“Why?”
“It’s easy talking to him online. I don’t have to be something I’m not. The part that is hard for me is gone. I can think about everything I say before I type it. But if I give him a picture, then he will want to talk on the phone and eventually meet in person. I don’t know if that’s something I can do.”
I felt sorry for Blaire. She was odd. Maybe even strange at times, which could easily be hidden while typing behind a computer screen. But even the socially incompetent wanted to find someone in life who was just as much of a recluse as them. That had to be a very difficult situation. “Why did you try to send him a picture of me?”
“Because I thought it would be the same thing. Just with all that frilly shit you do. I don’t know. It’s all so damn stupid. I should just tell him goodbye and stop talking to him.”
“No. Don’t do that. Go take a shower.”
“Why?” She turned her head to face me, giving a skeptical glare.
I smiled. “Because I’m going to help you.”
She sat up straight in the bed. “Like, how?”
“We are going to send him a picture of the real you. You don’t have to be something you’re not. But this”—I waved my hand around in front of her—“needs a little scrubbing. So go take a shower. I think you forgot to wash your hair, like, two days ago.”
Blaire grumbled something under her breath that was strong and explicit. Her eyes locked with mine, and I felt that slight familiar buzz in my chest. My sister gave me a quick hug, just long enough for me to feel the pressure of her arms before she leaped off the bed. I would swear it didn’t happen, but I was in the same room so I knew it had taken place. I knew Blaire had hugged me on purpose.
I smiled as the guilt stabbed me a little in the heart. She had missed our friendship too. And my absence had caused the only feeling my twin was capable of expressing to me: anger. Blaire had shut me out and stormed around instead of just saying, Stop spending all your time with Wyatt.
As I waited for my sister to finish in the shower, I flipped through her emails until I found the one in question. M-Attack815 was adorable. His face had a little scruff on the cheeks. And he wore a stocking hat over his blonde hair. But it was the shy smile that got me. This guy was a sweetheart. I could feel it all the way through the computer screen, which made me understand why Blaire was nervous about eventually seeing him in person.
She came out of the bathroom, wearing a frown. “I don’t know about this, Emma.”
“Will you just trust me?” I forced her to sit down in a chair while I dried her wet hair. Then I disappeared into my bathroom, returning with a large curling iron. I styled her hair in simple, flowing waves around her shoulders.
“Now, go put on that red shirt you like so much.”
“It has a hole at the bottom.”
“He won’t see it in the picture. Just put it on because that’s what I see when I picture you in my head. You in that red shirt.”
“Because I don’t like change,” she said under her breath.
“I know you don’t.”
Blaire grumbled again, digging through her closet until she found it and a pair of jeans. She sat back down in the chair. “Does this work?”
“Yes, but you are not done,” I teased. “Where’s that little blue hat you like?”
“You want me to wear a hat?”
“Stop asking questions.”
She glared at me before pointing at the back of her door. I took the crocheted hat and placed it on Blaire’s head, fluffing her hair out around her shoulders. “I think you’re done.”
“No makeup?”
“That’s not you. This . . .” I smiled. “This is you. At least the cleaned-up version. Go look.”
Blaire went into the bathroom, staring at herself for about five minutes before she returned. “Okay. Let’s get this shit over with.”
Using her cell phone, I snapped several pictures of Blaire until she grew fidgety. “I think you got several to pick from. Want me to help?”
“No.” She sighed.
“He’s cute, Blaire. Seems sweet.”
Her eyes narrowed at me. “Emma?”
“So I may have looked at him on your computer. Just don’t worry, okay? You will be fine.” I gave her a hug and I swear she whispered thank you against my shoulder.
I PULLED THROUGH THE SILVER fence only to have my car consumed in a field of ominous white fog. If this had been my first visit, I would’ve turned right back around and drove with my foot pressed to the floorboard. Except, it wasn’t my first visit and I liked the way the hazy mist wrapped the whole place in its own secret blanket.
Parking next to the trailer, I felt a spark of anticipation. I still got a little thrill in the pit of my stomach every time I came to his place. I craved that moment when his face lit up with a smile because he was simply happy to see me. Sometimes it was strange to remember the way it was in the beginning—before I knew the why behind his pain. Those days seemed like a lifetime ago.
Pulling my laptop bag from the passenger’s seat, I squealed when I turned around, seeing Wyatt standing just a couple of inches from me.
“Don’t do that.” Even though the beginning seemed so long ago, he still had the ability to sneak up on me the way a leopard tracked its food.
Taking the bulky bag from my hands, he leaned down, giving me a peck on the lips. “But it’s so easy. You’re always like ten miles away in your head.”
“That’s not true.”
“I just figure you’re thinking about me.” His arm slipped around my shoulders as we walked toward the door.
“That’s really not true,” I protested, sitting down on the couch. Reaching for my bag, Wyatt refused to give it to me. “Come on. I have an English paper to write. And I haven’t even started.”
Placing my computer out of reach, he sat down next to me on the same cushion. His eyes were no longer laughing. Wyatt cupped the side of my cheek with his hand.
“You may not have been thinking about me, but I’ve been thinking about you the last three days,” he whispered. “Every minute. Every second you were gone. I thought about you.”
And then he kissed me. Not that flimsy brush-of-his-lips-by-the-car. This was a mouth- and mind-consuming madness. And then I fell slowly against the couch cushions. His lips never left mine as we settled into a comfortable spot with his full weight on top of me.
My hands ran over his shoulders until my fingers trailed through his hair. The short pieces felt soft against my fingertips. Moving my palms over his back, I slipped my fingers under the bottom part of his shirt. I loved the feel of his skin. I loved touching him—the way he responded, the way he seemed almost surprised at his own reaction.
And without even whispering a single word, I knew in those moments, Wyatt felt something deep and different with me. No one had ever touched him the way I touched him. The kind of touch that started on the skin, but was felt inside the heart.
“You smell so good,” he whispered. “Sometimes I think about the way you smell. And the way you taste. And the way you make those little sounds when I kiss your neck. Sometimes it makes me feel crazy. And I think you aren’t real. That I imagined you because I couldn’t handle this anymore.”
As those words slipped out, the vulnerability of his confession gripped his face. He didn’t mean to say it. He didn’t mean for me to hear those dark thoughts that twisted away inside his head.
“It’s okay,” I whispered. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Our eyes held for a moment as our bodies begged us to keep going. I wasn’t sure where he would stop this time. But he always stopped, denying himself of what he needed from me—what he craved.
I closed my eyes as Wyatt continued, feeling his tongue trace over my lips, before moving slowly inside my mouth, stroking my tongue. The intensity grew between us. His confession seemed to open the floodgates. I shifted beneath him as Wyatt moved his hands over my body, gripping and holding possessively, almost
like he was afraid I would disintegrate into the foggy mist outside the window.
My shirt inched up, and then he leaned back enough to pull it over my head. The scratchy couch rubbed against my bare skin as he kissed down my neck. Every single brush of his lips sent a lightning bolt of tingles through my stomach until there was no space between them.
Wrapping my legs around his waist, I arched against him, trying to get closer even though several layers of clothes separated us—separated our skin and the way I wished we could fit together.
I tugged at the hem of his shirt until I had it pulled over his head. His bare chest felt solid and warm against my skin. I let out a gasp, feeling his tongue trace the edge of my bra. His eyes caught mine as his fingers pushed the strap off my shoulder. He removed my bra, leaving me exposed as his mouth dipped lower, gently tasting my skin. My eyes closed. I couldn’t process another thought in my head.
That mouth of his was the devil. When he smiled, it melted my heart. When he used those lips on my body, I crumbled into a million pieces.
“Well, I guess you two are getting along fine.”
Her words boomed out of the clouds like the voice of God. My eyes flipped open as Wyatt stilled and looked over his shoulder. Very slowly, I met the gaze of the woman responsible for his confinement and for bringing us together. Diana Sweetwater.
“For the record, I knocked, but I see why you didn’t hear me.” She turned to leave, yelling over her shoulder. “Get your shit together, kid. I got a new one for you.”
Neither us moved an inch until the trailer door was shut. His stricken expression was worse than I’d expected. Wyatt rested his forehead against mine. He let out a deep breath. “I can’t believe that just happened. I’m sorry, Emma.”
“It’s okay. Neither of us thought someone would just show up. I mean. What are the odds?”
“It’s not that. I, um . . .” He lifted himself off of me, leaving my half-naked body cold and alone on the couch. “You can stay in here if you want. I’ll go. She’s brought a new dog. It must be a bad situation if she didn’t wait until Sunday.”
The stress lines showed deeply around his eyes as his once-soft lips flattened into a white line. Without another word, Wyatt disappeared out the door. I sat up, trying to decide if the change in him was because of Diana, the dog, me, or something else I wasn’t factoring into the equation.
I pulled my long-sleeved, blue shirt back over my head. Somewhere in the middle of our makeout session, my shoes had ended up on the floor. I pulled the fuzzy boots back over my clingy yoga pants.
Opening the door slowly, I peered outside, seeing Wyatt and Diana next to the bed of the truck. Their voices caused me to pause with my hand on the knob and the old aluminum door half open.
“There’s nothing wrong with you having a relationship with Emma.”
“Well, Fred Tucker would shit rocks and throw them at me if he found out,” Wyatt grumbled.
“Maybe so, but what he doesn’t know won’t kill him.”
“No, but he would like to kill me. What if he did something to Emma?”
“Like what?” Diana spat. “He’s not in the damn mafia.”
“Not like that. What if he messed up stuff for her or something? I don’t know. I just don’t want my shit to screw stuff up in her life.”
The door slipped in my hand, making the creaky hinges shriek, causing both of them to look over at me.
“Hey.” I hesitated before coming down the stairs toward the truck, feeling the embarrassment of getting caught shirtless by this woman.
Wyatt’s fists were clenched at his sides, which meant his agitation was continuing to grow. He watched me with wild eyes. The passion and tenderness from just a few moments ago had disappeared into a puff of heated smoke.
“Well, you are just as cute as the last time I saw you, dragging that little bloody dog to the rescue. Good to see you again, Emma.”
“Thanks. Um . . .” I paused, trying to figure out how to address her.
“Just call me Diana out here.”
“Good to see you again too, Diana.”
I fidgeted, looking back over to Wyatt. His eyes were still on me. The anger seemed to be replaced with sadness—that deep, overwhelming sadness.
“Okay, kids. We need to get moving before the tranquilizers wear off. I got you a wild one this time. He’s sedated, but you will have to watch your fingers when he comes to. He’s like a gator with those teeth.”
I peered inside the crate, sitting in the bed of the enormous truck. A brown muzzle was wrapped around the mouth of a medium-sized Australian shepherd.
“What’s his story?” I muttered.
“Let’s talk and walk. Wyatt, unlatch the crate and carry it inside. I don’t want you handling him in case he wakes up.”
And in a flash, his demons went back inside their cave. Wyatt snapped alive, pulling the bulky crate from the truck. As he walked to the kennel, I followed behind him, seeing his arm flex with the weight of the heavy animal.
“Are you taking one of them?” he asked Diana.
“About that. I have someone who wants the one you call Gatsby.”
“Gatsby?” I gasped. I wasn’t expecting that one.
“Yeah, Gatsby. Nice old lady. She sits in her chair all day, watching Wheel of Fortune and talk shows. She would like a dog that just lies around to keep her feet warm. What do you think?”
Tears burned the corner of my eyes, but I refused to let this tough and eccentric woman see me cry. This was the business. The dogs would come and the lucky ones would go. And even more rare to find a home—the old ones who were destined to end their life without a true family. “Sounds like a good fit. Don’t you think, Wyatt?”
“Yeah.”
His eyes caught mine as the thoughts traveled between us. For once, his sadness and my sadness mingled together. These dogs did have a family. A family name Wyatt, and he cared about each and every one of them.
They made him laugh as he bathed the wild ones in the porcelain tub. They chased away the ghosts in his head as he played ball in the grass. They kept him company on the lonely nights as he read books to them in the kennel. And in return, he made sure their days were filled with clean pens and food and hugs and scratches behind the ears. Wyatt made sure they saw love—even if he didn’t always realize it happened that way.
We reached the holding pen. I opened the gate so Wyatt could carry the crate inside. Setting the large box on the ground, he looked at Diana. She knelt down beside the door, opening it slowly.
“They found him down in a water drain that went into a small lake. Not sure how he got in there. When that hard rain came the other day, one of the city workers was checking on it and found him. He snapped like a crazed gator. Scared the shit out of the worker. You know, it took four men over the course of two hours to get him out and about two seconds to put him on the kill list. But that’s what happens when they get labeled a biter. That little girl who works in the intake room called me. She thought he was cute.”
Diana ran a hand over his sleeping head. “I guess I did too. And maybe he’s just scared. I’d go for the jugular too if I got trapped down in a damn cement drain.”
I stood there mesmerized, watching her fingers run over the dog’s head as she told his story. So this is what it’s like in the beginning—when the forgotten and the neglected, the beaten and the abused, and those dubbed a killer arrive at the kennel.
“Well, let’s get him out.” She moved out of the way, letting Wyatt take over. He got a hold of the dog under his armpits, dragging him out onto the floor. The sleeping eyes opened briefly, revealing one blue and one brown eye before closing again.
“He seems pretty harmless with that Hannibal mask,” he muttered.
“Don’t fool yourself, kid. Be careful with him until he’s got his bearings.” She unbuckled the brown leather, setting him free. Diana handed the muzzle over to Wyatt. “You keep it just in case.”
We backed out of the pen, leaving
him to sleep. Wyatt filled the water bucket up and placed food in the bowl. I headed over to Cye’s pen, grabbing some peanut butter bones from the sack. I stepped carefully back inside with Gator.
“Emma . . .” I heard his voice warn, but I ignored Wyatt. Placing the bones next to the sleeping dog, I studied him for a moment, itching to run a hand over his gray-speckled head. He might be like Cye. This might be my only chance for the next year. I ran my fingers through his fur, feeling the silky softness. And then I left Gator alone.
“Diana and I have some stuff to do in the office. Could you . . . um . . . could you get Gatsby ready?”
“Sure.”
Leaving them to their business, I went outside of the kennel and over to the trailer. I was already inside when I realized I’d forgotten a leash. It was better to have him on a leash inside the truck. I didn’t think she would put poor old Gatsby in the crate.
I returned inside the building and felt a stab of guilt, hearing their voices. But I couldn’t stop myself from eavesdropping. Wyatt was sitting in the office desk chair while Diana was standing in front of him.
“I don’t need any of that shit. I’ve told you over and over again. I’m doing better.”
“Don’t be blowing all that smoke at me, kid. We both know she can’t fix everything. But I’m glad she’s helping you. Just don’t bite my head off for asking. I just wanted to check your mental state before I told you.”
“Told me what?”
Diana walked in the direction of the office door, and I smashed myself to the wall. She stopped, picking up something from the shelf, and then went back over to Wyatt. “Well, the Tuckers finally had that wedding last weekend.”
“Did you do what I asked?” he muttered.
“You’ve asked me to do exactly one thing since you got here. So what do you think?”
“Stop dragging this out. Just tell me.” His deep voice cracked with anguish. “Did you see him?”
My breath caught as I waited for her to speak again. “Yes, I went to see Marcus, which was difficult because it’s not like he gets around much on his own. He’s got a whole hen’s nest around him.”
Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) Page 25