Page 112 of Hellbent
“I’ll give you a minute.”
He’s gone before I can even decide if I want to stop him.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
THE RAIN DOESN’T let up all day. Thick, gray sheets hammer the roof and soak the gravel outside, turning the driveway into a shallow river. Inside, the kitchen is buzzing with activity. The smell of garlic and rosemary hangs to the air and soft music hums from the living room speakers. Jake is chopping vegetables while Ryder brings a selection of wine bottles up from the basement cellar. Damian’s out back under a tarp, hoodie pulled up, barbecuing in the rain.
I hear the low rumble of Wyatt’s bike and jump from my seat, running barefoot to the front door and throwing it open. My heart is hammering as I step out into the storm. The porch steps are slick beneath my feet, the gravel cold and gritty, but I don’t stop until he’s right in front of me.
Wyatt pulls off his helmet, rain sliding down the shoulders of his black leather jacket. His hair is getting long, it falls in front of his eyes and he has to sweep it back. The moment I see him, I can breathe again.
I wrap my arms around his soaked jacket and press my face to his chest.
“You’re here,” I breathe, my voice catching.
He’s solid and warm. Smelling like wet leather and home.
He glances down at me, blue eyes crinkling with quiet amusement. “You’re gonna catch cold out here with no shoes on.”
I pull back, grinning. “That’s classic Old Man Wyatt right there.” Then my eyes catch sight of his bike behind him. Fully loaded. Saddlebags strapped tight. Rain glinting off the buckles.
Wyatt’s heading out again.
I try to tamp down my disappointment.
“You brought my stuff?”
He nods, shifting a duffel bag off his shoulder and handing it to me.
“I missed you,” I blurt out, taking the bag from his hand.
His gaze softens. “Missed you too, kid.”
I give him a crooked smile and turn back to the house to get dressed. Everything’s still wrong, but seeing him like this, rain-slicked and unshakable, makes it feel a little less like the world’s ending.
By the time I’m in my own clothes again—clean jeans and a soft white camisole—I’m already feeling more grounded. Like I’ve crawled back into my skin.
Wyatt’s at the kitchen table, half-turned in his chair like he’s been waiting for me. When he sees me, he stands, crossing toward me with a deep furrow between his brows.
“Jesus, Max.” His hands land on my shoulders, firm and warm, as his eyes scan my face. “Are you all right?”
I nod, a little too fast. “Yeah. I’m fine.”
“Why did you go into town by yourself?”
My eyes flick toward the counter, where Ryder’s leaning back with his arms crossed. His expression is unreadable—closed off, but watching.
“I wanted to get some answers,” I tell Wyatt. “It wasn’t smart, I know.”
“Max.” He exhales, shakes his head. “You can’t do that. You have to be careful.”
“I know.” I can’t keep the plaintiveness out of my voice. “I went to the garage first. But you weren’t there.”
He frowns, looking worried, and drops his arms.
“We need to get you a phone,” he says, not for the first time. “This is ridiculous. It’s not safe.”
It’s not that there’s a reason Idon’thave a phone—I just have never had one. And living here I never seem to need one. But Wyatt’s been needling me about it for a while.
