by Annie Kelly
“Language, Carson!”
I roll my eyes. “Mom, I’m twenty-five years old. I think you can ease up on the language concerns.”
“Anyway,” she huffs, pushing a loose tendril of hair back into her ponytail, “your brother is doing a lot better than he was. He’s working now and he’s been paying rent.”
I raise a skeptical eyebrow. “Oh really? Where is he working?”
“Construction.” She turns back to her bowl and stirs vigorously. “And some landscaping.”
“Uh-huh.”
Translation? He’s selling enough pot that he can sleep in at random chicks’ houses and come back late in the day to make it look like he has a legitimate job.
But I know that if I take this much further, my mom will shut down completely. We’ve spent the last decade either fighting about my brother or dancing around the topic. The decades before, the fighting and dancing was always about my deadbeat, absentee father, so I guess we’ve progressed in our own way.
Sighing, I get to my feet and walk over to where my mother’s stirring the banana bread batter a little more than necessary. I take the spoon from her hand as I touch her shoulder.
“Let me finish that up while you grease the loaf pan, Mom.”
She meets my gaze and her deep gray eyes are a mirror of my own. She smiles and nods.
“Will you stay until it’s done? We can share it while it’s still warm.”
I smile back at her. “Sure, I can do that.”
***
I spend most of the day with my mom—something I haven’t done in a long time—and fortunately Lennon never shows back up at the house. I try not to think about where he might be or what he might be doing. The truth is that I had to stop worrying about my brother’s comings and goings a long time ago. Otherwise, I’d just drive myself nuts. Somehow, I’d managed to compartmentalize our relationship when I was using. He was my dealer and my buddy, but only when things were fun and entertaining. Never when things were hard. Never when things were ugly. Then, we were nothing.
Another perk of being with Mom is that it keeps me from thinking too much about Wyatt and last night. By the time I leave, he still hasn’t called and my paranoia has me already convinced that I’ve fucked up royally.
The truth is that I’m not entirely positive that my panic-riddled brain is wrong. I’ve run through the night in my head over and over and I’ve come to the same conclusion—Wyatt was put in a shitty position. Having to face the man who fucked his ex-wife—a man who is inextricably linked to me—must have been harder than I can imagine. And there’s absolutely nothing I can do about it.
So I guess I’m not surprised that he hasn’t called me yet, even though he said he would.
Not surprised, but still disappointed.
I run by the grocery store and grab all the ingredients to grill wings—one of Rainey’s favorite dinners—then head back to the apartment. When I let myself in, I find Cyn and Rainey camped out on the couch watching one of the half dozen Real Housewife franchises they insist on following like weird reality TV groupies.
“Should I even ask?” I cock an eyebrow at my friends. “Or should I just assume that this is our plan for the evening?”
“It’s the plan,” Rainey says brightly. “Cyn’s free for the whole night since Smith is at some conference so I convinced her we needed a slumber party.”
“Omigod, Kim is SUCH a hot mess,” Cyn is saying, rolling her eyes at the TV. “I mean, shit, lady. You’ve got more money than God. Get it together.”
Rainey snorts a laugh as she digs into her popcorn. I flop down next to them and kick off my wedges. Cyn eyes me then.
“What have you been up to?”
I snag a cookie from a plate on the coffee table, then take a big bite.
“Visiting Mom,” I say, my mouth full. Crumbs fly in all directions and Cyn makes a face before handing me a napkin.
“And how was that?”
I shrug, then wipe my mouth.
“Fine, I guess. Lennon wasn’t around. I tried to talk to her again about kicking his lazy ass out, but she wasn’t having it. I feel like at this point, it’s just not my problem.”
Rainey sniffs. “I can’t believe she would even want him around—it’s gotta put a damper on her social life.”
“You’d think,” I agree, “not that she has much of one—I keep trying to get her to join Match.com or eHarmony or something but she won’t even hear of it. ‘I need to see people in person’ she always says. Which is fine, but she only goes to work and home—doesn’t leave a lot of options.”
Cyn narrows her eyes at me and I frown.
“What?”
“No, I was just thinking . . .” she trails off. “Never mind.”
I blink at her. “Dude, what? Just say it.”
“I dunno.” She picks at a frayed edge of the couch cushion. “I was thinking we could maybe set her up with my dad.”
“Huh.” I cock my head at her. “Maybe—that might actually work. I don’t know why we never thought of that before.”
Cyn shrugs. “Me neither. Could be fun for them, though, right?”
“Yeah—although Wyatt told me that your dad and Rocky have it bad for some new chick around Holly Fields, so we’ll have to see if he’d even be interested.”
Rainey grins. “Dude, your dad’s, like, the man whore of that place I bet.”
“Gross—shut up!” Cyn tosses a pillow at Rainey, who catches it before it can smack her in the face. Then she turns to me, eyebrow raised.
“So, Wyatt, huh? You saw him again last night, right?”
I sniff. “I did.”
Both women look at other. “And?” Give us the deets!”
I roll my eyes, “It was just a night out to hear some music and have a drink.”
“Well?” Cyn leans forward almost eagerly. “How did it go?”
I glance up at the ceiling, then back at the TV, where two women with platinum blond hair and big jewelry are having a heated argument about soufflés.
“Honestly?” I sigh. “It was shitty.”
“Shitty how?” Rainey asks.
I bite my lip, then shrug before launching into an explanation of the night—how we’d run into my fuck-up brother, how Wyatt managed to pull himself up to standing, but then fell in the middle of the bar, and how everything just sort of went downhill from there.
“Well, how did the night end?” Rainey presses, her eyebrows waggling. I give her a mock-glare.
“Did I come home last night?” I demand.
“Yeah.”
I throw up my hands. “Well, then clearly it didn’t end great or I would have stayed over.”
She shrugs. “Not necessarily. You could just be playing it cool. Or playing hard to get. Or playing some other game.”
I frown, then grab another cookie. “I’m too old for fucking games.”
For a long moment, we all watch as the two women who were arguing before now hug and swear their undying affection to one another. I take a big bite of the cookie.
“Look, I just feel like I blew it—Wyatt is great. He’s strong and he’s funny and he’s been through so much. Me—I’m a hot mess on the best of days, and yet he’s still seen something in me that makes him want me around. After last night, though? I mean, I’m clearly just a constant reminder that his wife cheated on him. I can’t change who my brother is and I can’t make Lennon disappear, despite my best efforts.”
Cyn sighs, twisting a curl around her finger.
“Look, Cars, I think you’re being too hard on yourself. Yeah, Wyatt’s ex-wife cheated. But Lennon was probably just convenient since he hung out at the same places she did. If it weren’t Lennon, it would have been someone else.”
I shrug. “Maybe.”
“And,” Rainey says, “if it bothered him all that much, he wouldn’t have you around in the first place.”
“Maybe,” I mutter, “but now I don’t know—he said he’d call today and he hasn’t. I just fee
l like I blew it.”
When I glance up again, Rainey is just staring at me, agape. Cyn is wearing a similar expression. I look back and forth between the two of them.
“Why are you two staring at me like I’ve grown a third boob?” I ask them. Cyn shakes her head.
“I think we’re just surprised. To hear you talking about a guy this way. I mean, the old Carson—she was more of a love ’em and leave ’em type of chick.”
I look down. “Yeah, well the old Carson was high as a fucking kite most of the time and just wanted to get laid and get out. Now I feel differently. I want something . . . stable.”
When I look back at them, I have to swallow the bile rising at the sight of their pity. I want to bolt, but I force myself not to, even after Cyn gets up and comes to hug me tightly.
“We love you. We want you happy and healthy. It’s just different to hear you talk this way—but different is good. Especially in this case.”
I lean back in my chair.
“Maybe. I guess I just feel like so much has gone to shit—I still need to finish my student teaching and the tutoring isn’t paying dick anymore. I just want to get my life into gear.”
“Have you talked to your advisor about student teaching in the fall?” Rainey asks.
“Yeah—he told me I just need to find someone willing to mentor me, then get them to sign off on the student teaching assignment. I tried the middle school shit, but I just don’t think I can swing that again. I’m thinking that elementary would probably be a better fit for me.”
Cyn clucks her tongue. “You know, I’ve got a couple of friends at Franklin who are married to elementary teachers—I’m sure I can connect you if you want to set up a meeting.”
I blink at her. “Seriously? That would be amazing, Cyn. Thank you.”
“Carson.” She looks at me, shaking her head. “All you had to do was ask. You’re my best friend. I love you. I want you to be happy.”
I smile broadly at her. “Thanks, doll.”
“Now, let’s settle in and watch this nonsense,” Cyn says, slapping her thighs as she pushes up to standing. I glance at my phone, then back at my friends.
“You guys go ahead,” I say, standing up and grabbing my purse. “I need to make a phone call first.”
Maybe it’s more sexy, more strategic to wait for Wyatt to call me like he said he would. But, like I told Cyn, I don’t want to play games—I’m too old to act like anything but what I am.
And that’s a woman who knows what she wants and is ready to finally ask for it.
Chapter Thirteen
But Wyatt doesn’t answer the phone on Saturday night.
He doesn’t answer it on Sunday, either.
I give him a break on Monday, considering I’m starting to feel a little lame and a lot desperate, but on Tuesday, I have to call to see if we’re meeting for our tutoring session or not.
He doesn’t answer his phone when I call in the afternoon, so I send a text.
Are we meeting tonight or not?
After a few minutes, my phone pings with his answer.
7 pm. My apartment.
I’m irritated at his response for the simple fact that I feel like he should say something in reference to blowing me off. Still, at least half of me is relieved I haven’t lost my only regular tutoring client, so I’m not going to rock the boat any more than I need to. I need to keep the paycheck, at least. Instead, I decide that looking hot as fuck and acting completely aloof and unaffected is the best potential game plan.
So, yeah, basically I’m playing fucking games. And I know it. It’s goddamned annoying.
But when I get to Wyatt’s, my armor of a sexy, cleavage-bearing button-up shirt and tight-in-the-ass jean skirt is forgotten at the sound of shouting from within the apartment.
“I’m telling you that I’m doing the best I can,” I hear Wyatt say firmly.
“And I’m telling you that that is bullshit, Wyatt. You just said that you stood up—that you tried to walk on your own just the other night.”
The second voice is Wanda, his physical therapist, I think. I press my ear to the door just as Wyatt responds.
“I didn’t try to walk. I stood up, unsupported, and fell right back down. I’m not asking for crutches or any other resource. I’m saying I’m not ready to move forward without the wheelchair.”
“I think you’re underestimating yourself,” a third voice says. This one is softer, more gentle. A woman who clearly cares about Wyatt. I can feel myself bristle in irritation. My body is tense and cocked, like I’m ready to throw a punch. I’m not entirely sure why my body is reacting this way, but it’s very clearly displeased by the presence of another woman in Wyatt’s life.
And I’m preoccupied enough to not realize that someone is approaching the door, so when it flies open, I’m basically caught with my face pressed up against it like some kind of weird creeper. I jump back to see a woman wearing a doctor’s coat standing in front of me. She’s older, white-haired, and serious-looking. The frown of disapproval on her face is unmistakable.
“Can I help you?”
I clear my throat. “I’m here for Wyatt . . . I’m his—”
“Dr. York,” Wyatt says, wheeling over to the door, “this is Carson Tucker. She’s helping me with my college courses.”
“Oh, well, hello there.”
Dr. York’s expression softens as she reaches out a hand and shakes mine.
“Wyatt has said you’ve been instrumental in his refocusing on his studies, Ms. Tucker. I appreciate the commitment you’ve made to him.”
“Oh.” I blink at her, unsure of what to say to that. “Well, thank you.”
“Dr. York and Wanda were just leaving,” Wyatt says. His tone isn’t angry or rude, but it’s very clear and leaves no room for misinterpretation. Both women give me tight smiles as they exit, murmuring their good-byes.
“Sorry about that,” Wyatt says, closing the door firmly behind me. “I didn’t expect them to stay this long.”
I swallow, then shake my head. “No. It’s fine.”
I walk further into the room, trying to get my bearings. I had a plan of what I was going to say to Wyatt and how I was going to say it. Now I feel completely thrown.
I turn and sit on the edge of the couch, taking a deep breath. Then I meet Wyatt’s gaze, which is a mixture of wary and uncomfortable.
“Do your doctors often pay you house-call visits?” I ask him. He shrugs.
“Not usually. But Dr. York is a neurologist and I’ve skipped my last two appointments, so she roped Wanda into turning my PT into a psych session today.”
I frown. “Why have you skipped your appointments?”
“Because, Carson,” he says, giving me an exasperated sigh, “there’s nothing they can tell me that I don’t already know.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Well, considering you’re not a neurologist, something tells me you’re wrong.”
Wyatt scrubs a hand over his face. For the first time since we’ve been spending time together on a regular basis, I can see cracks in his carefully constructed façade. So often, he’s seemed calm and cool. Like he’s managed to roll with the punches. Now I can see chinks in that armor. We’re both completely used to covering ourselves with protective gear of a metaphorical sort. Maybe it just takes one to know one. Or see through one.
“Can we just focus on my project?” he asks, his voice low. He sounds tired, so I just nod and dig his folder out of my bag.
“That’s fine.”
But once I’ve opened the folder and spread the paperwork out on the table, I slam both palms down on the table.
“No, you know what?” I glare at him. “It’s not fine.”
“Carson . . .” he says, his voice exhausted. But I shake my head.
“I know that this weekend sucked royally—and I’m sorry. Really, I am. My brother is an asshole of epic proportions.”
“We don’t need to rehash this—I swear, I’m fine with Friday
night.”
“Well, maybe you are, but I’m not.” I spread my fingers wide and take a deep breath. “Going to The Factory was hard for me. Really hard. I faced my fears—and so did you. Actually, you did more than that, Wyatt—you stood up. You are relying on your wheelchair and you might not even need to do that. You’re using all that as a crutch to justify you not moving forward.”
He gives me a warning look.
“Carson . . .”
“Tell me about Hopkins, Wyatt.”
He blinks at me, frowning. Then the realization hits his eyes.
“Fucking Evans, man. When did he talk to you?”
“It doesn’t matter.” I shake my head. “You have an amazing opportunity—your life seems to be filled with amazing opportunities that you just keep ignoring. Or pretending don’t exist. Or both.”
I watch Wyatt swallow, his throat working through the motion with some kind of torturous slowness. When he looks at me again, his expression is unreadable.
“I could say the same for you, you know.”
I narrow my gaze. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means”—he clears his throat—“that you’re avoiding finishing school. You should be teaching, Carson. You are talented—you are an amazing instructor who could do great things for her students, but you’re hiding. You’re fucking hiding here with me. You know that teaching isn’t supposed to be like this.”
“What is it supposed to be like then?” I practically hiss. I push my chair back from the table and cross my arms. “If I’m not helping you, we’re wasting everyone’s time.”
“I didn’t say you weren’t helping me,” Wyatt says, his tone almost gentle. It’s infuriating.
“Then what are you saying?”
Wyatt wheels around the table and comes closer to me. Slowly, he reaches up and pushes a lock of hair behind my ear.
“All I’m saying, gorgeous, is that you and I are both hiding in our own way. And, yeah, I have opportunities waiting for me. But I’m getting to them in my own time. Just like you.”
“So you’re not avoiding them?” I ask, one brow raised.
“Nope.”
“And you weren’t avoiding me?” I ask slowly. “When you didn’t call me back?”