Page 41 of The Hearts We Fumble
We hadn’t even made it to the Georgia–South Carolina border before Wyatt was out cold in the passenger seat, her slow, steady breaths the only sound competing with the quiet hum of the engine.
I kept my eyes on the road, but my mind was elsewhere—back at that damn party, picturing her in the middle of it, surrounded by guys who didn’t give a damn about anything but their next drink and their next hookup. She thought I was being jealous and overprotective, maybe even possessive. But that wasn’t it. If it had been Myla at one of those Alpha Nu parties, I would’ve lost my shit the same way.
Some places aren’t safe. And Wyatt? She has no idea how much I hate the thought of her in a place like that.
By the time I pull into the Vaughns’ driveway and kill the engine, the car goes silent. Wyatt shifts, sighing softly as she leans her head against my shoulder. Like even in sleep, she seeks me out.
I sit there, unmoving, letting myself feel it for a second. The warmth of her skin. The way she fits against me like she always has. It’s the same as all those nights I snuck into her room when she couldn’t sleep, when she needed someone.
But this is different.
Because now, I’m the one who needs her.
My jaw clenches as I stare through the windshield, my hands gripping the wheel like it’ll keep me from doing something I shouldn’t. Because the second I saw her walking down those stairs in that tight-as-fuck lace bodysuit, her black bra teasing through the fabric, I wanted to drag her into the back seat and rip it off her.
And that’s exactly why I can’t.
I exhale sharply, dragging a hand through my hair. I’ve spent years convincing myself that this—whatever the hell this thing is between us—can never happen. Even if it could, Colter would string me up the second he found out I’ve been wanting his baby sister for longer than I should admit.
Not that he has room to talk. He snuck around for months with our old teammate Alec’s sister, Ava. And now? They’re solid. He’ll probably put a ring on her finger before the ink dries on his diploma.
But Wyatt and me?
This is my last year at Braysen U. Next year, I’ll declare for the NFL draft. Who the hell knows where I’ll end up, but one thing is for sure—it won’t be here.
And Wyatt doesn’t deserve to be held back by a guy who’s already halfway out the door.
I glance down at her, my throat tightening.
She deserves someone who can stay. And that’s never going to be me.
I can’t be another weight on her shoulders. Not when she’s already carrying so much—grief, loss, the pain she never speaks about but wears like armor. I won’t be the reason she breaks.
Losing her the way I have has been hard enough. If I lost her for good? I don’t know if I’d ever recover.
Reaching for her, I adjust her head so she’s leaning against the headrest before carefully slipping out of the car. She stirs slightly, her lashes fluttering against her cheeks, but she doesn’t wake.
I open the passenger door, crouching low to scoop her into my arms. The second I lift her, she lets out a sleepy groan, her head lolling against my shoulder.
Her brows pinch together as her eyes open just enough to take in her surroundings. She glances up at me, confusion clouding her gaze.
“What are you doing?” she mumbles, her voice groggy.
“Carrying you inside,” I whisper, nudging the car door shut with my foot. “Wrap your arms around my neck, firecracker. Hold on.”
Something in her softens at the nickname. Her body instinctively curls into mine, her arms sliding around my neck as she buries her face against my chest.
She exhales, long and slow, and it nearly undoes me.
I grit my teeth, fighting the thought that she knows exactly who’s holding her—like some part of her recognizes me even half-asleep. Praying she trusts me enough to let go, to melt into me like she used to.
I curse under my breath when I find the front door unlocked, making a mental note to remind her in the morning to lock up. Stepping inside, I carry her up the stairs, her breath warm against my collarbone.
The moment I cross into her room, the scent of citrus and honeysuckle wraps around me, familiar and intoxicating. I press my face against her hair for half a second longer than I should, inhaling deeply before carefully lowering her onto the bed.
She stirs when I pull back the comforter, her fingers curling into the fabric of my hoodie as I reach for the zipper on her boots.
“Wait,” she whispers, her voice hoarse with sleep. “What are you doing? Where are you going?”
