When he stumbled into the kitchen, he found Linc leaned against the kitchen counter with a cup of coffee in his hand as he read a folded-up newspaper. Who read newspapers anymore? All that stuff could be found online. On Facebook, even. Old people loved Facebook.
On the counter was a plate with two pieces of toast with butter and a cup of black coffee. It stopped Wyatt cold, his chest constricting painfully. He swallowed hard, blinking sudden tears from his eyes. To somebody who knew nothing about them, the practical stranger standing in his kitchen could be his husband who had made Wyatt breakfast. Linc was barefoot, for fuck’s sake. Wyatt didn’t know why that mattered—why any of it mattered. Frustration had him wanting to turn and run but his feet seemed glued in place.
Linc glanced up. “Good, finally. Sit. Eat. All of it.”
Wyatt rubbed at his eyes with probably more aggression than needed.
“You okay?”
The concern in Linc’s voice was like a hand against his windpipe. He sucked in a shaky breath. “Yeah, the smell of coffee just turned my stomach. Made my eyes water. That’s all.”
Linc grunted but didn’t respond. Wyatt was grateful. He was far too raw for anybody to be questioning him about anything. He sat at the bar and nibbled at his toast, ignoring the coffee. He preferred a little coffee with his cream and sugar, but he couldn’t seem to will himself to open his mouth and ask for it. God, he was a fucking mess.
Luckily, Linc seemed content to stand there and read his paper. Had he left and gotten the paper, or did they deliver it? Wyatt had never noticed one before. He didn’t know why it mattered—why any of it mattered. He just needed something innocuous to occupy his brain rather than the man six feet away.
He was going to ask—just to fill the silence—when a strange chirping sound came from Linc’s pocket. He pulled out his phone and frowned at the caller ID.
Linc flicked his eyes toward Wyatt. “I have to take this. Eat.”
He walked around the corner, but Wyatt could still hear every word. “Hey, sweetheart. Everything okay?”
Once more that strange pressure in Wyatt’s chest returned. Of course he had a girlfriend, maybe even a wife. Lots of military guys didn’t wear rings. He took another tentative bite of his toast, forcing himself to chew and swallow.
“I know. Tell them I’m working on it.” What exactly had “sweetheart” said? Working on what? “Okay, well, I’ll call them in a little while, try to buy us a little more time.” Another pause, and a huge sigh.
“Look, I know. What time is his doctor’s appointment?”Whose doctor’s appointment, Wyatt silently screamed. “Make sure you give yourself an hour to get him ready. He was feisty the other day. He wants to do everything himself, but he just can’t.”
Jesus, a wife and a kid? Wyatt pushed his plate away, pills and water and half a piece of toast churning in his stomach.
“Yeah, I know. Call me when you leave the office. I love you too.”
Wyatt picked up his coffee and gazed into it glumly. Linc frowned when he came back around the corner, staring pointedly at Wyatt’s still-full plate. “I said all of it.”
Wyatt set his coffee down and leaned back against the cool iron back of the bar stool, crossing his arms. “I can’t. I’ll puke.”
Linc stalked forward, pushing the plate toward him. “You can and you will. This is nonnegotiable.”
A tiny shiver raced along Wyatt’s spine, his nipples going hard at Linc’s stern tone. But he stuck out his chin. “I said I can’t.”
Linc leaned into his space until his breath puffed against his cheek. He smelled like coffee and sandalwood. “Listen, kid. I’ve got all day. If it takes the next six months to get you to eat two goddamn pieces of toast, well then that’s what it takes. Try me.”
Wyatt licked his lips, thinking there was nothing in the world he’d like more than to try Linc. He tried not to let his gaze fall to sleeves stretched over muscled biceps that led to perfect forearms dusted with dark hair.
Wyatt was so fucked. He pushed the thought away, sneering at the older man. “Fine. But if I puke all over the counter, you can explain it to Graciela.”
Linc raised one thick brow. “If you puke on the counter, you’re going to clean it up, brat. You’re twenty-two years old. Time to act like it.”
Something flared in Wyatt’s stomach. “I’m sorry, but who the fuck are you? You’re just a fucking bodyguard. You’re not my fucking life coach. That chick quit like six months ago. I’ll eat your stupid fucking toast, but you can stop acting like you give a fuck about me. We met yesterday.” The minute the words left his mouth, Wyatt wanted to suck them back in. He wanted to invent a time machine and go back thirty seconds and not sound like the pathetic loser he truly was deep down.
He stared at his plate for a solid minute before he dared to look up again. Linc examined him, forehead furrowed but eyes soft… almost like he felt sorry for him. That made Wyatt want to throw something, drink something, swan dive off the balcony. Anything to get away from Linc’s pitying glance.
He picked up the untouched second piece of toast, folded it up and stuffed the whole thing in his mouth, fighting his urge to gag as he chewed it defiantly.
Linc grinned and Wyatt’s heart stopped beating, all the blood in his entire body heading south. His gaze followed Linc as he walked around the counter. For a moment, Wyatt thought he was coming toward him, but then he walked past him through the living room to the hallway. He let out a shuddery breath, disappointment and relief flooding his overstimulated system in equal measure.
Sudden warmth bloomed against his back and the world tilted on its axis as Linc’s face suddenly appeared next to his, his lips close enough to press his words against Wyatt’s skin. “Good boy.”
Wyatt bit his bottom lip, fighting the urge to lean into the words, but Linc was already walking away again. “Fuck you,” Wyatt whispered to himself.
