by Kait Nolan
“Yeah.” And it had taken a fair chunk of his adult life to remember it after the struggles in his adoptive family.
“Think about it. Either way, I’ve got my hands full right now. With Odette gone, I’m having to juggle phones and classes and every damned thing, and I’ve got to figure out what the hell I’m going to do to replace her.”
“Good luck with that, bro. And thanks again for all your help.”
“Anytime, man.”
Because the rental place wasn’t open yet, Wyatt headed to visit Scott. It wasn’t one of his normal days, but his brother never turned down the company, and Wyatt could use a little injection of belief that he wasn’t crazy. The campus was just getting moving when he arrived. Waved through by the front desk attendant, he headed for the residential wing.
Scott was at his little dinette table, sipping at a cup of coffee in a lidded mug, when Wyatt knocked on the door. “Hey! I wasn’t expecting you again so soon.”
“Sorry. Everything has sort of gone to shit, and I needed your perspective.”
He hesitated.
“Do you have a PT or therapy session soon? I can come back later.”
“No, no. It’s fine. You know I’ll help if I can. What’s going on?”
Wyatt dropped into a chair across from his brother. “The house flooded yesterday.”
“What?” Scott asked the question with the appropriate expression of horror.
He spilled the whole thing out, all the way through his walking out. “After everything we’ve done, everything we’ve been through, how can she just give up? How can she call us a mistake?”
He hadn’t meant to ask that last question, but it was out there now. And damn it, that was the part that stuck in his craw the most. The part that had kept him up the most of the night. When had she become more important than the house? The show?
Scott’s eyes sharpened. “Objection. Request for clarification. Did she call your relationship a mistake or the situation with the house?”
Of course, he’d drop back on semantics. Once a lawyer, always a lawyer, traumatic brain injury or not. “A rejection of one is a rejection of both. It’s all one and the same with us.”
“That’s spurious logic.”
Wyatt went ramrod straight at the sound of his mother’s voice. How long had she been there? Where had she been that he hadn’t noticed her presence?
She moved into his line of sight—from the bathroom, he realized—and he was shocked at her change in appearance. Always a tall, sturdy woman with an imposing presence that filled a lecture hall as surely as her booming alto, her frame had winnowed down to almost gaunt, and the skin seemed stretched taut over bone. Lines of strain bracketed her mouth and eyes, as if grief had been permanently etched into her face. It was so like how she’d looked after his father had died, after Scott’s accident. But worse, somehow. Deeper. Older.
Despite himself, Wyatt felt the stirrings of worry and had to remind himself that this was the same woman who’d stood over Scott’s hospital bed when he lay in a coma and said the unforgivable.
It should have been you.
Three years. He’d managed to stay away from her for three years. He’d thought the time and distance would dull the pain, but he still felt the slice of her words as if they were new.
It should have been you.
And she presumed to lecture him about his logic? Fuck no.
Wyatt stood to leave.
“Don’t!” The order barked out before she squeezed her eyes closed and softened her tone. “Please. Just listen.”
Conscious that there were others in the residential wing, he kept his voice low and controlled. “There’s nothing you have to say that I want to hear.”
“Maybe not, but you need to hear it.”
His hands curled and uncurled at his sides, but he didn’t move.
Marjorie linked hers together, an uncharacteristic show of agitation. “I’ve watched the show.”
Wait. What?
“I know that Deanna is a special woman. The kind of woman who comes along once in a lifetime. The kind of woman you deserve. You can’t throw that away because she might have misspoken.”
Wyatt blinked. Who was this woman and what had she done with his mother?
“Once, when I was grieving and lost and out of my mind, I said a terrible thing. A thing I know I can never take back. And every single day, I wanted to say how wrong I was, how sorry, and knowing that would never ever be enough. So I did nothing, letting it fester, wasting years, until the only thing left was regret.” Tears gathered in her eyes and spilled down those sharp cheeks, but her voice stayed steady. “For whatever it’s worth, I love you, Wyatt, and I don’t want that life for you. So find a way to talk to her and make it right. Don’t let your pride, or the old wounds that I inflicted, be the thing that destroys what you have with her.”
Dumbfounded, he could only stare.
Message delivered, Marjorie nodded. “I’ll be back later. You two need this time together.” Without another word, she picked up her purse from the table by the door and slipped out of the room.
Wyatt stared after her for a long minute, his brain struggling to process what had just happened and coming up empty. “What the actual fuck was that?”
Scott set his mug down with a thunk. “An olive branch. The question is—will you take it?”
Chapter 17
Deanna examined the progress her volunteers were making with stripping the old beat-up chest of drawers she and Wyatt had found at the flea market. “That’s looking really great. See that gorgeous woodgrain?” She trailed her finger along the length of a drawer front and tried not to remember Wyatt doing the same to her. “It’s going to be fantastic with new stain.”
After a few more words of encouragement and instruction, she moved down the line, checking on each of the pieces they’d picked up from the barn and moved to this workspace at the back of Restoration Station. Carson Colwell was currently playing the role of fairy godfather in the movie of her life, and Deanna was probably going to kiss him before the week was out. The old cuss had jumped at the trade she’d offered. If they pulled this insanity off, it would be because of him. Him and the dozens of volunteers who’d answered the call for aid.
“Deanna!”
She turned to find Fiona Gaffney jogging down the aisle. “Hey, honey. Here to pitch in?”
“Yeah. I just came from Blackborne Hall. Went to drop off food for Simon and the others.”
“Oh?” Deanna wondered if the girl noticed her focus sharpening like a dog on a scent. “Was there much of a crowd?”
She had no idea what was being done at the house. That would’ve required being home or actually talking to Wyatt, which hadn’t happened since their fight. He hadn’t been there when she’d brought a team to load up the furniture from the barn, and he hadn’t reached out to her at all in the intervening days. The only reason she knew he’d been back at all was the incessant drone of industrial fans and dehumidifiers. She’d resisted the urge to do more than use the cameras to confirm he’d come back and started a fresh round of demolition. If he wanted to talk to her, he’d call. If he didn’t—well, she was banking on his mood improving once she showed up with the cavalry.
“He put out a call to his foster family, so there’s a team of other contractors and construction folks who came in to help pull out the damaged floors and drywall and make whatever underlying repairs are needed.”
A knot of anxiety loosened. He’d asked for help instead of insisting he could do everything on his own. With more help, they might make it.
“Do you know how far they’ve gotten?”
“Ripped out the ceiling and got the pipe fixed and the last of the plumbing updated. They were starting on the floors when I left, but moving at a pretty good clip. They’re expecting things will be dried out enough to start the actual repairs tomorrow.”
“Good.” Deanna nodded to herself, running mental calculations. “That’s good. They’ll b
e ready for this by the time it’s ready tomorrow morning.”
“Ready for what?”
She led Fiona to another part of the Restoration Station complex, where more of the team of volunteers painstakingly removed nails from reclaimed floors before running each plank through a planer to clean it up. They had a hell of an assembly line going. “We needed to replace the flooring with basically no budget. Carson found an abandoned school a couple of hours west of here that was scheduled for demolition. The whole place was full of variable width oak. We got permission to bring in a team for salvage. It’s period appropriate, and the price was certainly right. They’ve been working round the clock to get it out, get it here and prepped.”
She’d done her own stint over there at the start, putting in a solid four or five hours she still felt in every inch of her back.
“Wow. This is impressive. Wyatt didn’t say anything about this when I was there.”
“He doesn’t know. I didn’t want to get his hopes up unless we actually pulled it off.” For all of fifteen seconds, Deanna wrestled with herself before she finally broke down to ask the girl what she really wanted to know. “How is he?”
Fiona studied her with an expression that said she saw way too much. “Focused on the job. Definitely in go mode. Which isn’t surprising under the circumstances.”
Did he say anything about me? Deanna wondered, but didn’t give voice to the thought. It was no one else’s responsibility to keep her apprised of his mental state, and she could have just as easily picked up the phone herself. Except she hadn’t been able to make herself. What if he didn’t take her call? No, it was better they have that conversation in person. Maybe by the time they managed it, his temper would’ve cooled.
“Simon said he’s been miserable since you left.”
Deanna’s gaze snapped to Fiona, hating the sympathy in her expression. “It’s going around. We’ll sort it out once this disaster is over.” She had to hang on to that as a possibility, or she couldn’t keep going.
Clearing her throat, she jerked her head. “C’mon. Let’s put you to work on this other project.”
They strode past all the furniture in various stages of refinishing to the bigger project spread out on massive worktables they’d erected in an empty corner of the warehouse.
“What on earth am I looking at?”
“There’s no opportunity to actually stain and seal the floors before the TCN party, so we’re going to cover most of them with custom painted canvas rugs. I brought in several area artists to help out with design and painting, and there are a few that I designed myself. It’s a budget friendly option that will give us a more finished look in a short time frame. On most of them, we’re down to putting on the several coats of polyurethane.”
A familiar head popped up from the nearest rug. “Deanna!”
“Mom? What are you—”
Kyra, one of the artist volunteers, spoke up. “I drafted her when she came in a couple of hours ago. You looked tied up with other stuff.”
Deanna stared. “You’ve… been helping?”
Valerie beamed. “I have! This is such a clever concept. It was your idea?”
Should she be offended? Defensive? Was there judgement in her mother’s tone or was that just her own innate assumption of her disapproval? “Um… yes. It was the most affordable option for custom floor coverings in a hurry.”
“So smart! All day I’ve been hearing about the different projects you have going on. Walked by some of them on my last break. I think I never really understood just how talented you really are.” Her mother actually beamed.
Had Valerie been huffing paint supplies?
Confused, Deanna could only blink. “I… thank you. I appreciate that acknowledgment. After the other night it’s… unexpected.”
Valerie grimaced and stepped close, laying a tentative hand on her arm. “Your dad and I… we just worry. We shouldn’t have laid into you like we did. You’re a grown woman, and a talented one. You have a right to live your life the way you see fit. Even if it’s a lot more risky and exciting than we imagined. We just want to see you happy.”
Emotion swelled in her throat, such that she had to swallow several times before replying. “This makes me happy.”
Eyes a little shiny herself, Valerie nodded decisively. “Then I’ll do whatever I can to help. Including working on bringing your dad around. He’s got his boxers in a twist over the cohabitation.” She rolled her eyes, even as Deanna felt her face flame.
What was she supposed to say to that?
“It’s been a long, long time since we’ve seen you happy. He makes you happy. We worried about that, too, because you thought Blake made you happy. But Wyatt looks at you in a way Blake never did. That man thinks you hung the moon. Who are we to stand in the way of that?”
Because she needed a moment to hide her face and wrangle the tears, Deanna pulled her mom in for a hug. “Thanks. I really appreciate that.”
As they hugged away all the lingering animosity, Deanna felt hope, for the first time, that maybe her parents were finally coming around to seeing her as the capable, independent woman she was. Or at least to accepting her right to make her own life choices.
She wished she could tell Wyatt.
Knowing that even if they were on site together, she could no longer just walk into his arms and tell him about her day, the loss of him swamped her all over again. They had to talk at some point. But neither of them could risk breaking this detente if they were going to make their deadline, so the fate of their relationship would have to wait a while longer.
Releasing her mother, she stepped back. “Fiona, I’m leaving you in their capable hands. I’ve got a table to refinish.”
Early morning sunlight streamed into the room as Porter Ingram used a pry bar to rip up the last piece of warped flooring in the front parlor. “That’s the end of it. Damned shame about losing those original floors.”
Wyatt swiped a tired hand across his sweaty brow and surveyed what felt like acres of empty floor joists. All traces of the temporary kitchen and lounge they’d been living with for months were gone, the stuff relocated upstairs, along with all the sodden boxes of Deanna’s things. He hadn’t opened any to see if anything was ruined, and as far as he knew, neither had she. He couldn’t blame her for not wanting to face that, either.
“The whole damned thing makes me just sick. I keep kicking myself for not making absolutely sure all the plumbing was updated.”
Landon Bane, one of the crew who’d come with Porter from Eden’s Ridge, shrugged a philosophical shoulder. “You don’t know what you don’t know. And it’s all updated for sure now.”
It had taken extra time, but Wyatt wasn’t risking a repeat that might destroy even more of his work. The entire process had gone a hell of a lot faster with professional help. “I can’t thank y’all enough for coming.”
Porter snagged a bottle of water and took a swig. “It’s no problem. That’s the whole point of my taking Mia on as a business partner. So I have more flexibility to do the things I want to do.”
Wyatt looked askance in his direction. “Working forty-eight hours straight on a project you’re not even being paid for is on that list of wants?”
“Helping family is. Besides, Faith isn’t sleeping right now because she’s cutting teeth, so taking a few days away from my darling daughter is keeping me sane. And if you tell my wife I said that, I’ll call you a dirty liar.”
Huffing a laugh, Wyatt guzzled his own water. “Well, at this point, shower and shut eye are more or less the order of the day. The drywall mud still needs to finish drying before it can be sanded and painted, and I don’t know what we’re doing about floors yet.”
And why the hell was he still talking in “we”? He hadn’t seen Deanna since their fight. She hadn’t contacted him, and she’d taken the dog wherever she’d disappeared to. To his mind, it was a sign that she was over and done with all of this. Including him. He’d need a lot more time and
space to process that rejection, but he wasn’t going to abandon his investment. God knew how he was going to get that money back without forcing her to sell, but he’d figure that out later. He’d made a promise, and he was going to keep it. Somehow. Because, for better or worse, this whole thing had become more about her than the house or the show. After all these years of pouring in his blood, sweat, and tears, he hadn’t even been able to make himself look at social media or the website. Why torture himself with the disappointment of fans too?
At the sound of a vehicle coming up the drive, they all started for the door.
“Man, I hope that’s Simon with breakfast,” Landon muttered. “I’m freaking starving.”
It wasn’t Simon.
The truck that rolled to a stop in front of the house sported the Reclamation Station logo on the side, and the trailer behind it was loaded down with a hell of a lot of something under tarps.
“What the hell?” Wyatt trotted down the steps as the driver’s side door opened.
Carson slid out, tucking one hand in his red suspenders as he ambled over. “Mornin’.”
“Morning. What are you doing here?”
“Oh, well, I heard about the trouble. Figured you could use a hand. And this.” He flipped the edge of the tarp back to reveal flooring. Loads and loads of oak flooring.
Wyatt couldn’t stop himself from stepping forward to run his hands along it. Planed smooth as a baby’s butt. “Carson, this is… I can’t afford to pay you for this.”
The old man grunted. “Nothing to pay for. It’s reclaimed from a demolition site. There was a whole team of volunteers who pulled and prepped it for you. All you’ve gotta do is put them in.” He checked his watch. “Reckon it’ll be cutting it pretty close, but you’ll have something for those network suits to stand on.”
Wyatt offered a sad smile, torn between grief and gratitude. “It’s too little too late. Deanna cancelled the party.”
Carson smirked. “You sure about that?” He nodded toward the driveway, where a whole long line of vehicles were turning in.