The storm is over, but Blake doesn’t seem to notice. She’s lying on top of me, nestled close.
I was wrong. There is something otherworldly about this lighthouse.
Her.
Description
An image of a piece of lined paper with a handwritten poem titled "Lightkeeper". The text includes verses about the ocean, storm, and a lighthouse. There are handwritten edits: "Calling" replaces "Guiding", "Rain on the windows" is inserted, "they know" replaces "like it knows", "AND" is added, "waves" is added near "sea", and "whole" is crossed out. The paper has hole punches on the left side indicating it is from a notebook.
Description
An image of a piece of lined paper with the continuation of the handwritten poem from the previous page. The text discusses remembering kisses and the lighthouse. There is a side note "cut this? might be overkill" next to a stanza about leaving the lamp burning. There are scribbles at the bottom left.
Chapter 28
BLAKE
WYATT SAID SEX WOULD CHANGE everything. He was right. It has.
Because now it’s all we do.
Two, three, sometimes four times a day. It’s an obsession, a drug I can’t get out of my system, and I know he feels the same intoxicating pull. We spend most of the time in his bed or mine. Or on the dock. The boathouse. The boat. The kitchen counter. Pretty much anywhere the security cameras don’t cover. Which means all doors, entrances, and property boundaries are off-limits, but that’s fine. We don’t need to fuck on the front porch or against the back doors. Plenty of other surfaces to go around.
It’s been a full week since we rode out the storm in the lighthouse, and these days, it would take extraordinary measures to lure me out of bed. I don’t even think you could pay me. We’ve barely left the house since except for a couple of trips to the library and one lunch with the Spencers.
When they found out Wyatt and I have been hooking up,Little Spencer shrieked so loudly, everyone on the patio thought he was getting attacked. Of course, the Spencers insist that this “love connection” was Darlie’s doing.
“We told you,” Big Spencer said smugly. “Darlie loves love. She wants everyone to have the happy ending she was deprived of.”
“Well, there’s lots of happy endings happening over at our place. Two this morning alone,” Wyatt replied with a cheeky wink, at which point I punched him in the arm while the Spencers howled.
Tonight, we’re in Wyatt’s bed. I’m naked and sprawled on my stomach near the foot of the bed, because that’s where he was bending me over when he made me come so hard, I almost blacked out. He’s got his boxers on as he sits at the headboard, leaning against a mountain of pillows and strumming his guitar.
My eyes flutter closed as he sings, his husky voice echoing through the bedroom. This song… Wow. The lyrics are hauntingly beautiful.
It takes a second for me to register what the song is about, and when it hits me, my eyelids pop open. “You’re singing about the lighthouse.”
He nods, looking uncharacteristically bashful. It’s adorable. “Is that all right?”
A smile tugs on my lips. “Of course it’s all right. Nobody’s ever written a song about me.”
“Who says it’s about you?” he taunts good-naturedly. “Could be about the other ten girls I’ve fucked in lighthouses.”
“Oh really?”
I lazily shift onto my side, and those green eyes home in on the breast that’s now exposed. My nipple tightens under his thorough appraisal.
“No,” he finally says, his eyes softening. “You’re my only lighthouse girl.”
A ribbon of warmth unfurls inside my chest. When he looks at me like that…when his voice gets rough and smoky like that…I can almost convince myself that he’s falling in love with me.
But I know that’s just a foolish dream. Wyatt doesn’t do love, at least not the kind of love that I want. He craves the love he can sing about, the love that comes with pain and angst and heartache. I’d never say this to him, because I worry he’ll take offense, but part of me believes that’s the real source of his commitment issues. Why he can be so present during sex, so emotionally connected, only to run away afterward. Because I suspect he’s not running from something—he’s runningtoit. Hewantsto feel the tragic, soul-crushing emotions that come from a love denied.
I want the love that I can feel safe in. I might’ve joked about me being the one to break his heart, but we both know that isn’t true. If anyone’s heart is getting shattered, it’s going to be mine when he leaves me. When he finds a new muse. A new girl to sing about. A new girl to gaze at with those hooded eyes when he’s moving inside her.
My chest clenches painfully. I don’t want him to leave me. I want to stay with him in this room forever.
“Keep going,” I urge when I realize he’s no longer singing.
