Page 11 of Where He Ended

He rubs my hand, laying his on top. His calluses are like sandpaper but I welcome them. “I was a mess after it happened,” he says. “They said I was lucky I lived. That's not how I saw it. Couldn't hold a job, couldn't pay my mortgage. I had no family, my wife left right after Pat was born, she didn't even come to the funeral. I was a single dad in mourning, and I won't lie, I was close to giving up entirely. Then Silas called me.”

My mouth hangs open. “How did you know Silas?”

“From our basic training days. Long story short, he saw the obituary, called me to give his condolences. Then he offered me a job here.” Wyatt gestures at the trees. “This place is perfect for a bitter ol' lone wolf like me.”

I can tell he's trying to lighten the mood, but I'm still organizing this new information in my head. “You were in the army with Dominic's dad?”

He pauses, like he isn't sure how to answer. “We never served together. He wasn't able to. His lungs.” He taps his chest lightly. “Silas barely made it through basic training. They sent him to his first active duty, and within a week, he was medically discharged.”

I back up, cupping the side of my head, like all my thoughts are trying to explode out from that single spot. “I don't—but his office iscoveredin medals! And he sent Dominic to a military boarding school because he wanted him to follow in his footsteps! You're saying there were never any steps to follow?”

“Medals?” he asks, before shaking his head sadly. “I'm guessing those are his father's. Stefan Bradley was a high ranking officer in the Korean war.”

God, none of this makes sense. How could Silas be so set on turning Dominic into some perfect little disciplined soldier, if he himself wasn't even close to being one? Something squishes under my heel as I back up; I stepped on the muffin.

Wyatt comes over to me, gently scooping my hands in his. “I haven't talked to anyone about Pat since, well, since I put him in the ground.”

The pain in my chest blossoms bigger. Linking my fingers with his, I give him my full attention.

His mouth is set in an arrow straight line. “You're not my daughter, Laiken. But you're very important to me. If I lost you, especially when it could be prevented . . .” He trails off, lowering his voice as it breaks. “There are so many days that I tell myself I'm a coward. I think of ways to get you out of here, because your situation is wrong. So, so wrong.”

My love for this hardened, often sour man swells until new tears fall over my cheeks. “Wyatt . . .”

His fingers clench tighter on mine. “I need you to understand how serious it is that you keep away from Dominic. A man who can commit murder, then continue to walk around unchanged by the act, isn't someone you can trust.”

I pull him into a tight hug. Wyatt's work-hardened arms wrap around me in an unbreakable knot. It's a hug almost as good as my father's. Almost.

I want so much to tell him that I'll listen, that I'll keep a distance between Dominic and me. But I can't, because there's a minor mistake in what he said. So small, but so note-worthy at the same time: Wyatt believes Dominic is walking around unchanged, free of guilt clogging his heart.

If he'd known him when he was younger—if he knew him the wayIknew him—he’d realize he's wrong.

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