"I like him," Travis says, pulling the fitted sheet over the corner of the mattress, while I do the other side.
"You don't say," I tease.
"He seems like a real man. Henri is nice, but he's"—Travis lifts a limp hand in the air and swings it around—"kinda girly."
I laugh. "I don't think you're allowed to describe things as girly anymore, but I get your point. And I don't disagree." Wyatt is a hundred times more manly than Henri could ever hope to be.
Wyatt returns, and we eat dinner. I joke about how much food he's brought, but it's like he has seen the future and he knows Travis will eat enough for two adult men.
"My mom used to complain about how much we ate, especially when she had three teenage boys in the house at the same time."
I stab a piece of chicken before Travis can. I've already learned to be quick and stake my claim on food, or I'll go hungry. "I can't imagine how much food she made to keep you three fed."
"She tripled recipes. I helped her in the kitchen sometimes. It wasn't my favorite thing to do, but she liked it. And Wes and Warner definitely weren't up for it. Warner didn't cook at all until Anna left and he was forced to learn so he could feed his kids. I'm not sure when Wes learned. The military, maybe."
Travis hangs on Wyatt's every word. "I wish I had siblings."
I clear my throat in an obvious way. Travis rolls his eyes. "You know what I mean. Someone near me in age. Someone I can fight with and grow up with."
I know exactly how he feels. I used to feel that way too.
When dinner is finished we sit on the new couch in the living room and play Heads Up! on Wyatt's phone. Wyatt and I are awful, but Travis gets almost every clue.
I stay up after Travis goes to bed and Wyatt helps me tidy the kitchen. I look around at the living areas, thinking of what needs to go where. There's so much to do, so many purchases to make so this house feels more like a home, but I'm getting there.
"Are you ready for bed in your new home?” Wyatt's lips graze the skin just below my ear. I melt into him, my toes curling in anticipation.
We lock up, and he follows me to the bedroom, with a new bed and fresh sheets. Everything feels like a fresh start, and my heart soars.
We're quiet and slow, savoring. I love how Wyatt can be tough and rugged, but sensitive and sweet. The kind of man who can be a good example for a young, impressionable teenager.
Who'd have ever thought I'd say that about Wyatt Hayden?
I fall asleep with a smile on my lips and Wyatt's arms wrapped around me.
I have Wyatt, and I have Travis. I've never been so happy.
The insistent trillof the phone wakes me. I reach my hand to the nightstand, where I flip my phone over and see it's not my phone ringing. I blink against the brightness of the screen. The clock reads 1:24.
"Wyatt," I mutter as the ringing continues. "Someone's calling you."
We'd left the bathroom light on and the door ajar, just because it was impossible to see anything when we were going to sleep. In the soft light, I watch Wyatt blink awake, confused, and then throw off the covers and look around. Naked, he hurries to the jeans on the floor and pulls the phone from his front pocket.
"What's wrong?" he asks, not bothering with a greeting.
I scramble onto my knees and watch him, trying to pick up any hint about who in his family is calling.
Could it be about Beau? Another heart attack? My stomach turns to lead.Gramps.
Wyatt cradles the phone between his shoulder and his head and shoves his legs into his jeans. "I'm on my way. Lock yourself and the kids in the bathroom." He hangs up.
What the fuck?
"What's going on?" I ask as I watch him dart around, shoving his wallet and keys into his pockets and pulling a shirt over his head.
"Where're my shoes?" he asks, looking around in the dim light.
"By the front door, but—"
