Page 146 of Tempting Wyatt
I spent a lot of time in friends’ and sometimes strangers’ apartments, wearing out my welcome. And even more time in my own place, with my mom whispering to some guy not to worry, that I’d go to sleep or go next door soon.
Just like Heidi whispered to Malcolm.
I was around seven or eight years old when I realized my mom was only happy when I wasn’t around. By then, I’d learned to hide when I knew she was having company before she could lock me out. Under my bed, in a closet. Wherever.Then I’d hear her with a man who’d come over or on the phone with a friend when she thought I wasn’t there.
Giggling. Happy. Unburdened.
I realized I was a burden to her, so I made myself smaller and smaller, until I nearly disappeared. I didn’t ask for anything if I could help it, did my best not to disturb anything.
My child mind believed if I just barely existed, if I didn’t inconvenience her in any way, she would see how little trouble I was and love me more—or at least want me around more.
She didn’t.
Going to friend’s houses only made it worse because it was a stark reminder that some kid’s parents did like to be around them, play with them, ask about their day, laugh with them. Eventually, I started trying to find anywhere else to be. The park, the library, a twenty-four hour diner.
Some nights I just rode the public transit, people watching and making up stories for them in my head.
My pain turns to anger as I remember how hard Wyatt pushed to make me admit my real feelings. To admit what we were doing mattered and that it wasn’t just a no-strings rebound for me.
He promised I was safe with him.
Was this a game to him? Make me admit it wasn’t just a casual hookup so he could vanish and shut me out? Literally this time.
I feel sick thinking he could be capable of that. He isn’t. The man I’ve gotten to know isn’t. He’s real. And kind. And compassionate to his core. Loyal and honest.
But I once thought Malcolm was a good man, too.
Part of me wants to make excuses. Maybe Wyatt is hurt orone of the animals is injured. He told me he had to pull a cow up a muddy mountainside recently.
But I saw the truth in Laurel Logan’s eyes the moment I told her he’d gone missing.
She wasn’t worried about him. And worse, she wasn’t surprised.
Maybe this is Wyatt’s MO. Maybe this is how all his relationships have ended. Isaac did say he was a clean break kind of guy.
I can’t stand myself for caring so much, for being stupid enough to think this was real after only two weeks.
Apparently I’m so damn pathetic and love-starved that I’ll spend my life believing every guy who tells me I’m special. Right up until he shows me in the cruelest way possible that I’m not.
I refuse to spend another second outside a locked door. So I go to my cabin, pack my things, and lie awake until sunrise, trying to figure out why the man who so adamantly made me admit there were strings between us severed them without warning.
CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT
wyatt
THE STILLERY IS NEARLY EMPTY when Brooklyn Harris cuts me off.
“The worst part is,” I continue ranting, “I honestly thought she was interested in the ranch. In me.” I drag a hand through my hair. “What a fucking idiot I am.”
“I think you should call your brother to pick you up, Wyatt,” she says evenly. With pity in her eyes, she slides my cash back to me across the bar instead of another shot.
“I think you’re barely old enough to bartend, much less to tell me when I’ve had enough,” I snap. She winces, and I’m instantly ashamed of myself. “Fuck. Sorry, kid. Having a rough night.”
“I can see that.” She gives me a small smile. “I’ll text Isaac for you. Pretty sure I have his number.”
Figures. Every woman in this damn town probably has Isaac’s number.
She blurs before me. I think, when there’s only one of her, that she might have grown into a beautiful young woman.
