He rushes from the room, and I climb off the bed and follow.
"Wyatt," I whisper-hiss, glancing down the hall at Travis's closed door as I go. "Tell me what's going on. I'm scared."
He looks up at me as he pushes his feet into his boots. "Mickey showed up unexpectedly, and he's drunk. He hurts Sara when he's been drinking, and he said he heard around town that she's been stepping out on him while he's away." He lets out a short breath and shakes his head. "This is my fault. I should've found a better way of helping them."
"You can't go there, Wyatt. What if Mickey gets violent with you?"
"That's why I go. So that he'll have someone else to fight."
It hits me that this isn't new to Wyatt. Sara calls him for help. And it explains all the times I've seen Wyatt with bruises and assumed he was getting in drunken bar fights.
"You need to call the police, Wyatt."
Wyatt shakes his head. "Absolutely not. Mickey won't ever come back from it if the police are called."
He rushes from the house and jumps in his truck. Leaning out, he yells. "Don't call the police, Jo."
I nod.
"Promise me," he says.
"I promise." Even as I say it, I know I won't keep it.
He hits the gas, and just like that, he's gone.
Wyatt thinks he will burst into the situation and calm it, like some kind of human salve. If Mickey heard Sara is cheating on him, it's likely he also heard the rest of the rumor. And Wyatt is walking right into it, using that signature confidence that might get him in a lot of trouble. It's a risk I'm not willing to take.
I run to the bedroom, grab my phone and dial.
"Do you know what time it is?" Shelby asks, voice thick with sleep.
"Schultz’s house," I pant, pulling on a sweatshirt. "The police need to get there. I don't know the address, but I know you do. Go there. Send someone there. Now, Shelby. Now."
"What's the problem, Jo? I need more to go on." All sleepiness is gone from her tone.
I wipe tears I don't remember crying. "Domestic dispute. Wyatt's on his way. Sara called and he told her to hide in the bathroom with the kids."
Shelby hangs up on me. If it weren't for Travis, I'd be headed there now.
I know I promised him, but I couldn't sit back and blindly follow his instructions. I'm capable of thinking for myself, and I made the choice I thought was best. I hope he sees that.
I climb onto the bed, press my back to the headboard, and wait.
29
Wyatt
I was too late.
By the time I got there, Mickey was on his knees in the front yard. Handcuffed. He met my eyes as they led him to the squad car. His gaze hardened, his jaw flexed. I reminded myself that he thinks I'm sleeping with his wife. He wouldn't look at me so hatefully if he knew the truth.
Sara sobs in the front yard as she talks to an officer. She holds the baby, while Shelby distracts the three-year-old.
"Wyatt," Sara cries when she sees me. Shelby and I share a look in the light from the front porch.
Sara drifts away from the police officer, coming toward me.
"What happened?" I ask, taking the baby from her. With her arms empty, she shudders and grips her arms in front of herself.
