Watching him, I catch something close to relief in Wyatt’s eyes, and despite myself, I realize I might’ve indirectly chosen a side already.
Chapter 17 - Wyatt
This isn’t the time or place to relax, so I don’t.
Not while I’m ushered through Lukov territory with half a dozen eyes on me, tracking my every move down the hall. Despite the heavy, oppressive presence of her family around me, Elena walks at my side, calm on the outside but surely coiled tight beneath it.
Even if Roman’s agreement feels like a loaded gun itself, Elena vouched for me.
That fact alone matters more than I want to admit.
The fragile truth is nothing to cling to, but it’s enough of a crack in the wall I’ve been slamming myself against for far too long. It’s something.
I force the same kind of neutral expression as the rest of them, regardless of how loud my pulse is in my ears.
Eventually, they leave me in a sitting room, and Elena gives me a reassuring nod that does more for me than it should. I’m told to wait as one of her colder brothers waits behind—Nikolai, if I heard Roman’s murmured command right. He stands in the archway, gun holstered, but very much on him, looking ever the enforcer.
Luckily, I don’t plan on doing anything to make him draw it again. So instead, I sit and wait.
I don’t know how much time passes, and I don’t care to keep track while my mind races at the thought of what’s to come. The prospect of seeing her again.
It’s been so long, and despite this being the very thing I’ve been working towards, a strange kind of anxiety stitches itself along the edges of my composure.
Lily thinks I’m dead, and she has for quite some time, as anticipated. I don’t know how she’ll react or what she’ll have to say to me.
Of course, my mind goes straight to the worst-case scenario, but I try to shove it down again. I don’t want to ruin this.
Eventually, quick, almost worried-sounding footsteps come from down the hall, then pause, and words are exchanged in hushed tones. I register Mikhail’s voice…then hers.
My heart immediately clenches, and a beat later, it nearly stops.
Lily appears at the threshold of the room, eyes wide as she searches the space, only to pause the moment she sees me.
For a long, drawn-out moment, neither of us says or does anything. I can only stare as the world seems to stop, feeling a rush of both relief and guilt all at once. It slams into me, and just breathing takes more thought than usual.
Lily looks older. Not in a bad way, of course, but fuller and more solid, like she finally grew into herself. She isn’t the teenager I used to know. Her hair is longer and almost darker now, pulled back loosely, with a few strands against her cheeks. Gold-rimmed glasses rest on her nose, framing those brown eyes that look a lot like mine, even now.
She opens her mouth to say something, only to close it again as that shock flashes across her face before it fractures into disbelief, then anger, followed by an endless barrage of emotions she can’t even begin to hide.
“Wyatt?” She asks, just above a whisper.
I want to say something…anything. But I can only manage a nod as my throat feels far too tight for words.
Lily stares at me like she’s seen a ghost, which isn’t far from the truth. She still doesn’t move, even as Nikolai shifts somewhat uncomfortably behind us. All the while, it’s like I can see her then and now, past and present interchangeably.
Finally, she murmurs with a shaky tone, “You were dead. I watched them bury you.”
“I know,” I manage, hoarse and far too raw. “I’m sorry…”
Without warning, she crosses the room in a few quick strides. I half expect her to hug me, but her fists hit my chest first, not painfully, but deliberately enough, like she’s both making sure this is real and releasing everything she has kept locked up inside.
“Do you have any idea what you did to me?” She demands as tears flood her eyes before they spill over and run down her cheeks. “…What I had to go through?”
Letting her get it out, I don’t move. I know I deserve worse.
“I thought you were gone for good. No more chances,” Lily says through her tumultuous sobbing and hitting. “I mourned you, Wyatt. I rebuilt my life around the idea that you were never coming back.”
“I know,” I repeat uselessly, eyes forlorn as I look down at her. That guilt only amplifies in my chest. “I never wanted you to be alone.”
