by Emily Snow
According to the email, the organization, which provides sports equipment to disadvantaged kids, has left a message for his assistant. Wrinkling my forehead, I bite the inside of my lip because I haven’t received any calls from them. I head to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water, and then I sit back down to do a little more research.
It’s not until I find a thread of old correspondence with the group from months ago that I realize I gave them the direct number to my apartment instead of my cell phone number. The only phone I keep in my place is located in my bedroom, and since I went the quirky novelty route when I purchased it, it’s corded. I sit on my bed with my laptop in front of me to take notes as I check the message.
Sure enough, there’s a voice mail from the organization that’s dated back to a week ago. I listen to it twice, typing down all the pertinent information I’ll need for Lucas to make a donation. I erase the message, and I’m about to hang up, but then the next voice mail automatically starts playing.
The voice on the line sends chills through my body. It’s Wyatt. For ten minutes, I find myself listening to messages he left for me while we were in New Orleans before he realized he was calling the wrong number. It isn’t until I reach the sixth voice mail that I feel as if my lungs have completely failed me.
“Do you ever pick up your goddamn phone, beautiful?” Wyatt asks in a low, sexy voice, and my breath catches painfully. “I need you to be there next week, Ky. I need to know that I’ll see you when I come to Nashville to start recording because this separation bullshit has been going on for too long. Look, I know that you’re pissed because of my last message, but I can’t help the past. I can’t change how fucked-up we’ve been to each other. I just want to make things right now.” There’s a muffled noise, and I hear Cal’s voice. Wyatt mutters something under his breath, and then he clears his throat. “Call me when you’re ready. And Kylie? I love you, okay?”
It feels like butterflies are racing though my stomach as I wrap my fingers around the cord tightly, listening carefully as the automated voice speaks the time and date. He left the message the last week of January, a couple of weeks before he found me in New Orleans. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow several times.
Saving the voice mail, I start the next, which turns out to be a telemarketer. I go through two more spam calls before I find Wyatt’s other message.
“I fucked up. I’ve fucked up, and it’s something I don’t ever want to do again. I don’t want other women. I want you. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember, and it’s going to stay that way. We need to make a decision. We’re either together or apart, but no more of this bullshit that we’ve been doing to each other for the past few years. It’s destructive, and it’s time we stop pretending like we can just be friends with benefits or whatever the hell you’re calling it now.
“I love you, Kylie. You know I have a hard time saying that, but I do. Stop ignoring my calls, stop being so afraid of getting hurt, and let’s figure this out.”
The message ends there, and I feel numb as I listen to the date and time, learning that he left this particular voice mail back in December. I slide my laptop to the other side of my bed and carefully place the phone back on the receiver, as if it will break at the slightest harsh movement. I stare at the nightstand, at the phone. And I sit in silence like I’m waiting, like I’m expecting the phone to ring at any moment.
When nothing happens and the quietness continues, I close my eyes tightly. I can almost hear Wyatt’s voice in my head, telling me over and over again that he loves me.
“I love you, too,” I finally whisper.
Wyatt’s messages stay in the front of my mind for the next few days, and it’s nearly impossible for me to get much done besides writing Sinjin two more letters and going to the gym with Heidi once.
When my cell phone rings on Friday afternoon and my mom’s voice comes on the line, a wave of relief washes through my body. She’s got this way of making me feel better by just saying a couple of words, and I stretch out on my sofa as I talk to her.
“You sound tired,” she points out in a worried voice.
Even though she can’t see me, I shake my head. “Just a little stressed.”
After she reminds me that I need to take better care of myself, she changes the subject to my upcoming trip to Atlanta to see her and my dad. “Are you still planning to visit in a few weeks?”
“I’ll be there, driving you insane,” I promise. When she laughs, I imagine her grinning face and how she’s probably waving her hand, shaking my comment off.
“You could never do that, baby. Me and your dad just really…” She pauses for several seconds, and a sob hitches in my throat. The moment she opens her mouth to speak again, the concern has returned along with the firm voice she used on us when we were kids. “Alright, spill it now.”
And I do. Even though my mother is a youth pastor, I leave nothing out, telling her about everything from the cutting to all the years of constant drama with Wyatt and even about the messages I recently discovered. When I’m done, she’s quiet for a long time.
“Do you love him?” she asks. “Are you still in love with Wyatt McCrae?”
Lucas’s words from the day at the DMV come to mind, and I swallow hard because my brother was right. It is impossible for me to stop loving someone. “Of course I do. I’ll never stop.”
My mother makes a squeaking noise, like she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. I hear her say something to my dad, and then I hear the sound of a door closing. “Then, you need to tell him that. If you both love each other, you need to be committed. And if he’s not willing to do that…well, the least you can do is get everything off your chest.”
“I don’t even know if it could work,” I say.
I can practically hear her shaking her head when she responds to me. “You don’t know anything until you try. No relationship is perfect, and there won’t ever be one that is. You just have to figure out how to fix yours.”
“I’ll contact him.”
“You don’t sound so sure,” she says, so when I respond, my voice is firm and convincing.
“I’m going to go see him, Mom. Even if we can’t be together, you’re right. Not trying will hurt so much worse than talking to him and agreeing that it’s best we stay apart.”
She releases a sigh of relief. “Good, I’m so proud of you. I’ve got to hang up now—your dad and I have made plans this evening, but I love you. I’ve loved you and Lucas since the day you were born, been proud of you both since I first laid eyes on you, and nothing will ever change that.” Before we end the call, she clears her throat softly. “And Kylie? There’s so much we need to talk about in person when you come home.”
I’ve given her a lot to think about and said things I never planned on revealing to her, so I know by the time I go to Atlanta, we’ll have hours of conversation ahead of us. There might be tears and maybe even some angry words, but I nod my head, welcoming it. “I know, Mom. I love you, too.”
For the next twenty-four hours, I let myself absorb my mom’s words, and by the next evening, I know that I’m ready to face Wyatt. I don’t want to lose my nerve, so I don’t call him to let him know I’m on my way as I make the drive to his West Hollywood bungalow.
His car, a fully restored classic Chevelle, is parked in his driveway, and I pull my blue Yaris right behind it. Taking a deep breath, I walk up to his front door. I ring the bell and then clench my fists by my side as I wait for him to answer.
When he pulls open the door a moment later, he’s speaking to someone over his shoulder, but his words are cut off the second he lays his intense blue eyes on me.
Slowly, I take in the sight of him. He’s barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts. My gaze traces over the bluebird tattoo on his chest. It’s healing fast, and I feel a sharp pang in my rib cage. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind me—”
“God, no. Never. Come in.” He’s hesitant to touch me at first, but then he places his
palms to the side of my face, pushing back soft wisps of my hair with his thumbs. I tilt my face up to his, not caring that it’s obvious I’m breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs at last, as he lowers his hands.
He moves aside, and I smile and step into his foyer. He stares at me for a long time until a noise from the hallway makes him turn his eyes away. “Be right there,” he calls out over his shoulder.
“You’re busy,” I say, suddenly feeling stupid. “I can come back later. I can—”
But the other person in the house hears me and cuts me off by saying my name loudly. “Kylie?”
It’s Brenna’s voice, and I lift my head to take in the sight of her just as she comes rushing from the hallway. She runs into me, hard, knocking the air out of my lungs.
Chapter Nineteen
“Jesus, kid, you’re getting tall,” I say. I close my arms around the girl clinging to my waist and hold her close. “Next year, you’ll be my height.”
Pulling away from me, she makes a face, and I screw my own into a dramatic pout. We both hold the looks for a long time before she gives up and laughter bubbles from her chest. I’m too nervous to laugh, so I manage a little smile as I tuck a lock of her dark blonde hair behind her ear.
“You’re just fun-sized,” Brenna says. She glances over at Wyatt, who hasn’t moved since she came sprinting into the foyer. “You said Kylie was gone on vacation, Dad.”
He lifts his shoulders slightly, and his eyes search my face, waiting for me to have some type of reaction toward him. “Guess she came back early.”
Brenna beams up at me. “Did you have fun?”
I fold my arms across my stomach, holding myself together. “It was…” I search for the right word, but it doesn’t come to me. I lift my eyes, finally meeting Wyatt’s deep stare head-on. “I’m glad to be home.”
She bobs her head up and down, grabbing my hand to lead me into Wyatt’s living room. Knocking a couple of PlayStation 3 controllers aside, she motions for me to sit beside her on the tan leather couch. Since I’ve never been able to say no to Brenna, I comply. “So, where all did you go?” she demands.
“New Orleans.”
“Lots of good food?”
“Are you kidding? Some of the best.” I catch Wyatt’s blue eyes as he eases down onto the matching loveseat across from us. I wonder if Brenna knows he was in New Orleans with me for a short period of time, but when he gives me a slight shake of his head, I figure he hasn’t told her. “Your dad will have to take you there some day.”
She looks at him expectantly, and he gives her a halfhearted grin. Returning her attention to me, she proudly declares, “Mom’s planning on taking me to Orlando this summer while Dad’s on tour.”
“You going to ride the teacups until you get sick?” I tease.
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m too old for that. I do get to go and see Hog—”
“Baby,” Wyatt says softly, cutting off Brenna. She lifts her eyebrows impatiently, waiting for him to continue. Wearing that tender smile he’s always reserved exclusively for her, he comes across the room to kneel down in front of us. “Kylie and I need to talk right now. Can you go in your room for a little bit?”
She presses her small lips together and starts to shake her head. Then, she reconsiders, and a slow grin that looks just like his builds on her face. “Pizza for dinner? And then you help me beat that level in my game?”
He groans, moving his head from side to side, as he contemplates her offer. “Deal,” he says, surprising both Brenna and me. He’s never been a fan of pizza or video games. “Give me twenty minutes, okay?”
Wearing a look of sheer satisfaction, she leaves the room, and I watch her disappear down the hallway until she closes the door to her bedroom. I rub the pad of my thumb over the first blackbird tattoo, which is located a few inches over my left breast. I got it after Wyatt had confessed to getting a one-night stand pregnant. He’d met her a few months after we’d first made love in that hotel in Livingston, and even though we hadn’t been a couple and we’d agreed that we weren’t seeking a relationship, finding out that he had a baby on the way stung so much that I didn’t speak to him for months.
I didn’t actually meet Brenna until a couple of months after he had come looking for me once I had divorced Brad. Seeing her in person made me instantly regret that first tattoo. Brenna wasn’t one of the letdowns over the last several years.
She’s a piece of him that I’ve always loved fiercely.
“She’s an amazing kid,” I murmur, rubbing my hand across my chest.
As he slides down beside me on the couch, I drop my eyes to his hands. They’re in his lap, clenched, and I can almost guess he’s wondering why I’m here. “I’m not sure what to say, Ky.” His midnight blue eyes skim over my face, as if he’s trying to read my expression. “I fucked up, and I’m sorry.”
Because I’m not ready to touch what happened in Phoenix quite yet, I change the subject quickly. “Courtney dropping her off for the night?” I ask, referring to Brenna’s mother.
He makes a noise in the back of his throat. “Courtney’s taking a vacation with her new boyfriend. She’ll be back in a few weeks.”
I frown because I know that the obvious irritation in his voice doesn’t stem from jealousy or not wanting to take care of Brenna—he adores that kid. I’m almost one hundred percent sure he’s frustrated with Courtney because of the way his own mother left him when he was a kid. His bitterness over those memories is one of the reasons why he’s always been such a huge part of Brenna’s life. “I’m glad I got to see her. I’ve missed her,” I say, staring in the direction of the hallway. I can hear music blasting from Brenna’s room, some bubblegum boy band. “I’m surprised you even let her listen to that while she’s here,” I tease, trying to lighten the mood, and he laughs.
“You’re all she’s talked about since she came here. She’s missed you.” He lifts his hands, dragging them through his blond hair. “Fuck, I miss you, Ky.”
“It’s only been eleven days,” I point out, my voice shaking.
“That wasn’t eleven days, not when I’ve spent them thinking you were gone, Kylie. That was fucking agony.”
I stand, clenching my hands together, as I pace in front of the big screen TV. “I didn’t plan to come here, McCrae. I was more than done with you because you lied to me, and then…” My chest tightens up, and I take a deep breath, staring at his bare feet, as he gets up and comes to me.
When he touches my shoulders, I shiver. “So, what changed?” He glides his hands up, so that he can tilt my chin, and I’m forced to meet him eye-to-eye.
“I checked my home voice mail, and message after message was from you. You said things that I’ve only imagined you saying.”
“And so you came here?”
I laugh, but it sounds more like a hysterical gasp. “No. I rearranged my apartment. I wrote a bunch of letters to Sinjin. I played my guitar. Finally, my mother called—”
He stops me from continuing, pressing his rough thumbs to my lips, as the rest of his fingers massage the sides of my face. “Thought you forgot how to play,” he says in a low voice. “At least, that’s what you said back in Albuquerque.”
“No.” I shake my head. “I’d never forget.”
He releases a deep exhale, crushing me to his chest. “Everything that I said in those messages? I meant every goddamn word. For you and that kid in there…” He points in the direction of Brenna’s bedroom. “I’d do anything. I’d give up the music and the lifestyle if you asked me to.”
A bitter ache spreads across the center of my chest. “I would never ask you to do that. You know that, don’t you? I would never make you choose between me and what you love.”
“You are what I love, Ky.” Dropping his hands to my shoulders, he continues. “I don’t know what you want from this anymore, but I know what I need. You. And don’t try to bullshit me into thinking that you don’t need me, too. Y
ou wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”
“It’s not that simple,” I whisper.
He shakes his head. “I don’t believe that for a second.” His voice, eyes, and even his touch are slowly breaking my heart. “All I know is that you’re all I think about. I can’t not have you in my life because you and Brenna are the only two people who give a shit about me.”
“Still doesn’t make it simple, babe.” Dragging my palm across the center of my chest, I close my eyes. “I was stupid for thinking that I could just walk away from us and pretend like the last eight years had never happened. It’s impossible.”
He bends his head, so our lips are practically touching. “Then, we start over and fix things.”
“It won’t be easy, and it sure as hell won’t be quick,” I point out.
He shrugs. “Nothing worthwhile ever is.” As I take a second to digest what he just said, he inches his mouth a little closer. His piercing touches my bottom lip, sending a ripple of pleasure through me. “I fucking love you, Ky. That’s about all I need to know. We can work through all the other shit as long as we have that.”
Even though he’s said it before, both in the messages he left for me and on the night we argued in Phoenix, hearing him tell me that he loves me now takes my breath away. Somehow, I manage to force my voice to sound confident when I respond. “I love you, too.” So much that I’ll put myself out there one last time to see if one four-letter emotion is enough.
His muscular shoulders sag in relief as he drags me closer to him. He kisses me. It’s a simple yet powerful touch that lasts no longer than ten seconds. “I’m not perfect, Ky. I’ll never be because I’m fucked-up, but I don’t want to hurt you again.”
“I know you don’t,” I say. Ignoring the nervous fluttering in the pit of my stomach, I circle my arms around him tighter, losing myself in the way he holds me to him.
“Can I come out now?” Brenna shrieks from the back over the sound of boy band falsetto.