I go completely still.
I hate that my first instinct is this warm flare of feeling in my chest. Hope? Pride? Possessive joy?
My second instinct is guilt for having that feeling when Wyatt is standing there looking wrecked.
“She said that?”
“Yes.” Wyatt’s eyes flick to mine. “And I’m not mad at her.”
He pauses.
“I’m mad at you.”
That’s the moment it turns from “oh no” to “oh shit.”
“Hold up,” I say, hands up. “You cannot be mad at me for something I didn’t know.”
Wyatt’s jaw tightens. “You knew something was happening.”
“Yes,” I admit. “Between me and her.”
“Exactly.”
“But I didn’t knowyouliked her,” I shoot back. “You never said anything.”
Wyatt’s expression flickers. Annoyed. Hurt. Frustrated.
“I didn’t realize I needed to announce it,” he says. “I didn’t think we were… competing.”
“We’re not,” I snap, then immediately soften because my kids are right there and also because I don’t actually want to fight with Wyatt. “We shouldn’t be.”
Wyatt drags a hand down his face. “I wouldn’t have asked her if I’d known.”
“And I wouldn’t have let things get… as tangled,” I say quietly, “if I’d known you were…”
Wyatt looks away first.
And that twists my chest in an ugly way. Because I can joke my way through a lot, but I can’t joke my way through hurting someone I care about.
In the living room, Eliza stands up again, ready to mediate.
“Are you fighting?” she asks.
“No,” I say immediately.
Wyatt sighs. “We’re not fighting. We’re… having a disagreement.”
She narrows her eyes. “Like when you and Uncle Marshall disagree about hammers?”
“Yeah,” I admit.
Caleb nods solemnly. “You can disagree as long as you still love each other.”
My throat tightens.
Wyatt’s face softens. He gives Caleb a small nod. “That’s true.”
Eliza points her unicorn wand or sword at us. “No yelling. Yelling makes Caleb cry.”
