“Uh …” Wyatt grunts and then more giggling ensues. I cringe, wondering what in the hell is going on, and I’m seconds away from asking him just that when he says the last thing I expect to hear. “No, everything isn’t okay. I was calling because I have Bailey, and she’s”—Wyatt grunts—“shit, are you okay?” There’s another grunt followed by some rustling sounds, and now I’m wondering if Bailey really is okay and why in the hell Wyatt is with her.
“Wyatt? What do you mean you have Bailey?”
“She’s wasted,” he says, sighing. “She refuses to let me take her to your mom’s, and no way in hell am I bringing her to my place.”
“Bring her to me.” I can’t help but laugh. Bailey is a funny drunk, although I can’t help but wonder why she’s drunk at six o’clock in the evening. “I’ll be home in two minutes.”
“Thank God,” he says with an exaggerated groan. “We’re sitting in your driveway.”
“Almost there.” I disconnect the call as I turn onto my street. Sure enough, Wyatt’s truck is parked in the driveway and he’s standing outside, leaning against his sleek black Chevy. Pulling in, I throw my car in park and start laughing hysterically at the sight of Bailey’s face squished against the glass of the passenger-side window.
Wyatt walks around the truck and opens the passenger door, sticking a hand out just in time to stop Bailey from toppling to the ground. Scooping her up, he tosses her over his shoulder and I shake my head, laughing.
“It’s not funny.”
“Oh, but it is.” Unlocking my front door, I hold it open for Wyatt and he walks in and places Bailey on the couch. I reach down to tug Bailey’s heels off, causing her to stir and roll onto her side. Her eyelids bob heavily several times and she swallows hard.
“Are you going to be sick?” I ask, pointing to the trashcan and motioning for Wyatt to bring it to me.
“He cheated on me.” Her words are slurred as she clumsily reaches up to wipe away some tears that have gathered in her eyes. My heart clenches, and I kneel down on the floor next to the couch to run a soothing hand along her forehead. No wonder she’s hammered this early in the evening.
“I’m sorry, sweetie.” Wyatt hands me the trashcan and I place it on the floor, just in case she feels the need to hurl later—which she most likely will. “He doesn’t deserve you, Bay. You’re too good for him.”
“But I wanted him.” Her eyes drift shut and when she sighs, the smell of her breath nearly knocks me on my ass. Okay, so her drug of choice tonight was tequila. Nice. That should be a lovely smell in the morning when I’m cleaning up whatever mess she makes.
“I know you wanted him, babe.” Brushing the hair out of her face, I lean down and kiss her forehead, glad that she’s too drunk to remember that she’s mad at me. “But sometimes what we want isn’t always what’s best for us.”
A faint snore falls from Bailey’s mouth, and I pull an afghan off the back of the couch and tuck it in around her. Standing up from the floor, I come face-to-face with Wyatt. “Thanks for bringing her by.”
“You don’t have to thank me.” Lifting the hat from his head, Wyatt runs his fingers through his hair before readjusting the Stetson. I always loved it when Wyatt wore his cowboy hat. It made me think of my Daddy. “She called and said she didn’t know who else to call.” Wyatt props a hip against the wall and cocks his head to the side. “Why didn’t she just call you?”
Great. Not exactly the conversation I want to have. Turning toward the kitchen, I wave for Wyatt to follow me so we don’t disturb Bailey. “Well,” I say, grabbing a bottle of water from the fridge, “we aren’t exactly on speaking terms.”
“Why’s that?” His southern drawl has always grown thicker when he’s concerned, and it’s more than prominent now.
“She got mad when she found out that you and I broke up.” Looking down, I fidget with the cap to my bottle, unsure as to why I suddenly find it hard to look Wyatt in the eye. I sure as hell was able to look him in the eye when I broke his heart.
“We didn’t break up.”
My head snaps up. “Uh, yeah we did.”
“No.” Wyatt takes a step toward me. My entire body freezes. “You broke up with me. To say that we broke up is a complete lie, because if I remember correctly, I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.”
“No, I guess you didn’t.” Glancing down, I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Wyatt.” For the first time since it happened, guilt over breaking up with him slices through me. Not because I regret ending things with him—because I don’t—but because I feel bad for hurting him. And I’m not going to lie, having him here in my house again is familiar and comforting, and I’m finding it mildly unsettling.
I jump at the feel of Wyatt’s warm hand on my face, but I don’t look up. This is all so confusing. I can’t bring myself to meet his gaze, but when he hooks his thumb under my chin, tilting my head up, I don’t have much of a choice. His eyes are intense, swimming with emotion, and I get a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach.
Please don’t do this.
“I don’t want you to apologize, Katie.” He swallows hard. “What I want is for you to give me another chance.”
“Wyatt,” I say, groaning. Furrowing my brows, I shake my head. “Please—”
“Just hear me out,” he says, holding up a hand. “I get it. I get why you broke things off. You’ve gone through so much lately, and I—I wasn’t there for you like I should’ve been. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for that, but I can show you. Let me show you.”
“Wyatt.” I stare at him for a few seconds, hating that he’s putting me in this position. “I haven’t changed my mind.”
“Let me change your mind,” he pleads. “We were great together, Katie, and yes, somewhere along the way we drifted apart. But I know that we can find our way back to each other. I just need you to give me a chance.”
“I don’t—”
“Dinner,” he blurts. “Just have dinner with me. Let’s talk. That’s all I ask.”
“I don’t know, Wyatt.” My stomach rolls with uncertainty, but turning him down on the phone was much easier than telling him ‘no’ in person.
“Think about it.” Slowly, he backs away from me with a hopeful smile on his face. “Just think about it.”
“Okay,” I concede. “I’ll think about it.”
He doesn’t say another word. Turning around, he walks out of the house, shutting the door quietly behind him.
Completely defeated, I drop into a seat at the kitchen table. Telling Wyatt that I’d think about having dinner with him was a huge mistake, because I know deep down that no matter how familiar it felt to be around him again, I made the right choice. And no dinner is going to change that.
My phone vibrates in my pocket and I groan. “Come on, Wy.” Scooping my phone out of my pocket, I’m prepared to see Wyatt’s number—yet again—but the number is completely foreign to me. Who the hell is this? It’s probably some damn telemarketer, and usually I’d just send them to voicemail, but for some unknown reason I decide to answer.
“Hello.”
“Katie?”
I’d know that voice anywhere. A tiny wave of electricity buzzes through my body, sending a shiver down my spine. No way. The sinking feeling in my stomach from before is now a swarm of butterflies that decide to take flight all at once. I push up from the table, knocking the chair over in the process. “Devin?” My voice comes out way too breathy, but I don’t have time to care because I’m too busy being shocked, and excited, and hopeful …
“Hi.” His rich, gravelly voice floats through the line, soaks into my skin and wraps itself around my heart. I’ve wanted to talk to him—to hear his voice saying the words that he’s written—but I didn’t realize I needed it until now.
I can’t believe he called.
He’s on the line, no doubt waiting for me to talk, but I’m utterly speechless. The only thing I can think of is that now that I’ve heard his voice again, reading his words won’t be enough. I’ll crave this … this connection. It’ll be my new weakness, my new drug of choice.