“I love you, too,” Edy whispered and launched herself at him for a hug.
***
Deep in the pockets of Wyatt’s shadowy, senseless dream, he felt another—a bone and sinewy figure of real life imposing just beyond the curtain of sleep. He pushed back at them, seeking rest, seeking peace, and swirled in a misbegotten flurry of shapes and colors. Edy was here, running fingers of warmth through his hair, puffing little breaths on his neck. She darted a hand across his chest and the hand was all he could see, brown fingers tipped in pink, curling and rubbing with every touch. Wyatt inhaled, allowing his lungs to swell near capacity, before grabbing Edy with an arm and pulling her flush. He couldn’t stop the painful groan of longing from deep in his chest.
His hands—so greedy now—rushed paths over and across her body even as he felt himself surge. She laughed and swatted at his hands, playfully though. He grew bolder, thinking he might get away with kissing her, before crushing his mouth against hers and gripping her roughly. When she gasped, Wyatt’s lashes flew open. Open to face Lottie.
He never knew he could scream without opening his mouth. But he did, all while flinging her from him. Wyatt scrambled from his own bed, tangled in the covers, and hit the floor like a sack.
Was she crazy? Insane? He didn’t want to be in the same zip code as Lottie, let alone a bed.
She stared down at him thoughtfully. “Mind if I have a cigarette?”
Wyatt couldn’t speak or move or remember if he had any goddamned cigarettes. But the sound of her lighting up kick-started his mind.
“Granddad doesn’t like—”
“Fine. Whatever. So, he won’t like it, okay?” She took a drag, then another, before offering it to him. Wyatt took it and began to smoke intently.
When his shaking had slowed and his heart finally decided against palpitations, he looked down at the carpet and drew up his knees to his chest. “What are you doing in here?” he said.
Lottie looked at him. “I didn’t think you’d mind.”
He didn’t know how long he stared at her. “I don’t know why, Lot. We’ve got bad blood between us.”
She frowned, baffled. “Why? What did I do?”
“What did you do? What haven’t you done to me?” The good thing about therapy was that he’d spent a lot of time puzzling out the snags in his life; how in such a short time he’d managed to go majorly wrong. It didn’t take long for him to realize that Lottie was a significant part of that.
Wyatt stood and stubbed the cigarette out viciously. Though he hadn’t anticipated the fury steamrolling in, once it hit him, there was no stopping it.
Lottie watched him, eyes filling dangerously with unspilled tears. “I only came in here because I couldn’t sleep.”
For some reason, that comment put him over the top. “Got used to sleeping next to Dennis, did you?”
She shook her head. “We, uh, broke up.”
They broke up.
Wyatt folded his arms. “Did you break up with him or did he break up with you?”
She had the decency to blush, at least.
“So, let me get this straight. I take the fall for what your asshole boyfriend does to you and then he dumps you?” God had a cruel sense of humor.
“Keep your voice down,” Lottie hissed.
“Right, because you can’t have anyone knowing it was that crazy asshole and not this crazy asshole who beat the shit out of you.”
Lottie stared at her. He stared back.
“Why not go sleep with Sandra?” he said finally.
Lottie laughed mirthlessly. “Sandra doesn’t seem to be very fond of me now.”
“And why is that?”
Lottie jerked a shoulder. “Maybe she can’t stand anyone coming between her and the thirty-million-dollar boy.”
Wyatt looked at her. That was a weird thing to say. “Sandra doesn’t need money. Remember her parents?”
“Yeah. ‘Remember’ is the perfect word. When will we see them again?” Lottie said.
Wyatt didn’t know and wouldn’t criticize. He hadn’t seen his mom in years and probably wouldn’t see his dad again. He did have a more appropriate question though. “Where’s Geoffrey?”
“Outside the door waiting to tell us if someone’s coming,” Lottie flashed a bashful smile. Wyatt didn’t return it.
“You need to go.”
“I wanted to ask you something first,” she said.
“So ask, then leave.”
“Where’s the girl that got you shot? Is it true she ran off with another guy?”
That clenched Wyatt’s jaw. Suddenly, he wished he hadn’t stubbed out that damned cigarette.
“Want me to light another?” Lottie offered.
“Yeah,” Wyatt said and took a seat on the bed, a safe distance from her.
He had been skeptical when she first asked about Edy, but she seemed legitimately interested, pausing to ask follow up questions about things Wyatt had or hadn’t done, about whether he had any pictures of her, and most importantly, lighting up when Wyatt pulled out his phone to share a selfie they’d taken together sophomore year.
“She’s beautiful,” Lottie said.
“I know,” he groaned.
“And you’ve given her up?”
This time he looked at her. “Have you even been listening? She’s in love with another guy. He got the girl, I got shot. Even then, I never had a chance.”
Lottie rolled her eyes. “Yeah, but you will.”
She sounded so certain, Wyatt slid a look her way. “How?”
“They’ll be in college, where they’ll be super busy and grow apart. He’ll be the big man on campus and he’ll have zero time for her. You can be the alternative.”
He mimicked a game show buzzer. “Uh, sorry, but I relied on that, right up until she fucked him and rushed to tell me about it.”
“Well, you need some polish, I’ll admit,” Lottie said quietly. “You can’t say things like that.”
“I got shot!”
“And she knows that. It’ll always be at the back of her head. She knows you love her, even now. It’s so obvious. But you have to be attractive, too, Wyatt.” She took the cigarette from him for a few pulls.
“How?”
“You’ve got money now. That can make it happen.”
“I’m in Boston. She’s in Baton Rouge.”
“Money can also take care of that.”
Wyatt shook his head. “I can’t do it. She doesn’t want me. I spent all of therapy learning how to accept that she doesn’t want me, that my thinking is unhealthy.”
Lottie sighed. “Maybe you don’t love her as much as I thought you did.”
Wyatt recoiled. “What? Why would you even say that?”
“If you’re already done fighting—”
“I’m not done fighting. I’m not anything. She. Doesn’t. Want. Me. And why should she? I’m a poor, pasty virgin whose dad drinks too much.” Even as he said it, he’d heard it. He’d called himself poor. He had millions of dollars to his name, but inside, he was still Wyatt Green.
“Let’s go to Baton Rouge,” Lottie said. “Let’s win her for you.”
He wanted to. God, he wanted to. But why would Lottie be keen on helping him?
“What’s in it for you?” he said.
“Your happiness?” she tried.
He shook his head slightly. Try again.
She let out an exhale and began to trace a finger on the bed stitching. “My parents threw me out. I don’t want to… live here with Granddad if I can help it. I don’t know how Sandra has done it.”
“With copious amounts of underage drinking, I think,” Wyatt said, then nodded. He’d been thinking the same thing. He didn’t want to live with his grandfather either. He’d have to wiggle out from under his thumb in the most diplomatic manner possible, but yes, it would be nice just to breathe the same air as Edy Phelps again. Even if said air had Hassan Pradhan filching off it, too.
“Okay,” Wyatt said. “L
et’s figure out how to get to Baton Rouge without raising the old man’s ire.”
Chapter Five
Hassan slipped into Edy’s room in the dark of the night when the hotel was at its stillest. He passed his father’s room, Nathan’s, and what might have been Rebecca’s. He couldn’t be sure about hers, though, since he hadn’t seen either her or Cam, her significant other who was also the father of his friend Kyle, since the plane landed.
Hassan had a key to Edy’s room. On using it, he discovered that she was up and waiting for him.
The sight of Edy in a little black dress made his breath trickle away. Barely-there straps near the shoulders held up lacy, plunging cups—cups pushed to overflowing with unbelievably plush cleavage. A swing of loose fabric halted to expose long, lean, impossibly gorgeous legs. Dancer’s legs.
Man, he loved that girl.
She grabbed his hands, grinning. “What do you think? I bought it this summer and couldn’t wait to surprise you.”
Hassan tried to remember that breathing was a necessary part of life. “I’m surprised,” he said softly.
Her smile widened in that way it did only for him. He thought about pocketing that smile, about stealing the sunshine of Edy to hoard for himself.
“You won’t believe what I have to tell you,” she said. “I have news about your dad.”
He raised a brow. That parachuted him back to earth. Well, he had news about her dad, too. “Ditto on that,” he told her. “Me first or you?”
She maneuvered to the bed, still holding his hand. He didn’t know about her, but he was in no hurry to let her fingers slip from his just now. Maybe not ever.
“Go ahead and spill,” he said. “You can’t hold water anyway.”
She did her best to look indignant. “I can too hold water!” She tossed his hand away, making him laugh. So much for forever.
“Look at you,” he said, feeling a bit bereft without her hand in his. “You couldn’t even keep holding on to me.”
Now she grappled for his hand, but he hid both behind his back, laughing as she twisted and turned in desperation to make contact.
God, he’d missed all this. Eventually, he gave in.
“See?” she exclaimed.
“Yeah, sure. Just tell me your news already.”
She took a deep breath and sat up. “Your dad’s giving us his blessings.”
He stared at her, sure his brows had drawn down before collapsing like some concave tent as she rendered him unable to speak. There were words out there, words for him that he could reach out and grab, and finally, eventually, he did.
“Impossible,” Hassan said.
Edy blinked. “You bájjur. It’s not impossible. What kind of future did you expect with me if you thought that?”
“Did you just call me an idiot?”
She waved a hand, like his father did when something was of no consequence. “Your father is so proud of you. He just wants to see you happy.”
A flicker of emotion rushed helter-skelter through Hassan: a stutter of hesitancy followed by outright disbelief. Finally, his face pinched into an armor’s worth of denial. Because of that, he was already shaking his head.
“No,” Hassan said. “He’s borrowed a lot of money. He may want to accept us, but he’s being pushed constantly not to.”
“By the Bathlars,” Edy concluded.
“And my mom.”
With a forlorn sigh, Edy stood and went over to the window. Once she drew back the curtains, an incredible view emerged of a dark, broad, and imposing Mississippi River. It loomed close enough to reach out and touch, broad and sparkling under a crescent moon.
“Your mom will never give in to us,” she said. “It’s all so personal for her.”
They would never make progress with his mother. He knew that and wanted only to make peace with it. But not tonight. Tonight, he had different wants. “Cake—”
“How were things with Daddy?” she said.
Right. Dolled up in the sexiest lingerie and his girl wanted to discuss their parents. Still.
“That’s what I wanted to talk about,” Hassan said, as his brain attempted to shift gears. “I’m, uh, making progress with Nathan. Finally.”
Edy turned back to the window and began fidgeting, fumbling first with the lock midway up, then pushing and pulling at various places to force it open. “Well, you held a big place in his heart. So you know.”
Hassan stared. “You said ‘held.’”
Edy froze. “I did, didn’t I?”
He waited for his explanation.
“I—I didn’t mean to imply that I knew something, that he told me something—”
“Forget it,” it was his turn to wave a hand.
“But—”
Hassan wrapped his arms around her, tight, and kissed her forehead. “I missed you, duppar.”
She said nothing, snuggling into him instead. The silly, irrational part of him imagined them staying like that forever, in that room, in that moment, wrapped in each other’s arms. Before his mother intervened, of course.
“It’s always been your mother, I think,” Edy said, as if intruding on his thoughts. “If we could persuade her…”
He hushed her, his thoughts already far and away, remembering summers on the Cape, wet footprints in the sand, and long, wind-whipped days high up on their rock—the rock carved with their names.
Hassan pulled back. “No mom talk. We’re in Louisiana now. So no more worrying about parental disapproval. Not when they’re a thousand and a half miles away.”
Edy made a little face before breaking their embrace. He could feel the words she wrestled not to say, but he was determined to turn over this new leaf with her. Desperate to finally make things about them instead of about their parents. And anyway, he knew and understood what she never could about his parents—about his mom. That she would never accept Edy, no matter how perfect her Punjabi and Hindi, nor how intricate her understanding of Hinduism. Yeah, Edy could respect and honor their culture ‘til she ceased to breathe, but for his mom she was an outsider—a beloved outsider—looking in.
He was tired of thinking of this. Feeling bereft without her in his arms, he went for her when she spoke again.
“It’s the money they owe the Bathlars. It’s not insurmountable, but it’s a lot. Your dad says that maybe he can borrow against the house and pay it all back. If they’re willing to accept the money instead of you.”
Hassan shot her a curious look. “How do you…?”
Edy blushed a bit. “Your father and I talked while you and Dad were fawning under your fan’s attentions.”
More than he’s talked to me, was Hassan’s first thought, though he couldn’t muster up the anger to be grudging. This was a way out. With enough money to pay the Bathlars and Mala’s willingness to reject the engagement, he could be free.
Hassan ignored the sinking feeling in his belly.
“Which reminds me…” She suddenly looked hesitant. “Dad appreciated you acknowledging him a lot. To that guy, I mean.”
Hassan fell back onto the bed and kicked off his sneakers. His legs still half dangled off, bent at the knees, even as he grinned. “I know. He told me.”
“He told you?”
He nearly laughed at Edy’s incredulity.
“Yeah, he actually talked to me afterward. Now get over here. Didn’t I tell you that I missed you?”
She scampered over, giggling, and plopped atop him, before burying her hands in his hair for a kiss. “I missed you, too,” she said.
She surprised him with the sweetness of her enthusiasm, as fumbling and eager as he was breathless and deliciously desperate.
For the rest of the night, they didn’t need words.
***
Sandra stood over Wyatt with her lips pursed, arms folded, and that characteristic left leg cocked out before her. It was her way of saying she was pissed. And she was really pissed.
“What do you think you’re doing?” she said, eyes narrowe
d suspiciously on him.
He opened another drawer and took out the folded shirts, placing them in one of his Louis Vuitton bags. “Packing, I believe.”
“For what? And why isn’t Geoffrey doing it?”
“Because I don’t want Granddad to know yet.”
She huffed a sigh. “You don’t want Granddad to know what yet?”
Wyatt resisted the overwhelming urge to roll his eyes. Still, his eyes did it on their own. “I’m leaving, Sandra,” he finally said.
She said nothing for a while. “Why is Lottie packing, too? She just got here.”
It was now or never, he supposed. “Because she’s coming with me,” he told the wall.
Sandra grabbed a massive bottle of Tylenol from a nearby dresser and hurled it at his head. Wyatt ducked just in time.
“Are you fucking insane?” she cried.
“Are you?” he countered. He cast a cautious glance at the bottle of Tylenol, as if half expecting it to lunge at his face again in sheer determination.
“Look,” Sandra said, shifting gears with a tone so complacent it caused Wyatt to glance at her, “I know Granddad’s hard to live with—”
“It’s nothing to do with that.” He returned to the drawer for another stack of shirts, all of them new enough to still sport tags.
“Then what? Because whatever Lottie told you isn’t—”
“I want Edy,” Wyatt said. “And Lottie made me realize that maybe I finally have a chance.”
Sandra stared. She stared so long that Wyatt was forced to stop his packing.
“You don’t get it, do you? Hassan is it for her. He’s the one.”
“And she’s it for me,” Wyatt hissed, whirling on her. “Edy’s everything. Have you ever felt that before?” He exhaled shakily and ran a hand through his newly cut and highlighted hair, before deciding he didn’t have time to entertain his cousin. “No,” he said. “I can’t imagine you have.”
He’d spent the entirety of his therapy, and even his angry moments before it, shoving away his feelings for Edy and filing every stray thought, every erroneous deed, under the ‘inappropriate’ category. He had to reject the idea that it was wrong to love her, because loving her was so much a part of who he was. She was his happiest memory. She was his best days. No, Edy wasn’t perfect, but she cared for others, did her best to love and protect them, and was so much of what his family wasn’t. Kind. Generous. Steadfast. So, his love was unreciprocated. He had come to accept that. Maybe.
Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three) Page 3