Page 18 of The Hearts We Fumble
Wyatt. My firecracker.
Standing just outside the pavilion, frozen for a second too long. Her expression is blank, but I know her too well. Her lips are pressed too tightly, like she’s fighting to keep them that way.
She stares right at me, then flicks her gaze to the girl pressed against my front, her eyes tracking every detail—the way I let it happen, the way I don’t stop it.
And then, she’s gone, turning on her heel so fast like she can’t get away quick enough. Not a word. Not a glare. Not a damn thing except the sharp cut of her shoulders, the quick pace of her steps, and the way she pushes through the crowd like the air just turned suffocating.
It shouldn’t bother me. I shouldn’t care that she’s leaving.
I sure as hell shouldn’t feel like she just took every ounce of oxygen with her when she walked away.
But I do.
And as the feeling claws its way through my chest, I realize I’m the one making bad decisions tonight. I’ve been making them for years.
From the corner of my eye, I see Tate trailing her. But before she disappears, she glances over her shoulder and glares at me. The look on her face says she saw everything. She knows exactly what I was trying to do.
And that I just fucked up—again.
I turn back to the girl in front of me, but suddenly, I can’t even remember why she’s here.
I mutter something about needing another drink, stepping away before she can stop me.
Not that it matters. Because the only girl I want to chase is already gone.
And the worst part?
I know damn well I don’t deserve to go after her.
Chapter Six
Wyatt
“Is this the last of it?” Tatum huffs, gripping the final box from the trunk of my car.
I step forward, reaching for it before she can protest. “I got it.”
She relents, letting me take it from her arms, and follows me inside the house.
“So that’s it? You’re officially moved back in?” she asks.
I nod, shifting the weight of the box as we weave through the familiar hallway. “Yeah. Colter brought my mattress over a couple of days ago. This is the last of my stuff before I turn in my keys.”
I should feel some sense of finality, some weight lifting off my shoulders. But all I feel is that this wasn’t supposed to happen. I wasn’t in a hurry to move my bed over. I’ve been sleeping on the couch in the family room since moving back anyway.
It’s cozy down there, tucked under a mountain of blankets, with the flat-screen TV glowing in the dark—the one my brother bought my mom two Christmases ago.
She fought him on it, of course. Told him it was too much and that she didn’t need it. Colter just shook his head, saying something about how she needed a way to watch his away games.
She hates it when we try to take care of her. I think she forgets how many years she spent taking care of us alone.
Colter took over the man-of-the-house role after Dad died, and it fit him like a second skin. He looks out for everyone around him, carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.
And maybe it should make me feel better, like I still have a piece of Dad with me. Except lately, it just makes me feel like a failure. Like I’m stuck, drifting through life while Colter has everything figured out.
He inherited the house our father left him. He was given a full-ride scholarship to Braysen University, playing football like our dad did. He has the beautiful girlfriend, and it’s only a matter of time before he gets down on one knee. After they graduate, Colter will likely be drafted to play in the NFL.
Where will I be? I’ll still be here. Back home in Braysen, South Carolina.
