We’re standing in one of the massage rooms. Not the one she massaged him in, but an empty room down the hall. The light overhead is on, making the room brighter than intended, though the one dark gray wall absorbs some of the intensity. Shelves of rolled towels, fake plants, and a clock hang to the right of the bed, while a cabinet sits near the head of it, adorned with a towel warmer and oils.
The last ten minutes have been chaos. A call to Nate, getting instructions not to touch anything—something I’d already determined. Telling Bryn about the comments on my social media. Nate again, calling to say that he and the fire investigator, plus a detective, would be here soon. And finally telling Bryn my suspicions about the man she’d had her hands all over.
Hands that are violently shaking over her stomach.
I want nothing more than to envelop her in my arms and tell her it’s going to be okay. To pull her against my chest, to protect her and keep her safe. When a tear breaks free and slides down her cheek, I step forward, gently touching her shoulder.
“It’s going to be okay,” I reassure her, and her body reacts like she’s about to take a step toward me, but then jerks back, hesitating. I stay put, not taking the step that I badly want to take. “Nothing is going to happen to you.”
“And you?” she sniffs, reaching up to swipe at her cheek.
The question has my chest tightening because I know it’s genuine concern. I let it settle around us, refusing to answer quickly because I know it’ll sound like some kind of bullshit line I’m feeding her. It’s something I need to believe. Need her to see I believe.
My thumb moves back and forth over her shoulder, ruffling the fabric of her black t-shirt. “I’m going to be okay, too.”
Another tear streaks towards the ground, and she wipes it away with a hand that still vibrates. “Promise?”
“Would you miss all the handyman work I do if I wasn’t?” I tease, trying to lighten things.
“Wyatt, I’m serious.”
“I’m serious too.”
There might be a small part of me that’s desperate to make her laugh. To take some of the fear from her eyes and replace it with the light I know lives there. Selfishly. Because I need it. Thoughts are forming and tumbling around in my head faster than I can acknowledge and deal with them.
Panic over putting Bryn in this position.
Anger for letting that fucker go.
My father’s voice telling me I’m worthless. That I’m no good at this firefighting thing.
Knowing I’ve put her in potential danger makes me feel unworthy of everything. I shove it all down, though, because she needs more from me at this moment, and it’s the one thread that might make me feel like I stand a chance against it all.
There’s still a crease between her brow and a wrinkle along her forehead, but she isn’t shaking quite as hard the longer I have my hand on her shoulder.
“I came here to tell you about the arsonist, Bryn,” I explain, and she blinks a few times as if it’s only just occurred to her that me being here is out of the norm. “Because I don’t know if it’s a good idea for me to be around right now. I don’t want to put you or Ruby in harm’s way.”
Her head jerks back like she wasn’t expecting me to say that. “Wyatt, no. That’s—that’s—”
Every word has the reality dropping more for her, and she lets her head fall backward to stare up at the ceiling. I get it. I’ve been going through the same damn circle since this morning. Just to get here from 10-42 I took every turn and back road I could find to make sure I wasn’t being followed.
“You know what Gran always says?” Bringing her gaze to mine, she gives a huff of laughter that I’m not sure has any amusement. “A good scare keeps her young.”
Now I understand the laugh and echo it with my own. “Of course she does.”
“She’d tell you it was rubbish to stay away.”
I still my thumb, my eyes slowly moving between both of hers. “And you?”
Her throat works as she swallows, and because I know her well enough, I know she’s swallowing something she doesn’t want to admit out loud. It kicks my heart up a notch, makes me want to ask again, but I fear if I do, she’d be like a spooked horse and buck away.
When she finally answers, her voice is soft, barely above a whisper. “I think you promised to try and fix a fountain. And you’re a man of your word.”
A relieved breath billows out of me. If something happens to her or Ruby because of me, I’ll hate myself, but the idea of not being around her, not being able to talk to her or see her, would kill me. If I couldn’t look into those eyes or see her gorgeous smile at least once every few days, I think it would crush me.
He wouldn’t stop staring at me.
That’s what she told Celeste and me. I was so zeroed in on him touching her, then about 10-42, that I didn’t stop to consider how his gawking might make her feel. I have to work hard to control the rage that builds inside of me, the one that wants to come out and hunt that asshole down, kill him for making her feel unsafe. Kill him for a bunch of reasons.
