’
I stare at the words on the screen, the glow of the laptop castingharsh shadows across Avery’s face. She’s deathly still, but when I glance down at our joined hands, I notice the slight tremor in her fingers and how she grips me tighter, like I’m the only thing keeping her grounded.
A droplet of water splashes against my coffee-colored skin. Another tear slips down her cheek, silent and slow, catching the light for half a second before disappearing beneath her chin. She doesn’t sniffle. Doesn’t make a sound. She just stares, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something softer, something that doesn’t mean what they clearly do.
Meg was there. We were too late. My chest tightens as another tear falls. I don’t think she even realizes it’s happening.
“Aves.” I whisper her name, barely more than a breath, but she doesn’t respond. Her lips are parted, her shoulders curled in. She’s not present anymore; she's lost in the depths of everything she’s been holding in. Everything she’s been so desperately trying to hold together for both our sakes and her own.
I reach out and close the laptop. Her breath hitches, the light abruptly cuts off, and the words are gone. But she still doesn’t move.
“Hey Swan. I forgot my sweetener. Come with me?” I try again. She nods now, hiding her face behind the curtain of her hair as we stand. I take her hand, gently tugging her past empty booths and sticky tables. She follows, silent and pliant like she doesn’t have the energy to resist.
By a self-service counter, I pull her into my arms and rest my chin on her head. She instantly sags, her body succumbing to the tears she was desperately trying to hold back. If the others have noticed, they leave us to ourselves. We’re ghosts in the background of their exhaustion, their fraying tempers, and their forgotten coffees.
Avery’s hands slip beneath my shirt to hold my waist, craving skin-to-skin contact. A barely-there sound escapes her lips. Half a sob, half a breath. I rub slow, soothing circles into her back, letting her cry, letting her break. Muttering low words, I promise to never let go. It’s the only thing I can say with my whole heart, and I know I won’t fail her.
In a very short space of time, it’s become glaringly apparent that Avery is the love of my life. The woman I was meant to find, the reason that all of my life experiences have made me who I am today. I was so ready to slip into this role, even before I knew her. I was ready to loveand give a part of myself to someone else, and she appeared right on cue. She’s my soulmate.
