Page 62 of Concealed

Ice-cold shivers shoot up and down my spine and set my whole body trembling. I never should have called her. All of the work I did to run away, to hide, to stay safe, has just been ruined with one stupid, stupid mistake.

“California? I just googled it. You’re in California? Who do you know there?”

“Alex, stop. Please.”

“I’m not going to tell anyone! You can trust me!”

“I have to go. And if you tellanyone, absolutely anyone at all, then you’ve killed me.”

She’s still talking when I hang up the phone and fall to the cold kitchen floor, sobbing into my knees. How could I have been so careless?

Shit!

Another ding rings out, but it’s a text message and not an email. It must be Wyatt or Gabe because no one else has my number. I run over to the phone that I abandoned and read Wyatt’s message through blurry vision.

He’s going to be home in half an hour.

Great.

Running like a madwoman, I clean up the broken glass and smoothie residue while racking my brain about what to do.

If I tell Wyatt what happened, he’s going to think I’m a complete idiot. If I don’t tell him, we could be in danger.

But are we, really?

I mean, who is Alex going to tell? Plus, she doesn’t know who I’m staying with. Even if Matt did knock on her door and force her to talk, what could she tell him that would be helpful? What can he do with the information that I’m in Sunnyville? Come here and stalk every blonde woman he finds?

The house has been restored to order, and I’m washing my hands in the kitchen sink when the sounds of Wyatt coming home fill my senses and act as a balm for my shaky soul.

It’s going to be fine.

Everything is going to be fine.

Matt must have accepted that I’m long gone by now and is busy choosing his next victim. Pressing charges didn’t work out, so there isn’t anything I can do to stop him from hurting me or anyone else. But my time living under his thumb has ended.

“Hey you,” Wyatt says.

I dry my hands on the dish towel hanging on the stove handle before turning to face him. I keep a forced smile in place as anxiety buzzes through my veins. Every time we see each other, I have something to apologize for, and it tends to center around his job.

“How was work?”

“It’s been a lot busier than I imagined.” Wyatt drums his fingers on the island countertop, an idle movement he does when he’s uneasy. “I’m sorry that I had to leave so soon after… Look, I’m not sure what we’re doing relationship-wise, but the timing sucked, and I should have just kept my damn phone off.”

I busy myself with organizing the fruit basket that doesn’t need to be adjusted, and maybe I’m just as restless as he is.

“No, I’m sorry. I understand how demanding your job is, I was just feeling… I don’t know, fragile I guess.”

He rounds the corner of the island and throws a heavy, muscular arm across my shoulders. “Aw, babe, please don’t cry.”

I didn’t even realize that I had tears in my eyes, but when I reach up to touch my cheek, it’s wet.

Ever since I was a kid, whenever I’m happy, sad, angry, frustrated, or any emotion in the world – I cry. It’s annoying as hell, but there’s nothing I can do to stop it.

“The hours of this job suck sometimes,” Wyatt acknowledges, and I swear he pulls me closer and inhales the scent of my hair.

It’s the most romantic thing.

“I don’t blame you for not wanting to date a cop,” he continues. “I wouldn’t want to date one either. And however, you want our relationship to proceed – friends, roommates, dating, some kind of mixture from all of the above categories – then I’m happy to follow your lead. But if you want a man in your life in any capacity, then it better be me, babe.”

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