Page 104 of If All Else Sails
I’m most curious about where his house in Northern Virginia is. And why he owns a place there. Now that I know he grew up in Richmond, I guess it makes more sense. Plus Jacob works out of a satellite office in DC for his agency.
I am also not far.
I shelve all those thoughts and the accompanying questions—likeWhere do you want to live when your hockey career ends?andHow long do hockey careers last, anyway?—and instead go with:“I’m guessing you didn’t buy a bargain beachfront property in Cape Cod?”
His lips twitch. “I don’t think it could be technically classified as a bargain, no.”
“I’ve never been up there.”
“Neither have I.”
“Wyatt!” I smack him in the stomach with one of the small, brick-like pillows, which probably has no effect on his brick-like abs. “How can you own a house you’ve never even been to?”
“Ow.” He grabs the pillow and stuffs it behind his head. “It’s an investment property. Didn’t need to see it. Jacob saw it. He stayed there with...” He pauses and clears his throat. “Withsomeonerecently.”
I roll my eyes. “Someone, huh? Ugh. You don’t need to downplay my brother’s propensity to play the field. Maybe one day he’ll bring a nice woman home.”
Wyatt glances over, one brow lifted.
I laugh. “Or not.”
“You know, he says the same thing about you. Not that you’ll bring a nice woman home but that maybe sometime you’ll find someone and settle down.”
Nerves suddenly zing through me. “Jacob talks to you about my dating life?” Really, it’s a lack thereof, but I don’t clarify.
“I think he worries about you,” Wyatt says slowly, but I get the sudden and distinct impression Wyatt is the one worried. Not my brother.
“He shouldn’t,” I grumble. “I’m fine. What about you?” I ask the question before I’ve thought through it and realize I may not want to know.
“Do I talk to Jacob about my dating life, or do Ihavea dating life?” One side of his mouth barely lifts in a smile.
“Both?”
“No.”
“That word again,” I groan. “I swear, it’s the most used one in your vocabulary. Expand past one syllable, please.” I’m already this deep in—might as well rip off the bandage and hear all the details of the supermodels Wyatt’s probably been dating.
“No, I don’t talk to Jacob about my dating life because—also no—there isn’t much of one to talk about.”
“But you’re...you,” I sputter.
Wyatt angles his body so it’s clear he’s looking at me, but I can’t bring myself to look back. “I’m not interested in games. When I know what I want, I don’t settle for less. I don’t waver. And I’m really, really good at waiting.”
My heart is like the drumline at a college football game. I’m surprised it doesn’t beat its way right out of my chest.
Once again, I find myself balancing on a precipice, not sure why I keep holding back the words I want to say or the things I don’t want to admit I feel.
But I do force myself finally to look at Wyatt, to meet head-on that intense “grayzel” gaze. “Patience is a really admirable quality,” I whisper. “I hope you don’t have a limited amount.”
“Infinite,” he promises, and a tremor ripples through me.
And because I’ve reached the limit of how far I can go, especially while reclined in a bed next to Wyatt, I shift my attention back to the television. “What’s your place in Boston like—the one you rent?”
“Empty,” Wyatt says, thankfully not seeming to mind the sudden subject change.
But he doesn’t add anything more to the one-word summation of his place in Boston, and I can’t help but wonder if the word encompasses something bigger. Not just his apartment but his life.
The Wyatt of a month or so ago when I arrived had anair of defeat about him. At the time, I saw it as just his usual grumpiness—plus the beard and the boot. But now that I’ve been with him day in and day out, I understand more in hindsight.
