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Maggie pushes her plate to the side, the corner of her mouth tipping up in a classic shit-eating grin. “I wonder how far I can push my luck.”
“Try me.”
“Have you heard—?”
The front door slams shut, and we both turn in time to see Wyatt kick off his boots. “Fucking Wyatt,” Maggie growls under her breath. “He totally just cock-blocked me.”
She crosses her arms over her chest and huffs. I giggle, watching Maggie act like a petulant child.
“What?” she asks.
“You don’t have a cock, Mags, and we aren’t having sex.”
“But that’s what it would feel like,” she answers with a completely straight face. “You were loose and ready to go, and I was totally going in for the kill, and BAM!” She smacks her hands together and shakes her head slowly from side to side. “Wyatt walks in and ruins it all.”
I toss my head back and laugh, noticing instantly how foreign it sounds even to my own ears. But even though it’s foreign, it feels good.
I’m finally able to catch my breath when Wyatt steps into the kitchen. He eyes me skeptically and then gives Maggie a pointed look. “Magdalena.”
“Cock blo—”
I slap a hand across her mouth, and we both lose ourselves in another fit of laughter. Wyatt watches us curiously and I half expect him to demand to know what’s so funny, so I’m caught completely off-guard when he simply smiles—and not just at me, but at Maggie as well.
Maggie and Wyatt have never really gotten along, but they’ve tolerated each other for my sake. I’ve always chalked up their dislike for one another to nothing more than a clash of personalities. Maggie is as loud and rambunctious as they come, and Wyatt is, well … not. Wyatt is more of a straight-laced kind of guy, quick to walk away, and always—as taught by his mother—reserved.
With slow, measured steps, he walks over and slides into the chair next to me. “You’re smiling … and laughing.” I nod, dropping my hand from Maggie’s face. Wyatt leans forward, placing a gentle kiss on my lips, and then pulls back, watching me with open adoration. I wait for that familiar tug inside my chest, the one that I used to get when he would kiss me, the one that I haven’t felt in months. My eyes roam his face, desperately searching for something—anything.
Nothing.
All the feelings of uncertainty and guilt that I’ve been pushing away for the past several weeks rush to the forefront, and my stomach drops. How did this happen? How did we get here? I’ve already lost so much; I can’t lose him too.
Something in my expression must change because Wyatt’s face falls and he eyes me with a hint of confusion. Did he notice it too? Could he tell that my heart didn’t flutter and my breath didn’t catch in my throat like it should have? I’m completely frozen in place because I feel, without an ounce of uncertainty, that this isn’t a phase. This isn’t something I have to work through. This is just how I feel.
A dull ache resonates in my belly at the thought of hurting Wyatt. Unable to hold his gaze, my eyes drift over his shoulder. Maggie is watching me intently, and if I didn’t know better, I’d think that she just read my mind. She knows me, and she’s been around the two of us more times than I could ever try and count. She sees it too.
Clearing her throat, Maggie breaks eye contact and looks at Wyatt. “It’s because of me, Wy-Wy.” Wyatt’s jaw clenches at the nickname she gave him years ago. She’s using their general dislike for each other to break the tension, and even though I don’t think it’ll work, I’m thankful that she’s trying. “I’m the one that made her smile.”
“I’m sure you did, Magdalena,” Wyatt states flatly. His eyes plead with mine, begging me to explain what’s going on. Everything inside of me is screaming to make this right, to pull him into my arms and reassure him that we are okay. But I can’t, because we are not okay. He runs a finger down the side of my cheek and offers me a hesitant smile. “Is everything alright?”
I’ve waited months for him to push me for answers, and he chooses now? “I’m fine.” I pause, giving myself the opportunity to lay it all on the line, but like always, I chicken out. How do you tell your boyfriend of seven years—who is now your fiancé—that you’re not in love with him anymore? “I’m fine,” I repeat, even though he hadn’t questioned me after I said it the first time. My voice is even and controlled, and the lack of emotion should speak volumes. Wyatt’s eyes flit between mine and he opens his mouth, but the loud shrill of his radio cuts him off.
“Shit,” he hisses, rushing into the living room. Wyatt grabs his radio off the coffee table, where he must have set it when he walked in, and slips his boots on. Then he comes back into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water from the refrigerator while we waits for the dispatcher to give details surrounding the call.
Wyatt is a third-generation volunteer firefighter, and over the past several years, I’ve learned to stay calm until I know what the emergency is. The town we live in is quite small, with only about seventy-five hundred residents. Therefore, the fire department responds to anything from a fully engulfed structure fire to minor medical emergencies.
A loud voice crackles through the radio. “Attention Rock River Fire Department and Rock River EMS. Report of a two-vehicle 10-50 on Highway 25 near the intersection of Placard Road. Report of airbag deployment with multiple occupants. Unknown injuries. No further information at this time.”
“I gotta go, baby.” Wyatt dips down so we’re eye to eye. He cups my cheek in his hand and kisses me twice before pulling back. “I don’t know what’s going on with you tonight, but when I get back, we’re gonna talk about it.”
He spins around and hauls ass through the house. “Be safe!” I yell, my words dying off when the front door slams shut.
“What the fuck was that?”
“A 10-50 is a car accident,” I answer dryly, dragging my gaze back to Maggie.
“Nope, not that,” she says, her lips pressed into a firm line. “The other thing.”
“What other thing?” I ask, pretending I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about.
