Page 95 of Saving Wyatt

It had been plain torture, being so close yet so far away, not knowing if he was dead or alive. Not knowing if he needed me.

Looking back at him now as he nodded, all bloodied and beaten up, I felt my entire body seize up, but I couldn’t break down. Not now. Not in front of him. Not when he needed me.

“Eyes, van, sunset,” I said the first three random words that came to mind and narrowed my eyes, waiting for him to say them back.

He blinked, staring back at me.

“What’s wrong?” I asked.

He blinked again.

“Do you remember the words I just said?”

His head tilted down slowly, and I sucked in a big breath.

“List them for me.”

Dread grew in the pit of my stomach like poison, and it threatened to knock me off my feet.

He opened his mouth and with a croaky stutter, he said, “Eyes. Erm…van. Sunset.”

I breathed a sigh of relief. “Good. That’s great.” He was still not out of the woods, but it was a start. “How did it go in there?” I continued.

“A…a mess,” he replied.

“What the hell happened, Wyatt? Why was Mitchell there?” Slade asked from the passenger seat, and Wyatt turned to look at him.

I took the opportunity to assess the rest of his injuries and made sure there was nothing else that needed urgent care, but one thing was for certain. He was going to bruise like a motherfucker.

“He’s in Wilson’s pocket. That’s why,” Wyatt said.

Slade sighed.

“Fucker!” Asher cursed under his breath from behind the steering wheel.

I ignored them all and focused on Wyatt, on his beautiful blue eyes, bloodshot like the rest of his face.

His pupils didn’t look dilated and he didn’t seem to drift, only to glance at me as if he was checking I was still there, watching over him.

“You think we got him?” Slade asked, and I watched as Wyatt looked down at his shirt and fiddled with the button in the patch pocket.

“You tell me,” he replied.

It looked just like any button. Black, like all the others on that shirt, but it was more than a button. It was our saving grace.

Wyatt tried to move his hand down to his jeans, but he let out a groan so loud even Ash faltered from the road for a second.

“Here. Let me help,” I said and looked him in the eyes.

His gaze lingered for a second. His lips parted as if he wanted to say something but couldn’t. Not here. Not yet.

But he didn’t need to say anything. He wrapped his hand around my fingers, and it was enough to know it was his way of telling me he was glad I was here.

“What do you need?” I asked, and my voice caught in my throat.

This was probably too intimate to be in public, even if said public was the company of his two teammates. I knew I should probably let go of him, but I couldn’t find the strength to do so.

“Back pocket,” he said and lifted his butt so I could reach out and retrieve the items there. A wallet and a packet of Wrigley’s.