Page 110 of Fear of Falling

“Want to?—”

“I don’t want to talk about it, Josie,” Wyatt snapped, finally looking directly at me. His injuries looked much worse up close. There were nasty cuts on his lip and on his eyebrow and his right eye was almost swollen shut. “You should go.”

“Give me your keys.”

“What?”

“Give me your keys,” I repeated firmly, holding out my hand. I’d caught a ride with the girls to the game and there was no way I was letting Wyatt drive looking the way he did. He just stood there staring at me, his jaw clenching and unclenching.

“Don’t make me say it again, Wyatt.” I knew he was angry over what happened on the ice, and he didn’t mean to snap at me the way he did, so I tried not to take his tone to heart.

I also knew I wasn’t leaving.

As though sensing my resolution, Wyatt shook his head, grabbed his bag off the ground and came towards me. His keys dropped in my hand as he brushed past—could practically feel the anger coming off him in waves.

Without another word he led us out of the locker room towards the back door to the players parking lot. I stayed silent, letting him have his moment.

Thankfully, no one was around as the two of us silently made our way to his car. I knew at any moment reporters and fans would appear, eager to know what initiated the fight between Wyatt and number 46.

While he threw his stuff in the backseat, I got in the driver's side.

Biting my tongue, I put the car in reverse and quickly sped out of the parking lot. The silence between us made my skin itch with the need to fill it, but a quick glance at Wyatt glowering out the window kept me from speaking.

Coach would be beyond pissed after what transpired during the game, and I hoped Wyatt wouldn’t be in too much trouble.

You’re dreaming. Coach will rip him a new one.

The ride back home was painfully slow as the tension in the car built. As soon as I parked the car I half-expected Wyatt to jump out of the car. Instead, he waited for me to get out first.

During the ride up to Wyatt’s apartment in the elevator, my frustration grew. I understood that he didn’t want to talk about it, yet, at the same time, as his girlfriend I felt that he should be able to talk to me.

At least say something. Anything.

I wanted to be the person he told things to, leaned on. Isn’t that what being in a relationship is about?

As we entered his apartment,Wyatt threw his stuff down near the door, prompting me to break my silence.

“Let's get you cleaned up.”

“I’m fine,” he said curtly.

“No, you aren’t. Let's get you…”

“I said I was fine, Josie!” Wyatt yelled before he turned on his heel and started walking away. My entire body tensed as memories of my ex flashed through my mind. For a moment, I felt myself instinctively curl up, the sense of worthlessness rearing.

No. I’m not that girl anymore. I will not let a man, even Wyatt, speak to me like that.

“Wyatt Arthur Boone!” My voice was low and lethal, and for a moment I doubted myself. But then he stopped and slowly turned around.

“I will not tolerate being talked to like that. Do you hear me? I let it slide the first time but that was your one free pass. I know you’re angry, but I don’t deserve to be spoken to like that.”

When he said nothing, I raised my chin and spoke again.

“I said. Do. You. Hear. Me?”

The dark cloud in his expression passed and his shoulders dropped as he nodded. Realizing just how far he crossed a line. Wyatt opened his mouth to speak, but I held my hand up to stop him.

“We are getting you cleaned up,” I stated, leaving no room for argument. I brushed past him and made my way upstairs to his bedroom where I’d spotted a first aid kit in his ensuite. I could hear his footsteps on the stairs behind me.

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