The message ends there, and I feel numb as I listen to the date and time, learning that he left this particular voice mail back in December. I slide my laptop to the other side of my bed and carefully place the phone back on the receiver, as if it will break at the slightest harsh movement. I stare at the nightstand, at the phone. And I sit in silence like I’m waiting, like I’m expecting the phone to ring at any moment.
When nothing happens and the quietness continues, I close my eyes tightly. I can almost hear Wyatt’s voice in my head, telling me over and over again that he loves me.
“I love you, too,” I finally whisper.
***
Wyatt’s messages stay in the front of my mind for the next few days, and it’s nearly impossible for me to get much done besides writing Sinjin two more letters and going to the gym with Heidi once.
When my cell phone rings on Friday afternoon and my mom’s voice comes on the line, a wave of relief washes through my body. She’s got this way of making me feel better by just saying a couple of words, and I stretch out on my sofa as I talk to her.
“You sound tired,” she points out in a worried voice.
Even though she can’t see me, I shake my head. “Just a little stressed.”
After she reminds me that I need to take better care of myself, she changes the subject to my upcoming trip to Atlanta to see her and my dad. “Are you still planning to visit in a few weeks?”
“I’ll be there, driving you insane,” I promise. When she laughs, I imagine her grinning face and how she’s probably waving her hand, shaking my comment off.
“You could never do that, baby. Me and your dad just really...” She pauses for several seconds, and a sob hitches in my throat. The moment she opens her mouth to speak again, the concern has returned along with the firm voice she used on us when we were kids. “Alright, spill it now.”
And I do. Even though my mother is a youth pastor, I leave nothing out, telling her about everything from the cutting to all the years of constant drama with Wyatt and even about the messages I recently discovered. When I’m done, she’s quiet for a long time.
“Do you love him?” she asks. “Are you still in love with Wyatt McCrae?”
Lucas’s words from the day at the DMV come to mind, and I swallow hard because my brother was right. It is impossible for me to stop loving someone. “Of course I do. I’ll never stop.”
My mother makes a squeaking noise, like she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. I hear her say something to my dad, and then I hear the sound of a door closing. “Then, you need to tell him that. If you both love each other, you need to be committed. And if he’s not willing to do that...well, the least you can do is get everything off your chest.”
“I don’t even know if it could work,” I say.
I can practically hear her shaking her head when she responds to me. “You don’t know anything until you try. No relationship is perfect, and there won’t ever be one that is. You just have to figure out how to fix yours.”
“I’ll contact him.”
“You don’t sound so sure,” she says, so when I respond, my voice is firm and convincing.
“I’m going to go see him, Mom. Even if we can’t be together, you’re right. Not trying will hurt so much worse than talking to him and agreeing that it’s best we stay apart.”
She releases a sigh of relief. “Good, I’m so proud of you. I’ve got to hang up now—your dad and I have made plans this evening, but I love you. I’ve loved you and Lucas since the day you were born, been proud of you both since I first laid eyes on you, and nothing will ever change that.” Before we end the call, she clears her throat softly. “And Kylie? There’s so much we need to talk about in person when you come home.”
I’ve given her a lot to think about and said things I never planned on revealing to her, so I know by the time I go to Atlanta, we’ll have hours of conversation ahead of us. There might be tears and maybe even some angry words, but I nod my head, welcoming it. “I know, Mom. I love you, too.”
***
For the next twenty-four hours, I let myself absorb my mom’s words, and by the next evening, I know that I’m ready to face Wyatt. I don’t want to lose my nerve, so I don’t call him to let him know I’m on my way as I make the drive to his West Hollywood bungalow.
His car, a fully restored classic Chevelle, is parked in his driveway, and I pull my blue Yaris right behind it. Taking a deep breath, I walk up to his front door. I ring the bell and then clench my fists by my side as I wait for him to answer.
When he pulls open the door a moment later, he’s speaking to someone over his shoulder, but his words are cut off the second he lays his intense blue eyes on me.
Slowly, I take in the sight of him. He’s barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts. My gaze traces over the bluebird tattoo on his chest. It’s healing fast, and I feel a sharp pang in my rib cage. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind me—”
“God, no. Never. Come in.” He’s hesitant to touch me at first, but then he places his palms to the side of my face, pushing back soft wisps of my hair with his thumbs. I tilt my face up to his, not caring that it’s obvious I’m breathing in the subtle scent of his cologne. “I can’t believe you’re here,” he murmurs at last, as he lowers his hands.
He moves aside, and I smile and step into his foyer. He stares at me for a long time until a noise from the hallway makes him turn his eyes away. “Be right there,” he calls out over his shoulder.
“You’re busy,” I say, suddenly feeling stupid. “I can come back later. I can—”
But the other person in the house hears me and cuts me off by saying my name loudly. “Kylie?”
It’s Brenna’s voice, and I lift my head to take in the sight of her just as she comes rushing from the hallway. She runs into me, hard, knocking the air out of my lungs.
Chapter Nineteen
“Jesus, kid, you’re getting tall,” I say. I close my arms around the girl clinging to my waist and hold her close. “Next year, you’ll be my height.”
Pulling away from me, she makes a face, and I screw my own into a dramatic pout. We both hold the looks for a long time before she gives up and laughter bubbles from her chest. I’m too nervous to laugh, so I manage a little smile as I tuck a lock of her dark blonde hair behind her ear.
“You’re just fun-sized,” Brenna says. She glances over at Wyatt, who hasn’t moved since she came sprinting into the foyer. “You said Kylie was gone on vacation, Dad.”
He lifts his shoulders slightly, and his eyes search my face, waiting for me to have some type of reaction toward him. “Guess she came back early.”
Brenna beams up at me. “Did you have fun?”
I fold my arms across my stomach, holding myself together. “It was...” I search for the right word, but it doesn’t come to me. I lift my eyes, finally meeting Wyatt’s deep stare head-on. “I’m glad to be home.”
She bobs her head up and down, grabbing my hand to lead me into Wyatt’s living room. Knocking a couple of PlayStation 3 controllers aside, she motions for me to sit beside her on the tan leather couch. Since I’ve never been able to say no to Brenna, I comply. “So, where all did you go?” she demands.
“New Orleans.”
“Lots of good food?”
“Are you kidding? Some of the best.” I catch Wyatt’s blue eyes as he eases down onto the matching loveseat across from us. I wonder if Brenna knows he was in New Orleans with me for a short period of time, but when he gives me a slight shake of his head, I figure he hasn’t told her. “Your dad will have to take you there some day.”
She looks at him expectantly, and he gives her a halfhearted grin. Returning her attention to me, she proudly declares, “Mom’s planning on taking me to Orlando this summer while Dad’s on tour.”
“You going to ride the teacups until you get sick?” I tease.
She wrinkles her nose. “I’m too old for that. I do get to go and see Hog—”