A small, insecure part of me wonders if he’s visiting someone. Another woman, perhaps. I know it isn’t fair of me to assume, and I’m not sure if it’s even my business, but the idea sits heavy in my chest. It’s a boundary we had set, but maybe one he’s willing to break?
Wyatt doesn’t strike me as a two-timer. But our past, combined with my experience with Andrew, doesn’t help the intrusive thoughts from storming in the second he left town.
All the words he’d whispered in my ear last night haunt every step I take today. Wyatt and I stepped over a line last night, one we won’t be able to uncross. And I realized when I woke to an empty bed and quiet house—I love him. I don’t know when, or how, but I love Wyatt. I love him as much as I’m capable of loving someone, and yet, it doesn’t feel like enough. I don’t have anything to offer him aside from emotional baggage and a tantrum-ridden toddler.
But he doesn’t seem to mind, does he? He loves Brinley, that I’m sure of. She may look like me. She may be Andrew’s daughter… but she laughs like Wyatt. I can’t ignore that. And I know he cares for me, letting us stay here and marrying me proves that, but it doesn’t mean helovesme.
What if he does, though? What if we do this for real, and I fuck everything up again? I don’t know if I’d survive breaking his heart a second time.
I stand and leave the kitchen, intent on crawling into bed and binge-watching TV for the rest of the night, when the doorbell rings. A small amount of fear shoots through me, but it’s quickly quieted when I realize the security cameras would have notified Wyatt, and he’d either already be sending the cavalry or calling me. Neither are happening, so I grab a blanket from the nearby couch and wrap it around myself before opening the door. “What are you doing here?” I blurt.
Blake stands on the front porch, with Amaya, Harper, and Vivienne flanking her. “Heard you could use some company. We’re here for a sleepover.”
I blink. My phone dinging at the same time they all start to pile in. Harper holds the booze, Vivienne carries bags upon bags of snacks, Amaya’s arms are loaded with board games and what looks like a nail kit, and Blake waltzes past with three pizza boxes.
I’ve never had a sleepover before. Let alone an adult one. Excitement and nerves override me while the girls don’t even bat an eye. They’re already making themselves comfortable pulling out wine glasses from the cabinet, setting up our snacks, and turning on the TV in the living room. I shut the front door, glancing at my phone and opening the texts between my husband and I.
Wyatt
Feeling better yet?
You did this for me?
Have fun, baby. Maybe that’ll be easier than relaxing
Who knew having sex with you would make you be so nice to me? Starting to think I should have tried it earlier
Ha. Ha.
I will take a thank you in the form of a topless picture
Get fucked, Conway
Trust me, I’m trying
I flip off the camera facing the front door, knowing he’ll see it at some point, if not right now. My face involuntarily flushes at the reminder of the way we?—
Another ding.
Wyatt
Just wait till I get back, smartass
I smirk at the fact heiswatching the cameras.
“Why isit so hard to find someone who just buys you books and calls you pretty?” Harper mutters, tossing a piece of popcorn in the air and catching it in her mouth.
Vivienne snags some from her bowl, groaning. “Fictional men will always be better than real ones.”
“I don’t know.” I shrug, peeking over the rim of my wine glass at Blake. “I heard Wesley did this thing with honey-”
“Whitney!” Blake cuts me off with a cry, lunging for me. Or rather, my mouth. “Youfucking promised!”
In her dramatic leap, her elbow knocks my wine glass clean out of my hand. “Shit!” Blake shrieks as a gigantic splash of red arcs through the air like a slow-motion crime scene.
“Not the rug!” I groan, throwing a hand over my eyes as if I can block out the inevitable disaster. Soon, there’s a horrible, wetsplatfollowed by silence.
“Quick, grab the stain remover!” Amaya is the first to shout. Blake’s already sprinting for the kitchen, or maybe the bathroom, yelling over her shoulder, “Dab it! Dab it! Don’t rub!”
