Page 123 of Covenant

And I can’t fucking wait.

I beeline over to where I left my phone to charge. I’m not expecting any messages from Wy. He has a morning shift tomorrow so he was planning on an early night. I can’t help but check though. It’s an obsession. I never want to miss a moment with him.

As my gaze lands on the empty nightstand, I freeze, the charging cable hanging loose.

My phone’s not there.

Huh.Trepidation starts to unwind in my gut but I tamp it down. Maybe I just left it in the bathroom. Or in the pocket of my jeans.

A quick check confirms it’s not there. I frantically search the rest of my room but it’s nowhere to be found.

Please let it be Dalton or Harley who took it.

But then there’s a rap on my door and the voice I hate so much rumbles through. “Matthias. My office. Now.”

Everything in me turns to ice. His footsteps are already pounding away, but they continue thundering in my ears.

No. That’s my heartbeat. I can’t breathe. Oh fuck.

Grabbing a pair of sweats, I shove my legs into them hastily.I’m sure it’s fine. There’s nothing incriminating on your phone.

Except every conversation I’ve had with Wyatt.

Thousands of photos.

Videos.

You’re just friends,I tell myself.Father’s a homophobic prick, but he can’t stop you from being friends with Wyatt.

Why can’t I make myself believe that?

I remind myself that I’m an adult now as I walk into his office. An adult with his own trust fund and who’s bigger than the man on the other side of the desk.

Even if I don’t feel like it. Something about him always makes my insides shrivel. I try to hide it, but my knees are shaking.

Father is sitting in his leather chair, but it still feels like he’s towering over me. He has that power, to look down his nose at you despite being shorter.

My eyes flick to the phone sitting in front of him.

I stop in front of the desk, my mind refusing to let me sit. No, I’ll stand for this.

“Why do you have my phone?” I ask, hating that my voice cracks.

“I’ll be asking the questions here, Matthias.” He taps the screen, lighting it up. My heart sinks at the background. It’s a close-up photo of Wy laughing, a dot of ice cream on the end of his nose. I snapped it last summer and it’s been my favorite ever since.

“I wondered why you’ve been so secretive about your phone,” Father muses. “At first, I put it down to usual teen nonsense. That was until I glimpsed this photo a few days ago.”

He spins the phone so it’s facing me. “Want to tell me who this is?”

I grit my teeth and stay silent. Fuck. Him. I’m not telling him a single thing about Wy. He’s mine. I’m not letting this life taint him.

Father’s lips quirk. It almost looks like amusement, but I don’t think he’s ever been amused in his entire life. At least, not since Mom died. “Fine. Let’s do it the hard way. Wyatt Cameron Malone. Eighteen years old, birthday is the twenty-fifth of January. Address is 4132 North West Road,” his lips curl, “which I believe is a trailer park of all places.”

Fury wars with fear inside me. How dare he look into Wyatt. And how fuckingdarehe judge him.

“The boy lives with his mother, Sadie Marie Malone, and his four-year-old brother, Jackson Liam Malone. His father, one Brian Mark Malone, lives there sporadically. Wyatt is the only one who works. He is contracted for fifteen hours a week at Burger Shack, and picks up any overtime offered.”

He’s not reading this from anywhere, meaning he’s memorized it. Fucker. What’s his endgame here?

---