Page 20 of Making the Save

“With a plan! A planned narrative where we have time to get our stories perfectly straight. Now we’ve got this huge lie that’s just out there for the entire world to debunk.”

He shrugged. “Who cares? It’s not like I lied to the cops or a judge. I don’t give a fuck what those fuckers think.”

Oh God. If only my life was that simple.

But it wasn’t. And he just made it worse.

“Please tell me you haven’t been seeing anyone recently,” I asked. That might be the worst case. If people thought I had broken up a relationship.

“We talked about this yesterday.”

“Yeah, well, the finer points of our conversation yesterday are a little blurry,” I snapped back. The menace had the nerve to smile at me.

“What in the world are you smiling about?”

“It’s nice to see you got your sass back.”

I growled in my throat and he smiled broader.

“There’s been no one,” he said. “Not for a long time. Not serious anyway. Even drunk off my ass, I wouldn’t marry someone if I had someone else in my life.”

It was frustrating when I couldn’t stay mad at him.

I hadn’t had a relationship for a year, since the John Bernard situation blew up in my face.

“Okay. I think we’re good on that front. Now we just need to…make up a whole relationship.”

“We’ve been dating. We decided to get hitched. Simple.”

“Wyatt, come on. There is nothing simple about this. As much as I hate to say it, we need Tyler.”

“Mean dude?”

“Mean dude,” I confirmed, pulling up my phone. “Hey, do you need to get home for some reason? Like do you have pets, or any obligations you need to worry about in the foreseeable future while we fix this?”

He didn’t take too long to think about it. “No. I’ve got a few weeks free. Why?”

“What do you think of LA?”

“I hate it.”

I beamed at him. “Excellent. Wyatt Locke, you are coming home with me.”

“Holy shit,”he breathed, as we took the slow curve on Highway 1 to Zuma Beach, and he got the full breathtaking view of the Pacific Ocean. The view from that curve never got old.

When my first album went platinum, I bought the sweetest little bungalow just off the Pacific Coast Highway, or as the locals called it PCH. Everyone gave me grief because it was so small, and when I bought it, it smelled like mildew and I had to replace the roof. For me it was heaven.

It was my peace. My solitude. The only place I’d ever really felt safe. Now more than ever. I could sit on the back deck for hours listening to the sound of the ocean rolling up against the beach. Write, sing, play my guitar for just me and the seagulls.

There were times I thought I should do more with my time near the water. Have someone teach me how to surf. Get one of those long paddle boards. But I just never seemed to do it. I was content to watch. Maybe that said something about me? I didn’t know and I didn’t care.

The driver hit the button to open the gate and he pulled into the garage. I led Wyatt into the house, watching his face even as I told myself what he thought of my perfect seaside cottage didn’t matter even a little bit.

He looked at all of it, my bright green kitchen with the blue backsplash. The vintage fainting couch. My funky art. The long comfy couch covered in throw blankets and pillows. My guitar collection. The plants that were thriving in the sunshine. He looked at all of it and…nada. Nothing. No expression. That mouth of his was just a flat line in his beard.

“Nice, isn’t it?” I finally asked, standing next to him in front of the sliding doors that opened out onto the deck, and beyond that, the beach.

He turned to me. “Breathtaking.”

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