Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1)

by S. D. Hendrickson

  I struggled to keep my patience by picturing a deserted island with a single palm tree. My feet walked through the sand as the tide washed up around me. But then Blaire appeared out of nowhere—our internal twin connection, bringing her along to my peaceful retreat. So I imagined the palm tree falling on her.

  The thought startled me back to reality. I just mentally crushed my sister with a tree. Letting out a deep breath, I clenched the can tighter in my palm. “I’m safe, Blaire. Nothing is going to happen to me. You don’t have to get so worried.”

  “Whatever. Your ability to be oblivious to the world is going to catch up to you one day.” She mumbled something under her breath that sounded like, “And I’m not taking care of some baby.”

  She fiddled with her laptop while I continued to stand in front of her. I guess that was her way of dismissing me back to unloading our groceries. Blaire typed something quickly, cutting her eyes up at me. “What?”

  I leaned over the top of the screen to see why my continued presence seemed to agitate her. “What are you doing?”

  The lid slammed closed, almost hitting me in the nose on the way down. Her eyes were level with mine as we stared at each other. “None of your damn business.”

  “But my life is yours?”

  “Forget I even said anything.” Blaire jumped up from the couch, grabbing her laptop. “You always do whatever the hell you want anyway—regardless of what I say. So just continue to live in your bubble with the birds chirping around you while you skip through the forest. Oh, wait. That would be some nasty dirt road in the woods to see a convict.”

  My jaw hung open a little as Blaire and her irrational thoughts stormed off to her bedroom—and mine went to Wyatt. I wasn’t wrong about my relationship with him. I was good for him. He needed me, and helping people was the right thing to do. I knew without a shadow of a doubt I was supposed to save him. Because he needed saving more than any person I had ever met.

  And besides, that part of our relationship had not changed. Wyatt always kept himself in check while in the trailer, even though it turned into something else when he walked me to my car. Sometimes it took five minutes to leave and sometimes it took thirty as he pressed me against the car door.

  I guess it made him feel safer if he touched me in the driveway rather than on his couch. Either way, I think the impending loneliness triggered the desperate moments from him. The more he thought about me leaving, the more he clung to my skin and my lips.

  Going back into the kitchen, I separated the groceries out, making a sack to take to his house. After his terrible day, I knew Wyatt needed me tonight for nothing more than my physical presence as I slept next to him.

  I had yet to tell Wyatt that I loved him. Sometimes I wanted to share the depth of my feelings as a way to comfort him. And sometimes the words almost slipped out as his lips rubbed over my skin. But I knew those feelings needed to be reserved for the right time—when he was ready, when I knew Wyatt wouldn’t lash out.

  Our conversations were never angry or hurtful, but I’d never said those significant words. Saying “I love you” might make Wyatt kiss me, scream, and yell, or just break down crying.

  I’d seen him cry twice on those random nights when I’d slept beside him. Once he’d shaken the bed as his shoulders clinched up in some muscle convulsion. And the other time, it had been in silence as hot tears ran down his cheeks, leaving giant wet spots on the pillow. Honestly, I’m not sure if Wyatt was even aware of the episodes. And that bothered me more than if he’d just broken down in front of me.

  I gathered up the two sacks for Mr. Hughes and the one for Wyatt. I slammed the front door hard behind me, making sure Blaire knew I was headed to Wyatt’s trailer again.

  I SHIFTED AROUND ON HIS couch, trying to get comfortable. I had chemistry homework strung out across the cushions and the coffee table. Sometimes it was either a choice of visiting Wyatt or doing equations. So I started combining them into one and the same. He usually disappeared outside when I brought my backpack, poking his head back inside the door ever so often to check on me.

  And right on cue, the aluminum door cracked open and I saw his brown head look around the corner. He smiled at my obvious frustration.

  “Still not going good?” he asked, coming into the living room and sitting down in his old chair.

  “Uh, no. Are you sure you know nothing about chemistry?”

  “Positive.”

  I fussed with the question a little longer, applying my eraser more than the lead. Glancing up, his gaze was still on me. He grinned, letting his dimples burn into his cheeks.

  I play-frowned at his flirting. “I can’t concentrate with you staring at me. I have to get this done before my study group tonight.”

  “Why do you have to take chemistry anyway?”

  “Because I’m applying to a program that requires it.” Sometimes he asked me questions about my classes, and I wondered if he missed school. Or maybe he associated all of his time there as the unapologetically sad guy.

  I leaned back against the cushion. “Do you ever think about going back to school?”

  “I don’t know.” His voice grated slightly on the words as his smile faded.

  “You finished three semesters, right?”

  “Yeah.” He looked down at the floor.

  “Did you have a major?”

  He shrugged. “Not really.”

  “Oh.” I figured it was best to let this one go. I turned my attention back to the equation. One more eraser mark, and I would have a hole in the paper.

  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Wyatt get up from the chair. He went into the kitchen, opening the cabinet to retrieve two mugs. Pushing the Folgers container over to the side, he grabbed my bag of fancy hazelnut coffee. I smiled to myself, seeing what he was doing.

  I went back to making a hole in my paper as the room filled with the smell of the dark brew. Hearing a slight clinking noise, I sneaked another glace over to the kitchen. Wyatt was carefully stirring my container of liquid creamer into both cups. I had to bite the side of my cheek to keep from laughing. I knew he liked that stuff.

  As he turned around, I looked quickly back down at my paper. I didn’t want Wyatt to know I’d been watching him.

  “Come on. Break time.” He gestured toward the door. Gus and Gatsby beat me to it. I crawled off the couch, feeling the ache in my leg. I had sat there, twisted up like a pretzel, for over two hours.

  Wyatt sat down on the small steps, and I squished in beside him, feeling my right hip smash against his. Summer had ended several weeks ago, and the chill of the fall breeze blew through the air. I snuggled closer to the side of his body since I didn’t wear a jacket outside.

  Handing me one of the cups, Wyatt put his left arm around my shoulders, pulling me tighter against his warm sweatshirt. I sipped on the sweet coffee. A wet nose pushed at my leg. I reached down, taking the tennis ball from Gus, tossing it out in the dirt driveway. He ran like a flash of lightning, and returned with it clamped between his teeth before I could even take another sip.

  Wyatt chuckled beside me. “Remember, you started it.”

  “How can I say no to him?”

  “Well, he’s an addict, and tennis balls are his crack.”

  “That’s because you spend all your time out in the kennel with the others.”

  “That’s not true. Besides, he sleeps with me. What more does he need?” Wyatt pushed his nose into the side of my hair, letting his lips hover before pressing a warm kiss against my neck. His mouth moved an inch lower as the electric energy seemed to pick up between us.

  So I nudged him a bit. “You should take Gus running with you instead of going by yourself in the mornings.”

  He let out a deep breath, and my body soaked up the warmth as it drifted over my skin. “You know why I go alone.”

  “Just think about it.” I tossed the ball again, putting my full arm into the throw so it bounced across the dirt and into the grass. I gave Gatsby a scratch on t
op of the head. His old body was stretched out on the ground next to the stairs, completely oblivious to Gus and his addiction.

  “Okay,” Wyatt finally muttered. Sometimes he just needed a small push to see things a little differently.

  Taking another sip, the hot liquid rolled down my throat. I leaned over, letting my head rest against his shoulder. “Thank you for the coffee. I needed this.”

  Wyatt’s hand moved down my back and held onto the side of my waist. He pulled me even tighter to his body, placing another kiss just below my ear. Reaching down, I set my cup on the step below us. I circled my arms around his stomach, burying my face into his chest. My nose filled with the scent of laundry detergent and the soap he’d used in the shower.

  Gus nudged at our legs with the yellow ball. Wyatt’s chest moved a little as he laughed. “Told you.”

  He threw it this time, jostling me a little in the process. I loved these moments with Wyatt. So simple and peaceful. Maybe I really didn’t need all of that other stuff that went along with dating. Maybe I told the truth when I said it was overrated. Wyatt and I didn’t need the rest of the world. Except that wasn’t the truth. I still saw the outside world every day, and he didn’t see anything but here.

  “Do you miss things?” I whispered into the soft folds of his sweatshirt.

  “Things?”

  “I don’t know. Like doing stuff and going places. Things.”

  Wyatt rested his chin on top of my head. “I try not to think about that kind of stuff. I guess it defeats the point. Don’t you think?”

  Given the opportunity, I gave him another small nudge. “No. I think it’s okay to miss things. Or wish you could do things.”

  “I miss you when you’re not here.”

  Wyatt knew just how to get me right in the heart. I was tempted to give in to his sweet answer, but I tried to push one last time. I lifted up my head and looked Wyatt in the eye. “I miss you too. But that’s not what I mean. Wanting to do something and actually doing it are two different things. You focus so much on trying to deprive yourself of things on purpose. It’s okay to talk about what you want or what you miss. It doesn’t mean you are going to run over the fence line and break the rules. But I think talking about this stuff helps calm some of those thoughts that twist around in your head.”

  My tiny, delicate nudge had transcended into a full-on shove. When he didn’t answer, I chose not to push him any further. I didn’t want it to come across as an attack.

  Wyatt got that look again, where he seemed to drift away into another dimension. I didn’t interrupt like I’d done in the past. Instead, I studied his eyes as they hung open wide, staring off into the distance.

  Maybe this was too much for him to discuss with me today, but I knew my hypothetical question had sparked somewhere in his twisty thoughts. Wyatt needed to come to terms with his actual punishment and the difference in levels of restrictions he’d chosen to impose on himself. But I knew none of those issues would be resolved in an afternoon or even a week.

  I leaned over, taking the ball from Gus, tossing it out into the grass. I cuddled up against Wyatt’s warm sweatshirt again. His chest moved in ragged breaths under my cheek. I held on to his body as the conflicts wrestled to some form of a conclusion inside his head.

  “I miss riding my bike.” His voice came out soft.

  The revelation startled my thoughts and warmed my heart as I imagined him on Priscilla. I’d told Wyatt about Mr. Hughes a few weeks ago. He didn’t say much at the time. I think it had bothered him to be gifted with something so significant from another person. The bike had meant a lot when it had come from his grandfather. Now it had an ironic sentimental tie from someone in my own life. Maybe he didn’t feel worthy. Or maybe he just hated talking about the outside world.

  “I miss going to the movies,” he continued. “The giant screen. And the noise. I have always liked the way loud movies make your seat shake like you are literally standing in the middle of whatever you are seeing on the screen. I liked that part the best. Even more than the popcorn. But I miss that too. I swear I can smell it right now.”

  I held onto his body, listening to his words and smelling the scent of butter. His voice always had the ability to bring the imaginary to life. When he read his stories—and even now when he told me his secrets.

  “And playing football,” he spoke again with a soft, nostalgic ache. “I always loved the simple act of playing the game. Way before the whole crowd thing. But I liked all that shit too. I loved playing in the stadium. The way it sounded, hearing everyone stomping in the bleachers, chanting all that “go team” shit—chanting my name. You get this high unlike anything you can imagine. Thousands of people who love you. And they know nothing about you. But they love you anyway.”

  He paused, resting his chin on my head again. “And they can just as easily hate you. Thousands of people who know nothing about you. I deserved the love or at least I thought I did when I was scoring points. And I deserved the hate too when I screwed it all up.”

  I had come to realize the pain in Wyatt had many layers. He blamed himself for the accident, yet it also hurt to have others blame him too. And I think he felt some twisted guilt about those thoughts. He felt guilty for being hurt by their hate.

  “And I miss seeing the texts from Trevor.” My heart immediately clenched, hearing the raspy catch in his throat. “He always sent the craziest shit after he heard my score on the college games. He was always rooting for me. All the way back here even though Trevor never saw one of my games.”

  His voice faded out, haunting the quiet air. And I couldn’t bear to look at him. I didn’t know what to say to the answers he’d given to my question. Wyatt had made progress, at least to me it was progress. Gus pushed the ball to me again, and I took it from the little Jack Russell without throwing it.

  “I want to go sky-diving,” he muttered.

  I sat straight up and stared at him. “Sky-diving?”

  “Yeah, Trevor, Marcus, and I tried to go once. But we got drunk in the parking lot, and they wouldn’t let us go up. Trevor had always talked about going back, but we never did.”

  “So you’ve never jumped?”

  “No,” he muttered. “You said want. That’s what I want to do. I want to feel that kind of freedom, falling through the clouds, seeing the world float below me. I bet it’s an unbelievable high. Maybe even better than a whole stadium of people shouting your name.”

  He paused, letting the thoughts cloud his green eyes. “What do you think about that, Emma?”

  I clutched the yellow ball in my fingers, feeling Gus paw at my hand. “What do I think about you sky-diving?”

  “No, um, what do you think about going?”

  “Like, with you?” I stared at him, feeling my heart beat faster in my chest.

  “Yeah.”

  “Are you asking me?” And my breath caught. Because it was the first time Wyatt had acknowledged anything about our future. He seemed to accept me in the now, but we had never talked about what happens after.

  “Yes.” For a moment, the ghosts of the past seemed to disappear. His lips rolled into a faint grin, letting me see his dimples. “Emma Sawyer. Would you jump out of a plane with me?”

  I weighted the sincerity of his question and decided to push him just a step further. “On one condition. You put your request in writing.”

  “Seriously? You’d jump with me? You’re not scared?”

  “Seriously? You’re going to put it in writing? A commitment to me for something on the other side of this?” Our eyes locked for a moment, and I knew the struggle was still very much alive in his head even with the dimples shining from his cheeks.

  “Yes,” he finally answered.

  “Okay then. I’ll be right back.” I jumped up before he could change his mind. Going inside the trailer, I came back with my notebook. I wrote the following and handed it over for Wyatt to sign.

  I, Wyatt Carter, commit to jumping out of an airplane with Emma Sa
wyer.

  Wyatt scribbled his name below the words. I saw his handwriting for the first time, and it wasn’t surprising. The letters were all squished together like he gripped the pen with the intensity of a grizzly bear.

  I signed below his name and looked up, catching his gaze. “Well, I guess I will see you on the other side then, Wyatt.”

  “Yeah, I guess it’s a date.”

  He seemed a little torn at the realization. Pulling me into a tight bear hug, his fingers pressed into my skin. I struggled to breathe as his emotions transferred into the tight embrace. Wyatt and I stayed like that until my coffee got cold and Gus gave up on the ball.

  “I need to go to my study group,” I whispered.

  “Okay.” He reluctantly released me. “Go get your stuff together. I’m going to stay here.”

  Going back into the trailer, I shoved all my papers into my backpack and paused before leaving. I hated this part. When I walked out the door, I would see his face. He always tried to hide his thoughts, but it was impossible for me not to see them written so clearly on his cheeks. Wyatt did this every time I got in my car, every time I drove away back into the world, leaving him standing alone in his dirt driveway.

  Taking a deep breath, I gathered a big smile and turned the knob. “So you gonna walk me to my door or what?”

  Getting up from the steps, he gave me that heartbreaking grin, taking my backpack from my hand. “What do you got in here? Rocks?”

  “No. I shoved several of those cow skulls inside from the gate entrance. I’m taking them back to scare Blaire. You know, like the horse head in The Godfather movie.”

  Wyatt carried my backpack as I followed him out to the car. His eyes studied me like he wasn’t sure if I was kidding. “I um . . . okay?”

  “Go ahead. You know you want to look.”

  “I’m just going to pretend you didn’t put one in here.” He chuckled, putting the bag in the passenger’s seat. “You know. I have never seen The Godfather.”

  “Really? I thought that would be one of your favorites. You seem like a Mario Puzo fan.”