Page 60 of Concealed

It’s time to face the music, but I take a moment to text Grant first. I don’t bother to answer my dad.

Wyatt:Be there in an hour.

“Let me guess,” Rebecca says, “you have to go.”

Too many times the people I care about come second to the job of protecting strangers, who often aren’t even grateful for my sacrifices.

Not everyone is going to be okay with that lifestyle. Rebecca has already made it clear that she isn’t, though her reasoning runs even deeper than the usual loneliness and resentment.

“Yeah, babe, I do. I’m so sorry.”

I knew this job would make it harder to find a wife and have the requisite 2.5 kids, white picket fence, and labradoodle.

It’s just that today is the first time I’ve given a shit.

Chapter 14

Rebecca

Wyatt’srentalhasasurround sound stereo system in the open concept kitchen, and so did the house I grew up in. I always have it on because it’s a familiar comfort, and the silence is suffocating without it.

However, today, the classical music echoing throughout the bottom level of the house isn’t helping my nerves.

Sometimes, I don’t react well to being disappointed, and how I treated Wyatt after our… well, whatever it was… would definitely count as a prime example.

It just sucked so much that after finally breaking down another wall with him that his job reared its ugly head and reminded me that I’m being crazy to get involved with him at all.

I’d never be with a cop.

And yet…

Freshly showered after a brutal workout, I’m pouring a smoothie into a glass when my phone starts dinging. It’s probably Wyatt, and I’m too embarrassed to talk to him right now.

His romantic partner will always be second to his job. And that’s not okay with me because, for once, I want to be at the top of someone’s priority list.

But I’m not his partner, and his casual hook-up should be okay with skipping out on extra cuddles when he has to go save people and shit.

I just – wasn’t.

Not even a little bit.

All I wanted was his big, strong arms wrapped around me and to spend the day with him. But I wasn’t awake when he got home, and when I woke up this morning, he was already gone.

We’re ships passing each other, and sometimes we aren’t even awake to wave. There is proof of his presence – the daily notes he leaves me being my favorite – but it’s still so lonely.

Of course, it doesn’t help that I don’t have a job or any friends. Even if we were dating, I couldn’t depend on him to be everything to me.

The sun is setting and casting an orange glow across the countertop, reminding me that it’s getting late and Wyatt still isn’t home. Without meaning to, I’ve started waiting for the sound of his key in the door and the tear of Velcro to set my mind – and okay, fine, my heart – at ease.

Grabbing my phone in one hand and smoothie in the other, I head to the couch and plop down. The screen is still lighting up every thirty seconds, but it’s Alex again, not Wyatt.

I set a coaster on the mahogany coffee table and then put my smoothie on it, making an impulsive decision.

It’s easy enough to set the phone to hide my new number when making outgoing calls, and that’s exactly what I do before calling Alex with a heavy, nervous ball of dread in my gut.

This is a huge decision, and probably a huge mistake.

I need to turn my phone off.

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