Page 74 of Saving Wyatt

Then again, I didn’t know why I’d ever thought that. It wasn’t as if Warren had ever shown a homophobic bone in his body. Not that it mattered. I couldn’t tell a soul no matter how accepting. Not even Autumn who, if anything, encouraged all my men to follow their queer little hearts to their happily ever after.

“Oh, we’ve done more than defile it,” Ari said, bringing my attention back to him. “It’s okay. He can burn it later. For now, what do you say we defile it again?”

I smiled and kissed him again. “Sounds good to me,” I grumbled and let Ari claim my mouth, my ass, my cock, every inch of my body all over again.

It was easy to forget the world when I was in his arms, fucked into oblivion, gazing into his eyes. It was easy to let go of the rest of the world, and I’d never felt that before. Not even with Dare. There had always been something holding me back. I didn’t know what that was. I didn’t know why I didn’t feel it now, but the more time I spent in Ari’s embrace, the more certain I was of one thing.

I was falling in love with him.

I was falling in love with him fast and hard, and that was the scariest realization I ever could have made.

TWENTY-FIVE

ARI

Beep. Beep.

I spent my entire Sunday with Wyatt, in bed, or in the shower, or at the dining table—eating, of course—or just simply lying on the couch watching TV. Nothing interesting or captivating. Just something in the background that we could comment on while we talked about anything and everything that we could think of.

And when it was time for bed again, we spent the night together, being with each other as if for the first time. I couldn’t have my fill of this man. I didn’t know if I ever could.

So it was no wonder that I could hardly open my eyes the next morning. That I could hardly pull myself away from his arms long enough to check my phone.

Evan

Good morning, baby. I just wanted you to know I'm thinking of you and that I love you. x

I sighed with my phone on my lap, staring at the message. The same message I’d been getting for close to four years now.

Why am I doing this to myself?

Why had I been doing this to myself? Four years of being haunted by the past. Four years of being reminded of what I’d lost every damn morning. Four years of stagnation.

This wasn’t a tribute to my dead husband. This was my denial digitized. My own refusal to accept the past, what had happened, over a healthy journey of grief.

“This is ridiculous,” I said and scrolled through my emails, trying to remember the website I’d used to set up this repetitive message.

You would have told me off a long time ago. This isn’t you.

Perhaps if I’d told anyone about the messages they would have made me realize sooner, but I guess it had to be Wyatt that showed me that what I was doing to myself wasn’t healthy. And he hadn’t even needed to open his mouth for me to come to this conclusion.

It was at the moment I found the email buried in my endless inbox when Wyatt’s hand slid over my stomach and he nuzzled next to me, breathing heavy over me as if inhaling my scent, and I felt my heart start to race.

“Morning,” he said into a kiss planted on my neck.

Goosebumps flowed from the spot to the small of my back and down my arms as heat pooled in my groin.

“What are you doing?” he asked, moving his kisses to the top of my arm, then to my chest.

“Disabling the message,” I said, my voice husky and a little weak, an effect of his kisses on me.

“What message? The message?” He looked up at me.

I nodded.

“You don’t have to do that for me,” he said, and I couldn’t help but smile.

“I’m not. I’m doing it for me. It’s time to let go.”