Page 21 of Interference

“Okay.” I opened up the text app and handed him my phone. “Put in your number. I’ll send you a text, and then we’ll be able to reach each other.” As he took it and started typing, I added, “If you need anything, hit me up. I don’t have my phone on me while I’m on the ice or in the locker room, but I’ll check it as often as I can.”

“Sure. Thanks.” Wyatt gave it back. “I, um… I really appreciate all of this.”

“I know.” I flashed him a quick smile, then looked down at my phone and sent him a text. “There. We’re good to go.” I pocketed it again. “Help yourself to anything in here.” I motioned around the kitchen. “TV remote is pretty straightforward, and—”

My phone beeped.

I closed my eyes and exhaled. That was undoubtedly a hurry-the-fuck-up text. “Anyway. Like I said—you need anything, let me know. If you take her out, make sure you go through the garage or one of the sliders; all the other doors lock automatically when they close. And no matter what the cats tell you, they are strictly indoors unless I take them out on a leash.”

Wyatt nodded. “Duly noted. Thanks.”

I left him to it and hurried out to the garage. After I’d slipped on my sneakers, I slid into the passenger seat of Simon’s BMW X5.

The heavy silence was nothing new, but it rang in my ears after the easy conversation with Wyatt. And while it was nothing new, it was anything but comfortable.

Neither of us spoke until we were on 520, crawling toward the bridge along with thousands of other Seattle-bound commuters. It would probably take us a good twenty minutes or more to get across the bridge, and from there another fifteen at least to the arena. That meant we had about ten or fifteen minutes to hash out whatever needed to be hashed out, and then the rest of the drive to silently decompress before we had to pretend to be a happy couple.

I thumbed the edge of my seat belt. “For what it’s worth, I wasn’t trying to keep anything from you or blow you off last night. It was a last-minute thing, and I didn’t know when we’d be at the house, so I didn’t want to leave you hanging.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry.”

That much was true. Yeah, it seemed like a contradiction, and it kind of was. I’d unconsciously withheld the information about Wyatt even though I knew it was exactly the kind of thing that would set off Simon. I couldn’t even pretend that hadn’t been deliberate on some level. Sometimes instigating arguments with him was the only way I could get him talking.

That didn’t mean I felt good bad about it.

Beside me, Simon white-knuckled the steering wheel as he glared at the long line of unmoving cars in front of us. “You could have at least mentioned you had a guy staying over.”

It was so tempting to bring up that he’d had friends crash at his place before we’d moved in together. And that I was pretty sure he’d had a friend stay at the place he was renting now. I hadn’t made a big deal out of those because I trusted him, but he’d always had issues with me having anyone over when he wasn’t around, even when we’d lived apart the first time. I’d had some female friends back in Boston, and after a couple of them stayed the night once when they’d been too drunk to drive home, he’d lost his mind.

“Just because I’m bi doesn’t mean I’m going to screw anyone who stays in the same building as me,” I’d told him back then. “If you don’t trust me, say so now, because I’m not going to walk on eggshells for you.”

He’d backed off at the time, but now here we were. And here I was… walking on goddamned eggshells, just like I’d always sworn I wouldn’t.

It was fucking exhausting, but much like I was stuck in this car, partway across a bridge, surrounded by cars with no escape unless I scaled the jersey barrier and ran down the bike lane, I was stuck with him. There was too much riding on this relationship to risk it by pushing too hard.

I sank back against the passenger seat and gazed out at the water. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I should’ve told you about him. I just didn’t think about it because I was focused on getting him here and settled.”

“Why is he even your problem?” Simon tapped his thumbs on the wheel like he often did when he was annoyed. “And you still haven’t told me what mutual friend you have with him.”

Heat bloomed in my cheeks. I didn’t like lying to him. I really didn’t. But we were less than an hour away from having to be the perfect happy couple, and I needed to keep the peace by any means necessary.

“Dr. Green knows him.” Kind of vaguely true? “He’s between jobs and dealing with the VA. He just needs a place to stay while that’s resolved.”

“Uh-huh. Sounds like exactly the kind of person you should leave unsupervised in the house with expensive shit.”

I bristled. “We have security cameras, and everything is insured.”

He grunted.

“Your stuff is all at your place,” I reminded him.

“Good thing,” he muttered.

Funny how he didn’t seem concerned about the cats anymore, but that was nothing new. He liked them well enough, and he wasn’t unkind to them—I never would’ve lived with someone who was mean to animals—but they weren’t a priority for him like they were for me. I took them to all of their appointments. I handled the litter boxes. I kept both boys brushed, which was a chore with Maine Coons. Simon didn’t mind taking them on walks with us, and he’d certainly feed and water them if they needed it or deal with the litter boxes if I wasn’t there. He just didn’t have the same bond with them that I did, and he was, unsurprisingly, more worried about Wyatt stealing something expensive than putting our cats at risk. If I had to guess, the only reason he’d brought them up in the first place was to pressure me into kicking Wyatt out, not because he was actually worried about their safety. They were, and probably always would be, and afterthought for him.

At least that had made the decision easy about where Moose and Bear would live when Simon moved out.

“Well,” Simon grumbled finally. “Let’s just hope the house is the way you left it when you get home.”

“Yeah. Let’s hope.” I studied him. “So, are we good? About Wyatt and—”

---