Page 61 of Fly Boy
Amusement dances over her face as she sucks her lips between her teeth and bites down. “Maybe wait until I leave?”
It’s late by the time I walk into my house, my phone a heavy weight in my hand as I stand in the dark hallway, listening to the second voicemail left days ago.
“It’s Dad. I know you’ve been getting my texts ’cause you’re replying, but…” He pauses, the silence thick with a disappointment I can feel through the recording before he sighs. “Listen, I didn’t want to do this over the phone, Wyatt, but we need to discuss this. And I get you don’t want to talk about her, I do, but she still gave birth to you, and…fuck… I wish I wasn’t doing this over the phone…Wy, Fiona’s really sick.”
My hand shakes as I continue listening to the rest of the message. I barely register what he’s saying, the whooshing of my pulse muffling his words.
“Call me back, please. I love you.”
I drop the device from my ear, my thumbs rapidly smashing against the screen as I text him.
Wyatt
I got your message. I’ll call you later.
As soon as it’s sent, I power it down, leave it on the console table by the door, and just stand aimlessly in the dark. His words play on a loop, each time making my blood boil a little more inside my veins. My fingers tingle, my teeth ache as I clench them, and the shaking in my hands becomes tremors.
Over thirty years of her not once showing up, no phone call on my birthday, no check-in to see how heronly fucking sonwas doing, and suddenly, she gets sick, and then what? Expects me to come running?
I’m not heartless. I know it has to be bad if she’s reaching out, but I wasn’t good enough for her to stay when I was a child, wasn’t good enough to keep in contact as an adult, so why am I obligated to turn up for her now? I know how wrong that sounds. I know how much of an asshole that makes me, but on the rare times Fiona is brought up, that hurt little kid she abandoned, locked in the back of my head, is still there. He’ll always be there. Even after the years of therapy, which eventually dulled the hurt and rage and feeling of inadequacy, the scars never truly fade, right?
I’m angry for me. I’m angry at her for calling my dad, a man shedumpeda baby with when he was just seventeen, to then leave him all over again at twenty-two, to use him as a pawn to get me to see her.
Fuck that and fuck her.
I rub my stomach, and the small but very noticeable pit that’s formed there twinges with guilt. Snarling into the darkness, I try to shove it aside. I shouldn’t feel guilty. She has no right to waltz into my life when it suits her.
She’s still your mom.
Just because she gave birth to me doesn’t make her my mother. Sadie Grant is more my mom than Fiona ever was.
A light knock sounds behind me, and I almost worry it’s my dad. But Miles is more of a bash-your-door-downkind of guy,especiallyif his kids are angry or upset. I brace myself anyway, trying to tame the rage that surges through my body as I unlock the door.
Pippa’s gray eyes are wide as she regards me, her eyebrows slowly knitting together at whatever she sees. “Wyatt, what’s…?”
I’m on her in a second, our lips smashing together, my hand gripping the back of her head as I take from her. I swallow her gasp of surprise, deepening the kiss when her lips part. My childhood therapist would say I’m using avoidance instead of dealing with my emotions, but I don’t care. I need Pippa in a way that terrifies me, yet I can’t stop.
Small hands lace around my neck, her body pressing up against me as she sighs, her tongue matching mine as we fight for dominance. It’s aggressive and intense, but it's everything I need as I pour my frustration into the kiss.
Years’ worth of pent-up anger and bitterness.
Months of restraint and unbearable lust.
She breaks the kiss first, pulling back to look at me, her fingers brushing through my hair. “What’s going on?”
I latch onto her throat, sucking her unmarked skin. With a shiver, she tilts her head, offering more space as her nails claw my scalp.
“Talk to me,” she says in a breathy whisper. I don’t answer, I don’twantto answer as I draw back, her eyes glassy, darkened with a hunger I feel to my bones.
“You didn’t come here to talk,” I grit out, lifting her, and she wraps her legs around my waist as I carry her inside. My lips are back on hers as I kick my door closed, flicking the lock blindly before taking her upstairs. I peel her out of her clothes as she does mine, tossing them around like confetti.
Pippa whimpers, panting my name as I taste her skin, licking and sucking wherever I can, each action not sating the urge to claim her, own her, make her mine. We tumble to the bed, atangle of limbs as we kick off our remaining clothes until we’re naked, and I’m covering myself with the condom before pushing inside her, ignoring the way it feels like I’m finally home.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The next few weekendsleading up to Christmas play out the same way. Liam and I fly Pippa back from Colorado on Friday, then a quick day trip to Lake Placid Saturday, and back to Colorado Monday morning.
Rinse and repeat.
