by Annie Kelly
I feel my hackles rising.
I stand up and smooth a hand down over my tank top and cut-offs, wishing that I’d put on something a little more professional.
As I weave around the clusters of furniture, all arranged in strategic seating areas, I watch as Jillian rises and comes to kneel in front of Wyatt’s wheelchair.
“Look, I’m not saying things were even close to perfect. Fuck, they were probably much closer to a disaster. But before we sign these divorce papers—don’t you think we deserve to give ourselves another chance?”
I can feel something deep within my chest stutter and stop. I think it must by my heart.
He’s not actually divorced yet?
What. The. Fuck?
I have to force myself not to stomp toward him. When I approach, Jillian glances up at me with a blank expression that morphs into something like a sneer.
“Can we help you?” she asks me. I plaster a sugary-sweet smile on just as Wyatt glances over his shoulder and meets my gaze. The look in his eyes is a mixture of shock and discomfort.
“I don’t think you can, honey,” I say to her, my words dripping sarcasm. “But your husband here can.”
Wyatt opens his mouth to respond, but I put a hand on his shoulder and shake my head.
“Mr. Sands, I’m just here in a tutoring capacity. Perhaps your wife could excuse us for a moment?”
Jillian rises to standing, being sure to show a healthy dose of cleavage as she does.
“I’m going to run and get a beverage,” she says to Wyatt. “I’ll be right back, sweetie.”
As she sashays out of the common area, I force myself to meet Wyatt’s gaze head-on. The shock that was there before now looks a little more like regret. A little more like sadness.
“So, you’re still married?”
I practically spit the words and Wyatt closes his eyes.
“Only legally.”
I bark out a laugh. “Legally. You know, the entire way you can BE married at all? Jesus, Wyatt, what the fuck?”
He rubs a hand down over his face and sighs. “I said I had filed for an annulment, and I did. But she hasn’t signed the papers yet. I keep asking her to, but she is determined to reconcile.”
I have to clench my fists to remain calm. “And you didn’t think that this was necessary information? The fact that you’re still married and your wife wants you back?”
“I really didn’t, Carson, because I have no intention of going back to her.”
“Then, why, exactly, is she here today?”
Something like irritation flashes in Wyatt’s eyes.
“Look, I’m not exactly sure when you decided I had to answer to you, but I think it’s kind of bullshit. You show up here, unannounced, and decide that it’s your business to know who I speak to when? What the fuck is up with that shit?”
“Maybe as your—”
I close my eyes and breathe deep, forcing myself not to punch him in the fucking mouth, which is exactly what I want to do to him. This isn’t what I came here to do. I came here to push Wyatt to be the best he can be, as his tutor and his friend, and his wife shouldn’t have anything to do about that.
“What about Hopkins?” I finally ask.
Wyatt stares at me, then his eyes narrow. “What about it?” I blink at him, frowning. “It’s an amazing opportunity, Wyatt. One that you shouldn’t just blow off without really thinking about it.”
He cocks a brow at me.
“Please don’t speak to me like I’m a fucking child. I’m not one of your middle schoolers, Carson. I know how significant going to a university like Johns Hopkins would be for my future.”
I spread my hands wide.
“Then tell me why Evans called me on my way here to tell me you hadn’t turned in all your work?”
Wyatt sniffs. “Frankly, that shit isn’t any of his concern.”
I snort a laugh of disbelief.
“He’s your goddamn advisor—who else’s business would it be?”
He shrugs. “If I’m not going to his school for much longer, I’m not really his responsibility.”
I open my mouth to respond, but I can’t think of anything to say. I don’t even know who this person I’m talking to right now is. I mean, the Wyatt I tutored and worked with—he wasn’t overly enthusiastic, but he wasn’t this sullen, moody guy.
“Look, Carson,” Wyatt says, leaning forward to brace his hands against his knees, “this isn’t how I wanted this conversation to go—I’m sorry. The last thing I expected was for you to show up today, and if I’d known you were coming, I would have asked you not to.”
I narrow my eyes.
“Are you fucking serious right now?”
His gaze softens. “You know how much you mean to me. I don’t want to hurt you—but I never asked you to do this.”
“Do what?”
He shoves a hand back through his hair. “I don’t know—I guess push so hard. All I wanted was some help finishing my shit at BCC. I haven’t made any decisions about Johns Hopkins and I don’t need those decisions made for me.”
I look down at my hands. I can feel tears pricking at the corners of my eyes and I will them back.
“Carson,” Wyatt says quietly, “you have to let me do things my way.”
I look up at him and glare. “And that means fucking me while you’re still married? That means bailing on an amazing opportunity at top-notch school? That means ignoring repeated calls from your band begging you to come back and play?”
Wyatt freezes and stares at me.
“What are you talking about?”
“I know that Jack and Bentz have been calling you nonstop,” I say, pointing at him. “And I know you haven’t returned a single call.”
His eyes narrow. “Let me guess—they called you, too?”
I shake my head.
“No. I went to them.”
There’s a spark in Wyatt’s eyes that flares with the knowledge of this information.
“Why in the actual fuck would you think you have the right to do that?”
His tone is even and measured, but I don’t think I’ve ever seen him look this angry. Certainly not this angry at me.
“Wyatt, I just think that there are things that you are really great at—music in particular, but your education too—that you deserve to give another shot.”
I sink down in the chair across from him.
“You’ve done so much for me when it comes to me trying to get a handle on my anxiety and facing my fears. I guess I just wanted the same for you.”
Wyatt’s entire demeanor has changed—it’s like his skin has turned into an impenetrable armor and there’s an invisible force field between him and me.
“I pushed you, Carson, by making suggestions. By telling you what I thought. By sharing my opinion. I didn’t go behind your back to meet with people I don’t even know just to push my own agenda.”
I swallow hard.
“That isn’t what I was trying to do.”
“Well, it’s what you did.”
For a long moment, we stare at each other. In Wyatt’s eyes, I see two men—the kind and gentle man recovering from tragedy and the slightly harder but musically gifted prodigy he was before his accident. I don’t think he realizes that he can be both. I don’t think he knows that I love both parts of him equally.
“Wyatt?”
We both turn to see Jillian holding a cup of coffee and leaning up against a nearby armchair. Sighing, I stand up. I’ve clearly fucked this up far beyond anything like recognition. I might as well cut my losses, especially since losses seem to be all I have.
“Don’t worry about your last payment,” I say to Wyatt as I shove my hands in my pockets. “Consider your tutoring complete. If you need assistance with your last projects, you should call Dr. Evans. I think he’d really enjoy talking to you.”
“Carson, wait.” Wyatt wheels forward a few feet but I hold up a hand.
“It’s better this way. Whatever pa
rt of your past you decide to go back to . . .” I trail off, glancing up at Jillian, then back at him, “I hope you’ll take advantage of all of your opportunities.. You’re too talented not to.”
Before he can protest, I slide past him and stride toward the door.
I make it all the way to the front desk before I break into a run.
I make it all the way to my car before I let myself fall to pieces.
***
Crying is for pussies.
This is my new mantra.
I give myself a week and a half to wallow, and then I force myself to get the fuck up out of bed. Only Rainey knew the details of what had happened and she knew the best thing for me was to give me a wide berth while I tried not to drown in my own bullshit emotions.
This right here is why I don’t fall in love. It’s easier and far less painful.
Wyatt has tried to call twice—once he left a message asking me to call back. The second time he waited a beat without saying anything, then sighed and hung up.
For all I care, he can take that sigh and shove it right up his fucking ass.
Which is total bullshit. I want him to call. I want to call him. I want him here in my bed with me and begging me to never leave him. And I hate that I’ve become that kind of chick.
So, instead, I’m rallying. I called Dr. Benson and I’m doing a meet-and-greet at the Sun Valley Therapeutic Facility tomorrow with the director of the program who is, apparently, really excited to meet me and start working together. Apparently my advisor really talked me up to him. I also called Dr. Bruno and set up weekly appointments for the next two months, starting with an hour-long session tomorrow afternoon.
I need to move forward. I know that Wyatt inspired me to do that, to move in a direction that allows me to focus on my strengths, not my weaknesses, but I refuse to believe that he is the only reason—the only inspiration—behind my progress.
I’m looking over the Sun Valley website when Rainey pops her head in my room.
“Yo, bitch. Get dressed. We’re going out.”
I start to groan and shake my head but she makes the universal “shut up” signal with her hand.
“I don’t want to hear it. You are not laying around in your own filth for one more minute.”
“Filth?” I ask, indignantly. She nods.
“Yeah. Go put on something hot. We’re going to hit up that club we checked out last spring with Cyn.”
I stare at her. “Seriously? It’s a sex club, Rainey.”
She crosses her arms, swishing her blond curls over one shoulder.
“Um, I’m sorry, but last time I checked, you were the one who called it a fetish club.”
I roll my eyes. “Please. You know I said that shit so Cyn wouldn’t freak out.”
She snorts. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t get you off the hook.”
I close my eyes and lean back in my chair. The last thing in the world that I feel like doing is going out tonight. I mean, literally, the last thing I feel like doing. What I feel like doing is curling up in a ball and crying while I watch romantic comedy bullshit.
But I refuse to fall victim to that. Because, like I said, crying is for pussies.
So instead, I look back at my roommate and sigh.
“Give me an hour.”
Chapter Twenty-one
“Names?”
I eye the doorman at Cave. The last time we were here, it was a different guy—a little more of a Freddie Mercury glam rocker than this Magic Mike wannabe. Still, he’s hot enough to distract me. More than anything, I just want to be distracted.
But I’d forgotten the deal with Cave—you have to be recommended for the guest list. Now, standing in my lace-up stiletto boots and purple corset–style tank, I have a sinking feeling that I actually got all dressed up for nothing. But Rainey just grins and hands the doorman a small square card. He glances down, looks up at us both, then waves us through the curtained entryway.
“What the fuck was that?” I ask her when we’ve made it through the thick swaths of fabric. She shrugs.
“Remember how Smith knows the guy who owns this place?”
I’d forgotten that, actually, but I nod. Sometimes I forget that it was an impromptu night at Cave where Smith and Cyn actually met for the first time.
“Well, he gave me a handful of these little owner admission cards that he has—I didn’t know if we’d ever use them again, but I’m sure as shit glad I have them now.”
“Welcome to Cave, ladies.”
A mostly naked woman painted green and wearing leaf-style pasties sort of bows at us from her position at the top of the stairs. I remember her from last time and I’ve got absolutely no patience for her required welcome speech.
“We know the deal, Ivy,” I say, striding past her and heading down the stairs. The bar, surrounded by blue lighting and several dozen people, has never looked more inviting. I don’t even care what I drink anymore—I just want it in my system as soon as possible.
“Can I get a Grey Goose and tonic, extra lime?” I ask the bartender, a feminine man wearing heavy eyeliner and long pink eyelashes. I glance back at Rainey, then hold up two fingers. “Actually, make that two, chief.”
As the bartender plunks down two vodka tonics in front of us, Rainey snatches them both up, loops an arm through the crook of mine, and practically drags me away from the bar.
I knock back the majority of my drink.
“Come on. Let’s go check out this band and dance our fucking asses off.”
She grins. “You read my mind.”
Whatever band is coming on hasn’t started their set yet—instead, there’s a DJ spinning some kind of techno-meets-Taylor-Swift track and a few hundred bodies undulating in various states of undress. It turns out that tonight was a fund-raiser where people wore lingerie and boxers for a cause I’m not entirely sure I understand. Regardless, Rainey and I are skimpily clad enough that we blend right in with the rest of the flannel pajama bottoms and lacey camisoles.
We weave through the crowd until we reach an area between the stage and the DJ booth. It doesn’t take long for a sexy guy with a six-pack and slicked back dark hair to start to grind up against Rainey, who reciprocates in turn. She lifts up her arms and pushes her ass back against the guy, who’s wearing an open robe and tight blue boxer briefs. Behind me, I feel an arm snake around my waist.
“I don’t think we were properly introduced,” a voice growls in my ear.
I turn to see an Adonis standing behind me. He’s exactly the kind of guy that used to be my weakness. Hot. Fun. Down for anything with a girl he just met.
“Do I know you?” I ask, brow raised.
He pins me with a sexy grin. Perfect white teeth—of course.
“Listen, I know you don’t know me, but I’d love to dance with you.”
He reaches out then and brushes a tendril of hair from my forehead. The intimate gesture is so familiar—so close to something Wyatt would do—that I can almost feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes. I force them back just in time to see Rainey, who is stomping toward me.
“What the hell are you doing here?” she practically growls.
Adonis narrows his eyes and he actually looks sort of pissed this time.
“Rainey, I don’t know why you hate me so damn much, but I came here to have a good time tonight. My friends are running late and I don’t really want to sit at the bar looking like a jackass. I just want to dance and you said no, so I’m asking your roommate. Is that really so wrong?”
I glance back and forth between the two of them, completely confused. Finally she looks at me and rolls her eyes.
“Carson, this is Owen, my new boss. Owen, Carson—my roommate. And she’s totally in love and completely unavailable. So, stop trying to molest her on the dance floor.
I have to admit, I’m mildly entertained at the conflict in Rainey’s expression.
“It’s nice to meet you, Owen,” I say, smiling up at him. “And Rainey’s right—I�
�m totally a smitten kitten. But we can still dance, if you’re interested.”
A weird, choked noise comes from deep in Rainey’s throat.
“Fine, I’ll dance with you,” she mutters to Owen. “I’m not subjecting Carson to having to dance with a stranger.”
I shrug at her. “It’s okay—I don’t mind.”
But as I say the words, something in me realizes that Rainey doesn’t want me to dance with Owen—that she isn’t doing me a favor as much as she’s preventing me from grinding up against her hot new boss.
I can’t contain the smirk that’s beginning to spread across my face.
“You can dance with . . .” Rainey trails off, looking for her former partner, but he seems to have taken up with a chick in a white teddy and angel wings. I just shrug and wave a hand at her.
“I’m good.”
“You sure?”
Her concerned expression suddenly morphs into something I can’t quite understand—a mix of glee combined with something like nerves. I blink at her.
“What’s going on with you?”
“Nothing . . .” she trails off, then leans in and hugs me tight. “I love you. So much. Now turn around. The band is coming on stage.”
Frowning, I turn to see four guys beginning to scale the stairs. Like the rest of the crowd, they’re dressed in various forms of pajama pants—ripped plaid flannel and baggy blue cotton—along with combat-style boots. They’re all shirtless and well-built, but it’s hard to see much more in the club lighting. At least until they reach the stage. And that’s when I stop breathing.
“And now,” the DJ announces over the microphone, “in their first reunion performance in almost a year, please welcome . . . MORTAL ENEMY.”
The crowd begins to roar with yelling and applause, but I just stand still, frozen in one place. I can see no one or nothing but Wyatt. He’s walking. He looks tall and confident as he strides to the drum kit, holding his sticks in one hand and shoving a hand back through his hair with the other. I can see past his façade, past his bluster, to the nerves lying beneath his skin. I’m not sure I’ve ever known anyone as well as I know this man.
I look over at Rainey, who is watching me closely. She whispers something to Owen, then leans in closer to me.