Page 27 of Fear of Falling

“Josie I?—”

“I don’t really want to talk about it,” I mumbled, unable to look at him. There were certain things about the relationship I never spoke of or told anyone. I kept the darkest parts to myself and shoved them so far into a box, never wanting to think about them again.

“Okay,” Wyatt said, his voice soft. I felt the tips of his fingers brush against my leg. Just the feel of his touch calmed me, and my breathing evened out. I pulled my hands back onto my lap, and as he went to pull his hand away from my leg, I found myself grabbing it, lacing my fingers through his. It surprised me as much as him, and yet, just that simple touch silenced the bad memories struggling to come out.

It baffled me that I was so comfortable with Wyatt. After my abusive ex it took me a long time to want to be touched by another man. Even now I still unconsciously flinch if someone raises a hand in the air. A few years ago, you wouldn’t have caught me in a car with a random guy, yet here I am.

I wanted to question it. A part of me wanted to find something that would prove that Wyatt was not the nice guy he’s portraying. At the same time, but for once Ididn’twant to. Today has been a good day, and I told myself to enjoy the moment. If I start picking and prodding it would ruin the first good day I’d had in a very long time.

We were silent the rest of the drive to the arena. Music played softly through the speakers but the only thing I could focus on was my hand in Wyatt’s. Not once did he make any attempt to let go as he drove one-handed.

When we pulled up next to my car I didn’t want to get out. Didn’t want to let go of his hand, to relinquish the touch that had shoved those dark memories back into their box.

Reluctantly, I let go of his hand and got out of the car, meeting him at the driver's side of my own. I stood there awkwardly shifting from one foot to the other, wanting to say something but any words stuck in my throat.

“Would it be okay if I gave you my number?” Wyatt suddenly asked. Butterflies erupted in my stomach. I tried my best to keep the surprise and excitement off my face as I nodded. I quickly reached into my bag and pulled out my phone, almost like he was going to rescind the offer.

“Here.” I handed my phone over, biting my lip as I watched his long fingers type his number in. As I realized he seemed to type more than just his number, I leaned forward to take a look as he closed the screen.

“Here you go.”

Fighting against the urge to check what he’d done; I tossed the phone back into my bag and slid into the front seat. Just as I was about to shut the door, his hand stopped it, pulling it back open. He bent down to look at me.

“I’ll follow you back to our apartment building.” He said it almost like a question. Like he wasn’t sure it would be okay with me. I couldn’t get my voice to work so I just nodded.

True to his word, Wyatt stayed behind me the whole drive home. He even parked his car beside mine and patiently waited for me to grab my things. I’d barely stepped to his side when he put his hand on my lower back and guided me towards the building. Through my clothes the skin his hand touched burned.

The silence between us was comfortable, albeit a little awkward, as we entered the building. The both of us looked at the elevator then at each other.

“Stairs?” He suggested, and I knew our last encounter with the elevator was on his mind.

“Stairs.” We shared a grin before heading for the stairwell.

No getting stuck for us tonight.

We made it up the first four flights before I started regretting the decision. The heeled boots I wore were not meant for stairs, and neither were my legs. While I was trying my hardest not to show that I was dying, Wyatt casually took the stairs one at a time like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Why the hell did our building have so many stairs?

“Stupid hockey player,” I mumbled.

“Did you just call me a stupid hockey player?” Wyatt gave me an amused look over his shoulder.

“Yes, I did. You’re not even winded. It’s not fair,” I huffed.

“Want a piggy-back ride?” He suddenly offered.

“What? No, I’m good,” I shook my head, my voice coming out a bit breathless.

“Or I can throw you over my shoulder?”

I started to laugh, thinking he was joking, but when Wyatt stopped and reached towards me, I darted up two steps before he could.

“I can still throw you over my shoulder, you know,” Wyatt smirked.

“Well, I am a strong, independent woman.” I raised my, and turning on my heel, started back up the stairs. Behind me Wyatt huffed out a laugh but continued after me.

By the time we made it to my floor I was out of breath and wishing I’d taken Wyatt up on his offer.

---