“Abuse? Please, you needed to toughen up.”
“Do you really think that’s how it will play out in the press?” Wyatt asked.
He scoffed. “Nobody will believe you.”
“Charlie is an excellent photographer. I bet that reporter would love to see those pictures. She’d love to show the world who you really are,” Wyatt lied. There were no pictures.
His father’s face went white. “You wouldn’t dare.”
“Fucking try me,” Wyatt shot back.
His father advanced on him. Wyatt took a step back but then Linc was there. “Give me a fucking reason to kick your ass. Just give me a reason.”
Wyatt shivered at the malice in Linc’s tone. Monty stumbled back, clearly taking Linc at his word.
Linc took Wyatt’s hand, leading him back into the lobby. He reached into his pocket and pulled out Charlie’s keys. “Go out the service entrance, just the way we came in. I’ll find Charlie and we’ll get the fuck out of here. Okay?”
Wyatt gave a jerky nod, staring at the keys like he’d never seen them before. He watched Linc disappear into the crowded ballroom, his gaze snagging on the reporter from earlier… Miranda. She studied Wyatt, her eyes less accusatory now, more… something else… confused, maybe? Wyatt couldn’t worry about her now.
He made his way through the back passages that ran behind the kitchens, pushing open the door and walking into the oppressive heat of the night. It hit him like a wet blanket. Adrenaline surged through him as the events of the night swirled in his head. He fumbled for the key fob as he found Charlie’s car right up front.
Wyatt opened the driver’s side door, pushing the button to turn over the engine. He sighed at the blast of frigid air that hit his overheated body. He closed his eyes, dizziness rushing over him as those three glasses of champagne he downed took hold. What had he just done? Blackmailing his father? Leaving with Linc? What would happen now? He had nothing. He was leaving with nothing.
Only Linc.
Linc was enough. Linc was everything. But was he everything for Linc? Would Linc regret this in a week? A month? A year? His stomach sloshed. He slipped the razor from his pocket. He just needed a release. Just one small cut to get rid of the poison, to dampen the panic stealing the breath from his lungs. He shoved his sleeve up once more, hands shaking as he pressed the blade just under his bicep, close enough to his body to hide the cut.
He hissed as his skin split, hand jumping as a loud noise startled him. He barked out a laugh as he realized his elbow had hit the horn but frowned as crimson arced through the air, splashing over Charlie’s white leather interior once, then again. He blinked stupidly at the gash in his arm and the blood spurting from it like a horror movie. He slapped his hand over it, but it didn’t help.
Almost instantly, his chest hurt and his vision grew fuzzy, like he looked at the world through the bottom of a well. He tried to get out of the seat, to find Linc, yell for help, but he slipped, his body slamming into the asphalt, his head bouncing off the ground below. That would hurt later. He stared up at the streetlight as the world began to slip away.
“Wyatt? Oh, God. Call 911.” Linc. Linc was there. Linc would make it better. Wyatt felt himself being pulled and tugged and then something squeezed his arm so tight he thought maybe it was being ripped off.
Charlie’s panicked voice filled his ears. “We need an ambulance. Please. Hurry. We’re at…”
He was fading. “Wyatt, stay with me. What have you done? Oh, God. Oh, fuck. Baby. Stay with me. What did you do? I love you. Stay with me.”
Was Linc crying? It must be terrible if Linc was crying.
“Wyatt!” Why was Charlie screaming?
Everything went black.
Linc stared at the blood coating his hands. There was just so much of it. It saturated his clothes and even his shoes. Wyatt’s blood. Charlie sat beside him on the bench, but she focused her attention on her parents standing a few feet away talking amongst themselves. When she’d called them, they’d dropped everything. They’d brought her a change of clothes and had stayed to make sure Wyatt was okay.
Was he okay? He’d been in surgery for hours.Brachial artery laceration. Severe blood loss. Touch and go.Linc had tried to focus on the doctor’s words, but he just kept flashing back to Wyatt lying on the pavement, the life leaching out of him. He’d looked so scared and he just clung to Linc until he’d lost consciousness. The doctor said he was lucky to be alive… that if they hadn’t found him… hadn’t used his belt to tourniquet Wyatt’s arm… he could have bled out right there on the street. Linc could have lost him for good.
They’d offered Linc scrubs so he could remove his bloody clothes, but he’d refused. He wasn’t moving from that spot until they told him Wyatt was okay.
“He has to be okay,” Linc muttered under his breath.
“He will be,” Charlie promised. “He will be,” she said again like she was trying to convince herself.
The automatic doors of the waiting room slid open and everybody looked up at the commotion. Linc’s nostrils flared. Monty strode toward the desk like he owned the place, the intern in purple hot on his heels as were two men dressed in suits. Where the fuck had he been this whole time? Charlie had been calling him for hours.
She stood, rushing to meet him. “Wyatt’s still in surgery.”
“What happened?” he snapped.
