“Gussy.” Her soft voice laughed as he licked her cheeks. “I’ve missed you too.”
I stood paralyzed, taking in her presence. The sun cast a spotlight on the girl like the halo of an angel. She glanced back up at Wyatt. “I see you’ve been taking good care of him.”
My gut twisted, and I backed up until I touched the fence. My fingers gripped the metal wire. This scene had an eerie familiar hint that made me think of Charlie, made me think of me. Gus was not Wyatt’s dog. The little Jack Russell belonged to the mystery girl.
Out of reflex, I slipped a look over to Wyatt. His hands were clamped into tight fists, making his knuckles glow white. His green eyes darted from the girl and then back to me.
She let a hesitant smile flow in my direction. “I’m Willa, since he’s obviously not going to introduce you.”
“Emma,” I muttered, staring at her. I wanted to ask questions, but too much was happening at once.
“You’re not supposed to be here.” Wyatt came alive, growling the words in her direction.
“I brought you some stuff.”
“Leave, Willa.” His teeth gritted tight against his jaw.
“You can’t just keep doing this. I won’t let you. It has to stop.”
“I can’t do anything else, but I can stop you from coming out here. I can do that much at least. Besides, you’re not supposed to be driving, anyway.”
“I’ve made a little progress. Sometimes I can go a week or two without an episode.”
“Really?” Wyatt’s face changed briefly as his emotions flooded his cheeks.
“Yes.” Her eyes pleaded back.
I didn’t know the identity of this girl. But she meant something to him. Something deep and slightly crazy. Something so strong, it brought tears to the corners of his eyes as he processed her words.
“That doesn’t mean you should come here. You know my conditions on this fucked-up arrangement.”
Hearing his words, a sudden chill shot up my spine even though the temperature was in the nineties.
“Why? Tell me why it’s so horrible that I come out here to see you.”
“You know why.” He glanced slightly in my direction, acknowledging my presence in the middle of their fight. Fear gripped in tight lines around his flat lips—fear mixed with the panic of a trapped animal. Wyatt was afraid she would say something in front of me.
Maybe she was his ex-girlfriend. Or girlfriend.
“This isn’t fair to me.” Her voice quivered a little as she faced him. “I know you are angry. And you feel guilty. But to me? It’s not fair.”
“If life were fair, I wouldn’t be here!”
“Don’t say that.”
“Then get back in your fucking car, and you won’t have to hear it.”
Her face went white as they stared at each other. Somewhere during the exchange of heated words, they had drifted closer together. Her hands clenched into fists as she processed the vile words slung in her face.
“I still love you. And I’m going to keep telling you every time I come out here. You can say every awful thing you want, but nothing is going to change how I feel about you. Nothing you do will either.”
A hard, granite mask slipped across his face, blocking out his emotions so her words had no place to land. Tears fell down Willa’s cheeks as she gazed at him. Her pain was strong.
And in that moment, I didn’t care about her identity.
I felt the pull to her broken heart. Her shoulders sagged, and I wanted to hug the poor girl who loved Wyatt because part of me understood her agony. I wasn’t the first person who had tried to fix Wyatt Caulfield.
As he failed to react to her powerful words, Willa wiped away a few tears and turned to leave. She opened the gate, and Wyatt grabbed Gus before he darted out the fence. The little dog whined as his apparent owner left him. My gaze followed her long, graceful legs back to the Tahoe. Willa climbed inside, but she didn’t start the motor.
The shock of the confrontation had left me as a petrified statue. I didn’t notice Wyatt take Gus and Gatsby toward the kennel until the door slammed, getting my attention. I looked back toward the SUV. The dark windows blocked her from my view. I had more questions than answers for the mysterious girl, but I went toward the kennel instead of risking his anger by going after Willa.
I stopped inside the door, seeing Wyatt put the two dogs in the holding pen by the office. He never put Gus in the kennel room, and Gatsby lived in his trailer now too.
“Wyatt, are you okay?”
“You shouldn’t be here either.” The bite to his words came as strong as those he’d thrown at Willa. I cringed at the sudden change in his personality toward me. His lips remained flat and white. Just a few moments ago, those same lips had clung to my mouth in desperation.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
He laughed with a strange, cryptic edge. “You almost had me. For a brief moment, you almost had me convinced that I was someone else.”
“Look, I don’t know what just happened out there.”
“This is over. That’s what happened. I don’t want you here anymore, Emma. Stay off my damn property. Take Charlie with you or leave him. I don’t give a shit. I just want you gone.”
“Wyatt, I—”
He disappeared out the door before I could finish the sentence. I walked slowly out the entrance just as he slammed the trailer door shut. The whole building shook on the cinder blocks.
My confused thoughts cluttered all the rational ones right out of my head. The parking area only held my car. Glancing out across the pasture, the black Tahoe disappeared into a cloud of dust.
I could push him. I could march right inside his cave and push him into talking, but I wasn’t sure if that was the right course of action. This Willa had set him on fire. Maybe I should wait until it burned down into something not so angry. Leaving was a risk because I might return to only find the ashes with all my progress, blowing away in the summer air.
The questions and options were endless and not promising. Maybe he loved this girl and that’s why I was an impossible fantasy. Maybe there was truth to all those warnings and her episodes.
Willa’s cryptic comments raised a different set of questions that haunted my thoughts as I walked to my car. Pulling open the door, I saw a note lying in the front seat on the back of a Walmart receipt.
Emma,
I don’t know who you are. But the fact that you are here means Wyatt trusts you. I don’t know what he’s told you. I’m sure you have questions. If you want some answers, at least the ones I know, give me a call. 405-555-5309. If you want to wait for him to tell you, I understand too.
I’m not some psycho ex. I’m his sister. I doubt he’s ever mentioned his family. He’s got one of them too.
Willa
His sister? The shock hit me hard in the chest. All those times I’d worried that no one thought about him, Wyatt had kept a secret sister and a family. He had people but chose to live out here in complete misery. As the anger flickered in tiny bursts through my thoughts, I knew his isolation came from something much bigger than I’d realized.
Gripping the receipt in my hand, I slammed my car door and marched over to his trailer. The pain went through my knee in sharp stabs, but I ignored the irritating reminder. My fingers grasped the knob on the aluminum door, expecting it to be locked, but it turned loose in my hand.
Wyatt sat in the old chair that held the shape of his body. His eyes glowed back from the darkness of the trailer. Every light remained off and the thick curtains cut off all traces of the sun. I left the door open so I could monitor his reaction.
“Start talking.” I threw the slip of paper in his lap. Wyatt grasped the Walmart receipt tight as he skimmed the words and then crumpled it in his fist.
“Fine. Destroy it. But that doesn’t make any of this go away.” Except I’d forgotten to write down her phone number, but that little detail wasn’t relevant. “You need to talk to me, or I’m going to call Willa. I’
ll let her tell me everything you are so desperately trying to avoid. Just tell me, Wyatt. Talk to me.”
That strange laugh came from deep in his throat as he shook his head. “You’re so naïve. It’s been right in front of you. I thought you would figure it out, but you never did.”
“Figure what out?”
“Dammit, Emma.” His hands gripped tight, making his knuckles turn white. “Fine.”
He kicked off his boot and yanked up his jeans leg. A three-inch scar ran down his skin right under his knee.
Just above his white sock, a black strap circled his entire leg with a little box attached to the side. I was confused, and then it all slammed into place.
Wyatt couldn’t go to the doctor. Wyatt couldn’t go to dinner. Wyatt couldn’t ride his motorcycle. Wyatt couldn’t leave.
My eyes stayed locked on the ankle monitor as the puzzle pieces swirled around in my head. “How long have you been here like this?”
“Over two years.”
“You haven’t left here. This place. In over two years?”
“Yes,” he muttered. “And it’s only the beginning.”
“What happened?”
He watched me as the raw pain twisted through his face. Wyatt pulled his jeans leg down. “When a guy out in the middle of nowhere tells you that he has been in his own personal prison for the last two years—that should be your cue to leave.”
“Not until you tell me why. I’m tired of fighting you on this.” I sat down on the couch, feeling the scratchy fabric on my thighs. I crossed my arms in defiance. “Stop trying to push me away by being a jerk. Just spit it out. Rip the Band-Aid off.”
“How do you know I won’t lie and just sugarcoat it with a bunch of fake shit?” He was trying his best to scare me, but I was in too deep to run. I saw through his façade. He was afraid. He was terrified for me to see the broken pieces of his life.
“I know you don’t lie to me. You’re not that kind of person.”
“You don’t know what kind of person I am. Not really.”
“Then tell me.” Staring into those mocking green eyes, I dared him to give me his worst. “Who are you really, Wyatt Caulfield?”
He hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “Well, for starters, my last name is Carter. I stole Caulfield right out of Catcher in the Rye. If you tried to look me up, I’m sure you didn’t find a damn thing.”
The words came out with a cruel twist, causing my heart to falter and question everything I thought I’d known about this person. I was so sure, and then like a flash—I wasn’t. Wyatt Carter got up from the chair and kicked the door closed, sending us into darkness.
NO ONE STARTS OUT THE morning thinking, I’m going to screw up everyone’s lives today. Instead, they go about their day believing, I’m so damn invincible, not even God himself can touch me. But that’s the thing about believing you’re more powerful than God. At the end of the day, everyone is really just a product of their piss-poor choices and ultimately the consequences.
I don’t know when I’d become the guy who contemplated a bunch of theoretical shit. Maybe it was my freshman year when my advisor stuck my ass in that philosophy class—or maybe it was the night I learned the truth the hard way.
2 years, 6 months, 17 days ago
MY EYES LOCKED IN A dead hold with my father. One whole hour. That’s all it took. “Are you coming down for dinner, Wyatt?”
Simple, harmless words, but laced with years of issues. Sometimes I wished he would just hit me. Break my nose. Knock out a few teeth. People had a way of understanding violence. It’s easy to explain: my dad beats the shit out of me.
But our disagreements were different. Oil and water and gasoline and fire. Words and resentment and control. That’s what it always came down to with him. He wanted me to say and do everything just like those he commanded at work.
I crossed my arms over my chest without saying a word. We held our spots, each of us frozen in our attempt to take a stand. My father expected me to follow him down the stairs like a puppy. But I wasn’t coming until I damn well felt like it.
My phone buzzed as Trevor Higgins sent another obnoxious text. Looking at the screen, I cringed at the words, describing my high school ex-girlfriend.
“Melissa Cox is here. I think her tits got bigger.”
My fingers gripped around the phone before tossing it on the bed. Taking another look up at my father, his jaw clenched in a tight hold. He knew who had sent the message without even reading it.
“I’ll be down in a minute,” I muttered.
I wanted him to leave me the hell alone tonight. I was exhausted from finals. Over the last three days, I’d slept a total of five hours and I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that still gripped my gut. I hoped my psychology professor took my end-of-semester term paper since I’d slipped it under his door late. My scholarship required me to keep a certain GPA, or I would find myself right back here in this shit-hole on a permanent basis.
“I’m warning you. Don’t pull one of your stunts and ruin dinner.”
“Yes, sir.” I struggled to tone down the sarcasm. He gave one last commanding glare before stepping around my suitcase and leaving my bedroom. Hearing his shoes on the stairs, I got up and slammed my door before falling down on the bed. My phone lit up again with another message from Trevor.
“Get your pussy ass over here. This is your fucking party.”
I didn’t want any damn homecoming party, but we both knew this had nothing to do with me. Not really. Back in the fifth grade, his mom had left with some guy who grew hemp on a commune in California. Mr. Higgins had never really gotten over that one. He slowly spiraled into a worthless father who spent all his time and money at the Indian casinos. I’m sure Trevor was all alone and my trip back for winter break was an excuse for some bender blowout at his house.
I felt that usual pang of guilt when it came to my old friend. After all, tomorrow was Christmas and I bet he was spending it by himself again. He was like some ripped-up teddy bear, tossed in the dumpster and forgotten. Letting out a deep breath, I picked up my phone, shooting off a quick reply.
“Be there soon, asshole.”
Heading downstairs, I heard their voices before I even reached the landing. I grabbed my black hoodie from off the back of the couch. Glancing in the direction of the laughter, I saw my family gathered around the table in the kitchen—waiting for me.
Hopefully, I could slip out the door without my parents knowing I was headed to Trevor’s house. Just the mention of his name would make my dad get all preachy and shit again. You need to stay clear of that Higgins boy. I’d heard it most of high school.
“Where are you going, Wyatt?” Her soft voice made me stop in my tracks. I looked over my shoulder, seeing the sad smile on my mom’s face as she stood under the curved archway that led into the kitchen. “Are you leaving? You just got here.”
“I’m just going for a little ride. I won’t be gone long.”
The visible hurt flashed in her eyes. “Well, it’s already after eight and I just got finished with dinner.”
I got a whiff of something that resembled pie. Only a complete asshole cut out on Christmas Eve, but I needed to get to his house, make an appearance for Trevor’s sake. I would spend some time with the guys, and then take it easy the rest of winter break.
Ever since I’d gotten the scholarship to play for Texas Westmiller University, my life was an endless looping circle of football practice, class, and homework. Coach was a hard ass, but he was damn good. It’s the reason our football season ended in the Division-II semifinals.
But now I was here. I was back in Gibbs and the same old claws of the monster pulled me right back down into the depths of his debauchery. But I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t just a little excited. I’d missed Marcus and Trevor while I was away.
“I’m sorry, Mom. But there’s something I gotta do.”
“You going to Trevor’s house?” Her eyes probed with the questions I knew she would
never ask of me. The whole town of Gibbs heard the rumors of the crazy shit that went on just over the city limit line—my father more than any of them.
“Yeah. Just for a little bit.”
“You should invite him over tomorrow.” Even though my dad hated the guy, my mom on the other hand had a soft spot for the delinquents.
“You sure that’s okay?” I asked, glancing toward the kitchen at my father. His large frame seemed three sizes too big for our old dining chair. I stared for a moment as he talked to my little sister Willa. She laughed, flipping her brown hair over her shoulder. It seemed so normal and easy with them.
“Yes, invite Trevor. I’m the one making the food. I can give it to anyone I want to.”
My father picked up a six-inch knife, taking a stab at the roasted turkey. I moved out of eyesight before he noticed my presence. “Thanks, Mom. That’s um . . . that would be nice.”
“Don’t stay out too late. Grandma and Grandpa will be here early. They want to see you and Willa open presents.”
“Okay, Mom.” I laughed under my breath. “Early, as in?”
“Seven.”
“Fu . . . I um . . . mean. That’s nice.” The Christmas show still went on like I was five. My pocket vibrated again. Shit. Trevor needed to calm the hell down.
“Bye, Mom.” I gave her a quick kiss on the cheek.
Flipping the hood over my head, I left through the old front door, leaving my mom standing alone in the living room. I went around to the storage building where they kept my bike. I didn’t take it to college. I didn’t want any of those stupid assholes touching it as a prank.
Lifting the tarp, the moonlight reflected off the shiny chrome and black. The motorcycle had been a gift from my grandpa when I turned sixteen. He’d restored the old Harley himself. My father had wanted to send it immediately back over to his garage. He said it played right into the path of me becoming a felon. Personally, I think it saved me from it.
I pulled a pack of Marlboros out of my pocket. Lighting up a cigarette, I took a couple of drags and studied the clouds. The air was chilly and smelled of winter rain. I’d probably get soaked on the way back, but it was a better option than my truck.
Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) Page 13