But the reward now was much greater. He was wealthy, living among blue bloods who made Lindsay’s privileged family look like paupers.
It wasn’t about money, though. Not for Wyatt.
And it wasn’t about Lindsay rejecting him all those years ago because he wasn’t good enough.
It wasn’t even about his parents, who never believed in him, or his brothers, who didn’t either-until he sent them each a Jaguar for Christmas a few years back. Of course Shane promptly sold his to keep his L.A. townhouse from going into foreclosure, and Devin totaled his during an icy Montana rain that spring.
Oh, well. Let bygones be bygones, Wyatt figured. No need to hold grudges.
If Wyatt Goddard ever had anything to prove, it was to himself.
He should have been satisfied now, a bon vivant living life on his own terms.
He wasn’t.
Not entirely.
But he figured he was as close to satisfied as he was ever going to get on his own.
Sure, something was missing. Something he couldn’t even put his finger on, most days.
Today, however, he could.
Maybe because Allison had moved out.
More likely because Lindsay had contacted him.
No, she wasn’t the thing that was missing, per se…
It was just that hearing from her reminded him-far more than Allison’s departure had-that he was alone.
Alone again, alone always…
Alone.
There were plenty of people in his life, but he held them at arm’s length, the way he always had. It was his nature. In his relationships with women, with family, with friends and colleagues.
If he didn’t let them in, he didn’t have to push them out-or worse, let them out when they wanted to leave.
He didn’t have to take Psych 101 to know that it was a defense mechanism, honed by years of being a latchkey kid with parents who were absent even when they were physically there. He had long ago forgiven both of them, quite some time before he found himself at their consecutive deathbeds, keeping vigil, holding it together while his older brothers fell apart and stayed away. His father went first: cirrhosis of the liver. No surprise. His mother followed within a year: emphysema. No surprise there, either.
Wyatt had long since quit smoking, and he never touched a drop of liquor. Never did drugs, either, not even pot. Not even when he ran around with that crowd back in school.
No, he was an expert at always remaining in control…
Even at high speed.
He checked the rearview mirror, glanced over his shoulder, then flicked on his turn signal and swerved left.
Then he allowed his foot to sink onto the accelerator, gunning the sports car down the highway toward New York, and Lindsay.
This was going to be tricky.
She couldn’t help but wish Lindsay and Wyatt were going to meet at Lindsay’s apartment so that she could easily eavesdrop in the comfort of her Lexington Avenue hotel room a few blocks away.
But when Wyatt said he was coming to New York right away, Lindsay immediately suggested meeting in a public place.
She didn’t say it that way, of course.
When he asked, “Where do you live?” she replied immediately, and nervously, “Oh, I’ll just meet you somewhere. I was going out to run some errands on the way to work, so…”
Errands? On the way to work?
No, you weren’t, Lindsay. You made that up-why? So that you wouldn’t have to meet Wyatt Goddard in your apartment?
She could think of just two reasons a woman wouldn’t want to be alone with a man. One, because she was afraid he might hurt her.
Two, because she was afraid he might make a move on her.
With Wyatt Goddard, either scenario was a possibility.
Not that he had ever hurt someone, to her knowledge. But there always was an air of danger about him.
In fact, to her own private amusement, his name came up a few times in the wake of Jake’s murder-as a suspect.
Not officially, though the police did question him. But they questioned everyone who had been at the dance that night. Methodically. Taking more time with some kids-like Lindsay, who had found him, and Kristen, who had been his date-than with others.
Wyatt was never an official suspect, but there was plenty of talk, particularly among Jake’s friends, that he could have done it. Mostly because he was an outsider, never one of them. And because he had been there that night, with Jake’s sister.
Of course, she kept her distance from him after that.
Pretty much everyone did.
Then again, they all kept their distance from each other, too, their close-knit group hopelessly frayed as graduation loomed.
By that July, everyone had gone their separate ways.
This July, they were planning to come together again at last before the old school was destroyed.
But some of them wouldn’t live to see that day.
And those who did would be forever haunted by all that had gone before.
Lindsay Farrell would be part of the former group.
She hadn’t yet decided where Wyatt Goddard was going to wind up now that he was back on the scene.
She’d just have to wait and see what happened between him and Lindsay.
They were meeting just down this next block, in a large, popular coffee shop Lindsay had suggested. It would probably be crowded at this hour of the morning.
Crowded enough that no one would give a second glance to a frumpy, heavyset blonde dining solo.
But too crowded, she saw in dismay as she arrived in the doorway, for her to possibly land a seat anywhere near Lindsay and Wyatt.
There they were, greeting each other right now at a small booth near the back, surrounded by other booths and tables, all of them occupied.
Lindsay she had already glimpsed many times these last few days, having kept her under close surveillance. She had been seated when Wyatt arrived, her back to the door.
Now, after they had exchanged a brief, awkward grasp of each other’s arms-which wasn’t a hug, but wasn’t anything else, either-Wyatt sat down facing the door, and she did a double take.
She hadn’t seen him in twenty years.
If she weren’t looking for him, expecting to see him there, it would have taken her a while to recognize him.
He was still tall, dark, and handsome. More so than ever, in fact.
But there was a sophistication about him that had never been there before. He wore a dark suit, white shirt, and tie-obviously expensive, even from here.
Even if she were able to sidle into the vicinity-confident they wouldn’t recognize her between the wig, the padding, and the glasses-she wouldn’t be able to hear what they were saying. It was much too loud in here: chattering voices, clattering silverware and plates, jaunty Greek music playing in the background.
Disappointed, she turned and left the coffee shop, realizing she’d just have to piece it all together later.
There he was.
Right in front of her.
Looking at her, presumably, from behind the dark glasses that shielded his eyes.
Touching her-his hands on her lower arms in a brief grasp-but that was all.
And that’s good, Lindsay told herself, trying not to be disappointed that he didn’t initiate a hug or kiss. That would have been too awkward. It wasn’t as though they were officially long-lost friends-or long-lost anything.
Not officially.
“You look really good, Wyatt.”
Why did I say that? she wondered on the heels of her impromptu comment as they both settled into the booth-she for the second time.
I said it because it’s true, for one thing. He does look really good.
Great, in fact.
She never in a million years expected Wyatt Goddard to show up dressed like a successful businessman, cleanshaven below his sunglasses, his black hair attractively cut with a bristly top that seemed to beg her fingers to spike it further.
Was he a successful businessman?
He must be successful at something, living where he does. The Fairfield County shore towns weren’t affordable otherwise.