There was something in his tone—quiet pride, maybe—that made my chest ache in an unexpected way.
“I didn’t even want to do it,” I admitted. “I was terrified.”
“But you did it, anyway.”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
He held my gaze for a beat longer than necessary, then took a sip of his drink.
“You always were something,” he said.
Beth smirked. “Okay, Wyatt, but now I want to know what you do. Because you’ve got mysterious energy.”
Wyatt chuckled. “That’s one way to put it.”
He glanced at me, checking something silently.
I shrugged. “Up to you.”
“I work … internationally,” he said carefully. “Engineering. Security. That kind of thing.”
“That is vague,” Beth said appreciatively.
Natasha tilted her head. “And you just … don’t do social media.”
“Nope. Posting your life online isn’t wise.”
“That explains a lot,” I murmured.
He looked at me then, expression softening. “I should’ve told you. Back then.”
I nodded. “I know.”
And I meant it. Whatever had happened, whatever he’d chosen, it was his life. We had been kids standing on the edge of adulthood, pretending we knew what we were doing.
Still, it felt good to hear him say it.
Conversation flowed easily after that. Stories traded. Laughter rising and falling. Wyatt told them about Valentine—how small it really was, how everyone knew everyone, how summers felt endless and winters felt personal.
He talked about my laugh like it was a known fact. About how I used to read on the hood of my dad’s truck. About how I hated scary movies but pretended not to.
I listened, a little stunned, realizing the version of me he carried hadn’t faded or been overwritten. He’d kept it. All this time.
When the night finally began to wind down, Beth stretched and yawned dramatically. “As much as I love watching the past collide with the present, I am exhausted.”
Natasha smiled. “Same.”
Wyatt stood as well, slipping on his jacket. “I don’t want to keep you.”
Outside, the city had shifted again—quieter now, softer. The air still warm, the streets glowing.
We paused on the sidewalk, an unspoken question hanging between us.
“I’m staying nearby,” I said. “If … you wanted to talk more. Just us.”
8
WYATT
