“Not in the slightest. I have no desire to get back with him. Once a cheater, always a cheater, right?”
Wyatt shrugs. “Life isn’t that black and white.”
“Cheating is,” I say simply. “For me at least. It’s not about whether he cheats on me again. Even if he didn’t stray again for therest of our lives, I’d never forget that he cheated before. I’d never trust him.”
“Fair enough.”
“Also, I sort of had an epiphany earlier at the party,” I confess. “An absinthe-induced breakthrough.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
I go quiet for a moment, and Wyatt patiently waits for me to continue. I appreciate that about him. He never rushes me through my own thoughts.
“I was thinking about Isaac and our relationship and why I was even with him. He came on so strong at first, and…” I sigh. “And yeah, fine, it was love bombing. It was all a big show. I see that now. But I didn’t at the time. I thought it not only meant he was madly in love with me but that he had depth. He seemed so in touch with his emotions. A lot of men can’t access those intense feelings, you know?”
Wyatt nods.
“I was wrong, though. The thing about Isaac is that he likes everything big and shiny and perfect. He’s all about the surface, the aesthetics. His whole identity is wrapped around grand gestures and flashy things. I mistook it for passion maybe. But it was distraction, a way for him to avoid growth. He wants the sparkly, shallow version of life, not the messy parts.”
“You could never be shallow, Blake.You’redepth. And that terrifies people like him.”
His conviction leaves me a little breathless. I swallow, letting Wyatt’s words sink in.
“It’s frustrating,” I admit, “because for the first time in my life, I really did want something deeper. I was ready for someone to actuallyseeme, when before I used to go out of my way to avoid that.”
“Why’s that?” Wyatt asks roughly. He reaches toward the table and puts out his cigarette, but his focus remains on me.
“Because…” I exhale, trying to vocalize my thoughts. “You know what it was like to grow up with our dads. You had a famous mom too, so you probably know even better than I do. All the cameras, the attention. Especially in a hockey town like Boston. Everyone recognized my dad everywhere we went.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“I hated it. Not because I wanted to be anonymous but because I never got to beme.” The confession pours out before I can stop it. “I couldn’t be, because if I showed any cracks, it would be photographed, or worse, turned into gossip. I know other celebrity kids—real celebrities—have it so much worse when it comes to living under a spotlight. But I didn’t like even a hint of that light on me.”
I tighten the blanket when a cool breeze wafts off the water.
Noticing me shivering, Wyatt says, “Come sit with me. You look cold.”
I hesitate. His demeanor isn’t flirty or sexual, and we’re in the middle of a serious conversation, yet it feels too intimate to share a lounger with him.
But then he scoots over to make room for me and extends a hand, and I move toward him as if hypnotized. Awkwardly, I stretch out beside him, still cocooned in my blanket. He wraps one arm around me, the warmth of his body instantly surrounding me.
“I got really used to hiding,” I tell him. “Putting on a blank face or making a sarcastic remark. I’m not like Alex, who craves the attention. Ilikednot being seen. But it’s not because I didn’t want people close. It’s because I was afraid of being seen wrong. Until I started college and I started opening up more, and I realized I was craving that closeness.”
I feel his chest rise on a slow, pensive inhale. “And the spotlight?”
“God, no. I still want nothing to do with that. I’m okay staying in the background, being the plus-one. But Iwasready to find that deeper connection with someone.” I give a weak laugh. “And then I went and picked the most surface-level guy on the planet. I mean, he’s fighting for a toaster with more passion than he ever fought for me or our relationship. That tells me everything I need to know about how deep we got.”
Wyatt’s grip tightens around me. I lean against his shoulder, breathing in his spicy, smoky scent. God, I’m becoming addicted to it.
“I’m the opposite,” he says. “I used to think if the connection was there, that was it. Instant click, soulmates, ride off into the sunset, cue the strings.” He chuckles to himself. “But real life’s not like that. The instant clicks always burned out just as fast. I got tired of confusing chemistry with something deeper.”
We fall silent for a moment.
“Can I tell you something kind of vulnerable and not have you write a song about it?” I ask him.
Wyatt holds up his hand to make a fake signal with his fingers. “Songwriter’s honor.”
