Page 68 of Wrath
She should take solace in the fact her family sounded happy. Her grandparents were still playing their perpetual card game. Her father told her he’d been relaxing by a pool, enjoying the first vacation of his life, reading a book of all things. Roksana was reluctant at first—she’d missed a rehearsal but, apparently, being in day spa heaven with Ciocia sorted that out.
Alek was another case. He had texted Wyatt his frustration at not being allowed to help Misha out. As the kid grew up, he was taking on more of a protector role. His self-defense lessons had given him the spark. Part of Misha was relieved he was old enough and capable of taking on more responsibility, but another part was terrified. He was her baby brother. Mostly deaf, mute, and still at school. He already hero worshipped Wyatt. What would happen if he learned Wyatt’s true identity? He’d want to join the team.
No way.
A sharp rap at the door had her jolting out of her seat. A glance at the clock in the kitchen told her it was that time again. Nine o’clock. Wyatt time. She took a deep breath, steeled herself and went to open the door. Sure enough, standing in the hallway, looking as devastatingly handsome as the first day she’d met him, was Wyatt. Ebony dark hair, cobalt eyes, tight gray T-shirt stretching over flexing muscles as he lifted two bags of groceries. Misha blinked, surprised. This was the first morning he’d brought something other than his dark mood.
“Hi,” she said.
“Hi.” Weirdly, he closed his eyes and inhaled. On the exhale, his shoulders relaxed, and he opened his eyes. Lifting the bags, he said, “Peace offering.”
The groceries? She eyed them suspiciously. Really? “So… you’re giving up on your crusade to stop me from returning to the club?”
He gave a curt nod, but from the set of his jaw, he still wasn’t happy about it.
“What changed your mind?”
“Can I come in?”
“Oh, yeah. Sorry.” She stepped aside. “Of course.”
He moved through the living area and into the modern stainless steel kitchen where he unloaded his heavy bags onto the granite bench.
Unable to help herself, Misha went to the table and picked up the picture of her parents. She held it like a security blanket. “Why are you here, Wyatt?”
He began unpacking the bags, ignoring her, so she stalked up to him. “What changed your mind?”
Some apples rolled from the bag. His hand expertly shot out to catch them. Once he put them back in place, he braced himself on the bench, head dipped, almost defeated.
“I got back to my apartment,” he said, voice low and rough, “for the first time in almost half a year last week. Do you know what I found?”
“A lot of dust?”
He smirked, but his eyes turned soulful. “Evidence of Sara everywhere. Pictures of her were still on my fridge. Her clothes in the laundry basket. Nothing had changed.”
Misha tightened her hold on the picture.
Wyatt noticed. “It took me this past week of erasing her from my life to realize that you were right.”
“I was?” Misha took an involuntary step back.
“I didn’t know her, and I don’t know you.”
“Okay.” Another step. “Can’t say I’m a fan of you drawing similarities between me and the woman who tried to kill you.”
Eyes flashed in alarm. “No, that’s not what I meant. Please stop walking away. I… I want to get to know you. Um. That’s what I want.”
“Okay. I’m listening.”
“Do you know the second I get within a few feet of you, I feel calmer? It’s a physical reaction in my body. And when we touch, I can’t sense that ugly sin at all. It’s like your aura is a balm over my senses—like someone injects valium into my veins. My reaction is that visceral, that real.” He took a deep breath. “I’m not telling you this to pressure you, I’m telling you so that you know where I’m coming from, what I’m struggling with, and that I get it—you don’t have this instinct pushing you into my arms. I get it now. It took me a week of looking back at my past with the wrong woman, but I get it.”
“Do you know that’s the most I’ve heard you speak since I met you?”
A shy meeting of the eyes, and he blushed. “I don’t want to pressure you. And I don’t want you to pay any attention to this welcome-to-the-family-shit. I just want to cook you breakfast. And talk. Simple. Easy.”
The picture frame cut into her fingers. When she looked down, she was reminded of her behavior with her family over the past few years, and the knowledge that she had massive commitment issues, but that didn’t mean she wanted to be alone for the rest of her life. She wanted that all-consuming love, no matter the risk. And—she looked back at Wyatt—she wanted it with him.
She put the picture down. He took the first step. She could take the next.
