Page 32 of Saving Wyatt

Somehow. Without any one of us dying.

God, I hate myself.

TWELVE

ARI

All anyone could talk about that morning after the fire, and for days after, was the Outpost going up in flames.

It had been the third or fourth similar incident in the past four months, and everyone was curious and rightfully concerned about their safety.

A few busybodies were also eager to make connections, especially as it pertained to Wyatt's murder charge and the fate of his bar. Like Mrs. Austen.

She was a regular patient, but she mainly took up my time trying to figure out what my business was so she could get all up in it.

"Maybe he's gotten involved with the mafia. That sounds right. Who else would do such a horrible thing?" she said, more a statement than an actual question.

"Maybe we should leave the speculations to the professionals, Mrs. Austen. Don't you think?" I stood up to signal the end of our meaningless appointment, and she followed suit.

"But if Wyatt Goodman is dangerous and dealing with dangerous people, shouldn't we know?"

I bit my tongue and opened the door for her. "I know I'm new on the island, but I very much doubt he's a bad guy. He's homeless for all intents and purposes. A little sympathy would be nice."

She stopped outside my van and her eyes creased. "You know something, don't you?"

"Good morning, Mrs. Austen," was all I answered and turned to the next person in line.

I was exhausted when I got home, least of all from trying to reroute all talk about Wyatt and the fire to medical topics. I was ready to get home and crash for the night, but as soon as I got in, I found Wyatt sitting on the sofa in the living room, a laptop in front of him and his mobile phone in his ear.

"You need to stop worrying..." he said to whoever he was talking to. "No, I don't need you to do anything..."

He glanced at me and waved before his brows furrowed and he all but growled.

"You will not go to the freaking mayor and threaten him, Elliot. That's a surefire way to get yourself killed. Do I need to assign you a babysitter?"

I waved back at him, even though he was far too busy with his call, and dropped my stuff on the armchair. I had half a mind to go pass out in my bed, but it felt wrong when I had a guest at home. Though with such an attractive guest, it was probably best if I avoided him.

But there was always that thing in the back of my mind, worrying. What if he needed something? What if he couldn’t find the coffee? What if he needed me? What if…

Maybe I was just making excuses to spend more time with my friend's older brother. It didn’t have to mean more than that.

Just because I could lend a shoulder to cry on didn't mean I wanted to get in the man's pants. I was a professional problem listener and solver, after all. It was in my blood.

So, convinced I had to be there for Wyatt as a friend, I grabbed my laptop and plonked myself down at the kitchen table to take care of some business while he finished his call.

"I know you're trying to help. It's sweet of you, but we're already deep in shit as it is. I don't need to worry about you more than I already do."

I logged into my emails, and as the page loaded, I looked at the back of his head.

There was so much frustration in his voice but also concern. Maybe to others it wasn't noticeable, but aggressive, fierce overprotection was in my Greek veins, and I would recognize it anywhere in the world.

"You should be worrying about school. Your future. Not an old fuck like me... I know you want to be useful. You can be useful by getting yourself another job. Maybe Hwan can help out. Or Duke might need a hand at his sanctuary...okay? Okay. I'll see what I can do. All right. Good night. I'll see you tomorrow."

He hung up, and as he turned around to look at me, I forgot I was staring, and he caught me red-handed.

"Was I loud? Sorry," he said.

I shook my head a little too fast and dismissed his apology. "No, not at all. Don't worry about it. Are you okay?"