Don't You Wanna Stay

by Kait Nolan

  Wyatt didn’t even blink at the implied judgment. “We have a lot in common. You’ve raised a brave, creative, resourceful woman. I consider myself very lucky.”

  Valerie blinked in surprise, as if she wasn’t quite sure he was talking about her daughter. Deanna tried not to take it personally.

  “I was just about to give Mom the progress tour.”

  “Oh, absolutely. We’ve gotten so much done since you were last here.”

  He came with them, keeping Deanna’s hand in his as they walked, but he let her do the talking. As they moved through, room by room, with their canine escort, and her mother saw that Blackborne Hall no longer resembled an antebellum flop house, Deanna began to feel a little more hopeful and a whole lot stronger having Wyatt’s support and backup. They were doing good work. Legitimate work. And her mom was actually acknowledging it without picking things apart. She should have Wyatt around for every conversation.

  “I can hardly believe it’s the same house.”

  “All it needed was vision and someone who loved it enough to save it. Deanna has both. It’s a privilege to get to work with that kind of passion.”

  “You should come to dinner. We want to get to know you better.”

  Deanna froze. No. No, they couldn’t go to dinner. She couldn’t do an entire meal with both of her parents. Not even with Wyatt by her side. As she wracked her brain, trying to come up with a way to get out of it, he squeezed her hand.

  “We’d be happy to.”

  Valerie nodded, clearly satisfied, and Deanna realized that this had been the entire point of the visit. To corner him into a politely scripted occasion for interrogation. Something she dimly recognized as panic crawled up her spine.

  “Sunday,” her mom declared.

  “Sunday?” Deanna squeaked. They couldn’t do Sunday. It was a mass work day. The house would be crawling with volunteers.

  Wyatt squeezed her hand. “I’m afraid it’ll have to be awhile later. We’re at a pivotal point in our timeline, and we’ve got a houseful of people coming to help out for a workday tomorrow. But I promise we’ll come as soon as we’re at a reasonable place to pause.”

  “See that you do. We won’t take no for an answer.”

  Of course they wouldn’t.

  The moment her mother was gone, Deanna rounded on him. “What the hell are you thinking?”

  “I’m thinking that they’re concerned and want to get to know the man in your life. And as that man, I should get to know them and reassure them that I am not, in fact, the misogynistic user they’re worried about. This seems like a good way to do it.”

  “But they’re… them. You’ve met them. It’s liable to be awful.” She just wanted to lose herself in her house, in the restoration, and forget about everything outside her property line.

  He reeled her in, dropping a kiss to her brow. “Power of positive thinking, baby. It’ll be fine. We’re in this together, okay? Besides, we’re on such a tight deadline for the party, there’s not a chance in hell we can go until after, and by then we’ll hopefully have the show in the bag. What can they say if we show up with that news?”

  Knowing her parents, they’d find something. But the idea of it buoyed her spirits. “From your mouth to God’s ear. In the meantime, we have work to do.”

  “I can’t believe we’re almost to the point of furnishing the downstairs. Or at least starting.” Deanna bounced in the front seat of Wyatt’s truck, looking worlds lighter than she had the past few weeks. “Maybe I should give you my wallet so I don’t have the means to impulse buy everything that catches my fancy.”

  Wyatt grinned at her enthusiasm. “What makes you think I’d stop you?” He kinda wanted to see her taking the antiques dealers at the flea market by storm. She struck him as a take-no-prisoners negotiator.

  “One of us has to be the responsible one here. And we’re talking furniture. I don’t think you understand what a weak-willed hussy I can be.”

  He laughed. “I like this side of you. It’s fun.”

  “It’s dangerous, is what it is.” She whipped out her phone, tapping buttons. “The flea market will probably take us a big chunk of the day, but if we get done in time, there are a few places north of the city I’d like to check out.”

  “We can do that. But we’ve got a stop to make first.”

  “Oh? Did we need to pick up supplies or something?”

  “No. I promised my brother I’d bring you by to meet him.” He’d been putting it off and neglecting his visits in the name of pushing through on the house.

  “Oh! I didn’t realize he lived in town. As much as you’ve talked about him, I’m surprised he hasn’t he come out to see the house.”

  Wyatt tensed at the perfectly innocent statement. She didn’t know. Of course she didn’t. He hadn’t been able to bring himself to share this part of his life. But if they were building a future together—and God willing, they were—she needed to see behind the curtain, as it were.

  “He can’t.”

  “It doesn’t seem like you to play temperamental artist and hide the project away until it’s done.”

  He kept his gaze firmly on the road. “No. I mean, he physically can’t. He lives in a residential facility for people with traumatic brain injuries.”

  “Oh.” She didn’t voice either of the obvious questions. Not what happened? Not why didn’t you tell me? But Wyatt felt them both.

  “He was an attorney. A brilliant one. A total workaholic, which I was always razzing him about. It was pretty pot-kettle because I was working my ass off on flips. But anyway, I convinced him to take a brothers-only vacation. We decided to go rafting up in West Virginia. Somewhere we could both really unplug. They’d had a really wet spring, and the rapids were bigger than usual. He got thrown out and ended up slammed against the rocks with the full weight of the raft on top of him.” The memory of the roar of water and the helpless terror and rage of knowing his brother was underneath had Wyatt’s hands tightening on the wheel.

  “Jesus.”

  “It was bad.” Such an understatement. But he didn’t want to revisit the aftermath of pulling him out of that river. “They said it was a miracle he survived at all, and he wasn’t the same after. No more lawyer. No more career.” Wyatt had worked his way around to intellectually accepting it hadn’t been anyone’s fault, but he still felt the weight of if only.

  Deanna’s hand curled around his arm. “I’m so sorry. How long ago was this?”

  “Three years. He’s come a long way with lots of therapies, regained most of his speech, but he still can’t live on his own. I come to see him as often as I can.” It wasn’t enough. Nothing ever would be. But he’d keep coming. Keep doing whatever he could to support the man who’d done everything for him.

  The hand she stroked along his arm soothed his disquiet. “This is why you’re working so hard on the show.”

  He chanced a glance at her. “Huh?”

  “Scott can’t make it big anymore, so you feel like you have to in order to prove his faith in you isn’t misplaced.”

  If Wyatt hadn’t been driving, he’d have stared. How did she know? “What?”

  “I mean, you love what you do, but it’s more heart than ambition driving you. I know the difference. And that’s what makes you stand out from everyone else who wants to do what you’re doing. It’s what I want people who watch the show to see.”

  Her insight was dead on, and it left him feeling exposed and vulnerable. It was one thing to show off his skills and designs. It was something else entirely to show himself, and he wasn’t entirely sure how he felt about it. So he said nothing, driving through the gates at Fairland Village and leading her into the main complex of the building, greeting the staff he knew by name.

  “Seems you have quite the fan club here,” Deanna observed.

  “The staff has been a great support.”

  Following directions from the front desk clerk, they found Scott in the gym, sweating it out on the recumbent bike a
nd glaring at his occupational therapist. At the sight of Wyatt, he brightened. “My favorite brother. Save me from this sadist!”

  “You’ll do no such thing.” Alton braced himself on the handlebars and fixed Scott with an intense drill sergeant stare. “You can pedal and talk. It’s good practice at multitasking. You’ll hit twenty minutes before you get a break.”

  Wyatt didn’t miss the crackle between them and hid a smile. “Scott, there’s someone I want you to meet.” He tugged Deanna forward.

  “’Bout damn time. Been hiding her away.”

  “More like working our asses off. This is Deanna James. Deanna, my brother Scott.”

  Scott divided a look between them. “Where’s my milkshake?”

  Before Wyatt could reply, Deanna arched one delicate brow. “Did I forget the entrance fee?”

  Scott’s twisted grin pulled the skin around one eye taut, giving him a piratical air. “Damned straight.”

  “I didn’t forget. It’s 8:30 in the morning, man. They aren’t open yet.”

  “Bad planning on your part.”

  “My fault,” Deanna said. “I dragged him out early. We’re shopping for furniture today.”

  “Tell me.” Scott issued the order in the same tone he’d once used in cross examinations.

  So she did, outlining their progress on the house and the plans she had for the downstairs rooms. Wyatt and Alton exchanged a look as Scott blew past the twenty-minute mark and kept going, his attention riveted on Deanna. He wasn’t having to pedal with one hundred percent focus. That was more progress.

  “We’re keeping the footage limited and piecemeal right now because we don’t want to ruin the big reveal before the TCN’s network party.”

  Scott’s gaze finally swung back to Wyatt. “Network?”

  “That’s why I haven’t been by here as much lately. We’re amping up the timetable to host the thing.”

  Scott slapped the handlebars and crowed. “Hot damn. This one’s gonna happen. I can feel it.”

  As they continued to talk, easy as old friends, Wyatt felt some last bastion of defense against her simply crumble. He was unquestionably, without a doubt, in love with this woman.

  In the end, she was the one who had to be reminded of the shopping and work still to be done.

  “Get to it, then. I’m still fighting the good fight here.”

  “You do that. It was so wonderful to meet you, Scott. And I hope you’ll come out to see the house sometime.” The invitation was issued with warmth and sincerity. She couldn’t know the prospective bomb she’d just dropped.

  But his brother didn’t explode. Didn’t baldly point out his limitations. He didn’t say anything at all as he finally stopped pedaling and took the water bottle from Alton.

  “He plans to be able to take a full tour of both floors of the house by the time the whole thing is finished,” Alton announced.

  Scott only grunted in acknowledgment, but it was the first time he’d willingly made a plan to do something outside the facility since he’d moved in.

  Wyatt’s throat went tight. “I’d love that, man. “

  His brother’s eyes gleamed with a determination Wyatt hadn’t seen since before the accident. “It’s gonna happen. You’ll see.”

  “Can’t wait.”

  Chapter 15

  “I can’t imagine anyone being a bigger hit with my brother.”

  Tired and relaxed after a happy, successful day, Deanna tipped her head back against the seat and shifted to smile at Wyatt. “I can see why you adore him. He’s great. And it seems like he’s working really hard on his recovery.”

  “He’s had a big attitude change since he started working with Alton. He’s letting himself hope again, which is huge and something I didn’t think I’d ever see.”

  She had more than an inkling of why that might be the case and wondered if Wyatt had noticed. “Seems like they have a pretty tight bond.”

  “I think at least half the reason Scott’s busting his ass is so he won’t be a patient anymore and there are no ethical concerns with them pursuing a relationship.”

  Delighted, Deanna blew out a breath. “Okay, whew. So I didn’t imagine that chemistry.”

  Wyatt’s chuckle rumbled in the cab. “You’re getting as bad as Bennet. Anyway, I don’t know if anything will come of it, but I hope so. I’d like a chance to know the man who’s bringing my brother back to life.”

  Given what he’d told her this morning about the accident, she could only imagine what having Scott regaining some independence and some measure of his old life would mean for Wyatt. He hadn’t admitted it, but she could sense the lingering guilt he carried. Knew that there was some piece he was still holding back.

  “We should plan a dinner party for when he comes to tour the house. That visit seems like a big goal post for him, so we should make a big occasion of it. Not in a whole congrats on your recovery kind of way—because that would be kind of ableist—but in a welcome to our home kind of way. A celebration of family.”

  As soon as the words were out, Deanna wished them back. What was she doing making statements about home and family? They hadn’t discussed those things, hadn’t discussed their future beyond this house. God knew she’d had plenty of lessons about the danger of making assumptions, and she didn’t want to undermine their nascent relationship by pushing too far, too fast.

  Wyatt reached across the center console to lace his fingers with hers. “Scott would love that. More to the point, so would I. I like the idea of making a home with you.”

  She looked down at their twined hands. “Me too.” And it scared her shitless.

  Needing to lighten the mood, she glanced out the truck’s back window at their accumulated treasures. “Of course, we have to finish and furnish first.”

  “This load is a good start. It’ll at least get us a dining room table.”

  “Once you’ve made the top.”

  “Once I’ve made the top,” he agreed. “Let’s stop and let Casper out, then go drop this stuff in the barn. We can hunt through the honey hole and see what looks good to go with that base.”

  He parked in front of the house, and they both slid out. Deanna met him in front of the truck, automatically leaning in with a contented sigh when he wrapped an arm around her. In the lowering autumn sun, they studied the fruits of their labor. The fresh coat of crisp, white paint made the exterior pop. The newly repaired gallery above was just waiting for a pair of rocking chairs and a cool morning with a steaming mug of coffee. They still needed shutters, the brick of the chimneys needed repointing, and the landscaping was nonexistent. Inside, yet more painting awaited, along with all those floors to refinish. But their goal was in sight, and not a moment too soon. The party was just over a week away.

  “She’s coming back to glory,” Deanna murmured.

  “Because of you. Because you had a vision and got drunk enough to act on it.”

  “Maybe we can leave that part of the story out when we tell people?”

  He steered her toward the front steps. “I like that part of the story.”

  “I like the part where it led me to you.”

  Wyatt went rigid, and she wondered if she’d overstepped. “What the hell?”

  The sharp tone had her shoulders hunching up to her ears as he jerked away and raced up the steps.

  The wet steps.

  “Fuck!”

  Wyatt fumbled the key into the lock, and she saw what he’d seen. Water ran out from beneath the front door in a steady stream.

  Her blood chilled. “No.”

  Throwing open the door, Wyatt pushed past a dancing, soaking wet Casper and raced into the house. With every soggy step through the puddles that covered their precious, salvaged oak floors, Deanna’s chest tightened.

  The moment he spotted the water spewing from a pipe in the ceiling, Wyatt spewed more profanity and ran for the new shut-off valve he’d installed shortly after moving in.

  Deanna’s gaze fixed on the ceiling.
On the pipe that would have been dealt with weeks ago, if she’d listened to Wyatt and let him take care of everything in the order he’d wanted instead of pressing him to put it off, so they could get the downstairs done on time for this party.

  The water stopped spurting, and in the sudden silence, she could hear the steady drip, drip as the last of what was in the pipe drained out onto the floor. In stupefied horror, she lowered her gaze to take in the ruined sheetrock of the walls and the floors that were already buckling from water damage.

  Her fault. This was all her fault.

  “Get your phone! Call Simon. Have him activate the family group text for a 911. We need every able body, every shop vac, every fan we can get.”

  But Deanna couldn’t move. She could only stare at the ruination of their dreams.

  On another curse, Wyatt wrestled a shop vac into the room and shoved it into her hands. “Suck up whatever you can.” When she only blinked at him, he curled his hands around her shoulders and shook once. “Deanna, snap out of it! We have work to do.”

  Galvanized out of her stupor, she nodded and turned on the shop vac as he raced out of the room. She sucked up water until the vacuum was full, hauling it to the back door and dumping before returning to do it all over. Again and again, she filled the tank. Eventually, more people showed up. Simon. Mateo. Caleb. Levi. Others she didn’t recognize. More shop vacs began running. Box fans were set up all over the house. What felt like an entire store’s worth of towels materialized from somewhere to mop up yet more water. The house was an ant bed of activity, as everyone scrambled to save it.

  But as she moved from room to room, Deanna saw the curling edges of the historic hardwoods. Utterly destroyed. Given the volume of water they removed, the pipe had likely burst much earlier in the day. Because the house wasn’t entirely level, water hadn’t spread into every single room. But it had entered most, including the nearly finished kitchen, with its reclaimed heart pine floors. Back in the study, water wicked up the sides of every box of her stored belongings, destroying who knew what in the process.

  So much waste. Wasted materials. Wasted work. Wasted money.