Page 31 of The Hearts We Fumble
Wyatt
I’m stretched out on the couch, half buried under a blanket, mindlessly scrolling through Netflix when the footsteps echo down the hallway.
My spine stiffens. I mute the TV, my thumb hovering over the remote as I strain my ears, waiting for another sound.
Mom’s working a late shift in Lancaster—bigger town, better tips—so it’s not her. Which leaves… who?
A prickle of unease crawls up my neck.
“Hello?” I call out, then roll my eyes at myself.
Like some intruder will just announce their presence, reassure me all is well, and tell me to go back to my binge-watching.
I shove the blanket off my lap, my heartbeat thudding just a little faster, and tiptoe toward the kitchen.
Then I hear it. The clatter of a dishwasher rack, the low scrape of the door shutting, and finally—a familiar throat clear.
Relief floods me, but I don’t slow my steps as I round the corner.
My brother is reaching for the fridge, his fingers curling around a bottle of water when he spins to face me, nearly jumping out of his skin when he sees me standing there with my arms crossed.
“What the heck are you doing?” I demand, my pulse still racing from the unnecessary panic.
Colter chokes on his drink, his coughs rattling through the kitchen as he slams a fist against his chest.
“Jesus, Wy,” he rasps, glaring at me as he tries to catch his breath. “A little heads-up would’ve been nice.”
I lift a brow. “You’re telling me. You couldn’t send a text to let me know you were dropping by?”
He swipes his wrist across his mouth, setting the water down with a pointed look.
“Mom asked me to come check the dishwasher. Apparently, it wouldn’t run.” His eyes narrow on me. “Not that you’d notice, considering you clearly haven’t been helping with the dishes.”
My teeth clench, guilt gnawing at the edges of my chest.
He’s not wrong.
Mom’s out busting her ass, picking up shifts at a second job while I’m here sitting on the couch like I don’t have responsibilities.
Tomorrow, I’ll transfer some money into her account. If I’m not paying rent anymore, I sure as hell need to pull my weight somehow.
I huff, pushing past the guilt, my tone tight. “It’s not like I’ve been sitting on my ass all day. I had class this morning, then my shift at Sweet Tooth.” I glare. “So cut the assholery, will ya?”
Colter grins, his smirk easy, like he was just waiting for me to snap.
He crosses the kitchen in two strides, slinging an arm around my neck, giving me one of those half-assed, irritatingly brotherly squeezes.
“All right, all right. That was out of line. I’m sorry.”
I shove him off with a huff, though my lips betray me by twitching into something that almost resembles a smile.
“Damn right, you are.”
He laughs, stepping back as I yank open the fridge and grab a drink for myself, the tension finally settling into something easier.
“How have things been since you moved back home?” Colter asks, his voice casual, but I know better.
Ever the caretaker, he’s always watching, always checking in.
