“Hey,” I managed back, and it didn’t sound like my own voice.
Wyatt’s gaze went over me; he noticed everything, whether I wanted him to or not. The faint tremor in my fingers. The way I kept my weight on the balls of my feet like I might have to run. The way my shoulders stayed up around my ears as if lowering them would invite something bad.
I swallowed. “I slept.”
His mouth twitched, not quite a smile. “You passed out.”
I took a step forward, then stopped. My body hesitatedeven when my mind was trying to move. I hated that about myself, the way fear rewired my muscles. Like I’d lost my right to be impulsive. Like everything had to be measured now, filtered, checked for danger.
Wyatt didn’t fill the space. He didn’t reach. He just stayed where he was, giving me room to choose.
I took another step.
My bare feet hit the rug, and I felt the fibres under my toes, the small grounding detail that reminded me I was here. I was in the apartment. I wasn’t in that cabin. I wasn’t in the truck with Colin’s voice in my ear. I was here.
Wyatt’s gaze dipped to my feet, then rose again, and I saw the flicker of concern he didn’t let himself speak.
I swallowed hard and finally let the words that had been sitting like a stone inside me come up. “I’ve been thinking.”
Wyatt’s expression didn’t change, but his posture shifted, subtle and immediate. Like he’d braced for impact.
“Okay.”
I could’ve laughed at how careful he sounded, like he didn’t want to startle me. Like I was a horse with a raw spot under the saddle, and one wrong touch would make me bolt.
I hated that I liked it.
I hated that I needed it.
“I’m going back,” I said, and my heart hammered as if saying it out loud might summon consequences.
Wyatt blinked once.
Then he didn’t move.
“My father deserves more from his legacy than what I’ve done so far.” The thought still made my stomach twist in a way I couldn’t fully explain, because it was grief layered over grief, anger braided into longing. A lifetime of believing my parents left without care, only to find out one of them had been there the whole time, watching from a distance, building a life around me without ever telling me it was his right to.
“We’re going to talk about Ray being your father another time,” he said, quieter. “When do you want to go?”
“Today,” I said, and the decisiveness surprised even me.
Wyatt’s breath left him slowly. Relief, maybe, but he kept it leashed. “Alright.”
“I’m not going back to be saved,” I said, the words sharp because I needed to draw the line before my fear tried to convince me I owed him something I couldn’t give.
Wyatt’s gaze stayed steady. “I know.”
“No,” I said, too fast. “You don’t. You think you do, but you don’t. I need to say it.”
He went still. “Okay. Say it.” He arched his brow and crossed his arms. Damn it, he was hot when he did that.
I took a breath and felt it catch halfway down, like my lungs still didn’t trust air.
“I’m going back because it’s mine. Because I can’t live in a city and pretend that land isn’t calling me. Because I can’t leave him there alone, not now that I know. Not now that I know he didn’t leave me, not really. He just made a choice he thought would hurt less.” My voice cracked on the last word.
I hated that tears came so fast. I hated that my body betrayed me with softness when I was trying to be firm.
Wyatt didn’t speak. He didn’t interrupt. He let me fall apart in small, controlled pieces.
