“Yeah, I don’t think you want the answer to that,” Wyatt concurs, while his twin laughs into her arm.
Dad promptly goes back to glaring daggers at Wyatt’s father. “Are you hearing your son, Garrett? What if he gets her pregnant?”
“Oh, because he’s knocked up so many other girls? I don’t see a bunch of grandbabies running around,John.”
“You wouldn’t, because babies can’t run,” Dad says smugly.
“Let me introduce you to something called a figure of speech, jackass.”
And on and on it goes. They talk in circles. They scowl. They demand details.
Until finally, I do a very un-Blake-like thing. I hold up my hand and snap, “Would you both shut the fuck up?”
“Language,” my dad chides.
“I’ll mind my language when you mind yours.” Tamping down my frustration, I focus on my mom and Hannah, because they’re clearly the most reasonable people in this room. “Wyatt and I formed a connection while we’ve been here. We like spending time together. But I’m going back to college in the fall, and he’s going back to Nashville to record his album.” Now I turn toward the dads. “Nobody is pregnant. Nobody is dropping out of school. Nobody is breaking anyone’s heart. And even if any of that happened, we are adults and perfectly capable of handling it on our own. With that said, we love you all very much—”
“Well, not right now,” Wyatt drawls, then grins when I flash him a dirty look.
“And our families are going to be just fine,” I finish.
“I’m not fine at all,” Dad gripes. He shakes his head at Garrett. “I don’t like this.”
“Oh, because I’m jumping for joy?”
“I hate it more.”
“Would you prefer it was a Di Laurentis?” Garrett counters, at which point my father rises to his feet and stomps out of the room.
I spend the rest of the day in my room faking a headache. Which isn’t a total lie. My head is throbbing from all the nonsense it had to endure today.
After the fallout from the hookup bomb, it was decided that everyone was going to “digest” things. As if it’s anyone’s business but mine and Wyatt’s. But I should’ve anticipated this.
Fortunately, the girls know to back off when I tell them I don’t feel like talking about anything tonight. And the Golden Boys have disappeared for the night, thank God. I think they went drinking in town.
Deciding to go to bed early, I shower and change into my pajamas, returning to my room to find Mom sitting on the bed waiting for me.
“Got a minute for me?” she asks. “Or are we still hiding out?”
“We’re still hiding, but never from you.”
I close the door and get comfy on the bed. Mom comes up and lies beside me, both of us curled on our sides. Growing up, this was one of my favorite things to do with my mom. We used to cuddle in bed and talk for hours. I would ramble on about school and friends and whatever other random topic I had on the brain. Mom would tell me stories about her college days, meeting my dad, her time at the news network where she worked as a producer for almost twenty years.
“So. I don’t need details. In fact, please don’t give me details,” she begs, and I snort. “All I want to know is are you being safe, and are you happy?”
My heart expands from a rush of emotion. I love my mom so much. “Yes, we’re being safe, and yes, I am happy.”
She hesitates for a beat.
“Say it,” I urge.
“Look, you know I love Wyatt. Your father is just being dramaticright now, because that’s who he is. But I’m not worried about Wyatt’s intentions. I don’t think he’d ever set out to hurt anyone…” Mom pauses again.
“But you think he’ll hurt me,” I finish.
Her tone is careful now. “I think…he’ll leave.”
Pain shoots through me. “He’ll leave me, you mean?”
