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But I knew that wasn’t it. And so did Veronica.
“Call me later, okay? I’ll be back later this afternoon. I’ll bring your stuff over, and you can tell me everything. It’s probably nothing though, really.”
“I hope you’re right,” I said with a nod, trying hopelessly to slow my breathing and ward off the panic brewing in every square inch of my body. Veronica took my hand in hers for just a moment and squeezed. She nodded and walked away, and I turned back to Wyatt, just as his eyes locked with mine. His mouth dropped as he stared at me with blank eyes.
Slowly, we walked toward each other. His mom called after him, but he didn’t react, looking only at me. In the eight months that Wyatt and I had been dating, he’d never looked at me this way, and it sent a shiver down my spine as the gears in my brain twisted and turned as they attempted to decipher the sullen and panicked expression on his face.
“Hey,” he said once he reached me in the center of the cul-de-sac. “What are you doing here?”
“Apple fritters. Wanted to surprise you.” I handed him the bag, my hands trembling as his fingers grasped the top.
He looked down at the bag, giving a closed-mouth smile. “Oh. Thanks.”
“You didn’t tell me your family was going on vacation.”
He said nothing, but his nostrils flared, and a notch formed in the skin above his nose.
“Wyatt.”
He swallowed hard and closed his bloodshot eyes. When he opened them, they were wet with brewing tears. “We’re not going on vacation.”
“What? Are your parents going somewhere, then?”
“I wanted to tell you.”
“Tell me what?”
“It’s just that they sprung this on me, and I couldn’t…I couldn’t do it.”
“Sprung what on you, Wyatt? What’s going on? You’re scaring me.”
“My dad got transferred.”
My stomach dropped to my knees, and a weight settled in my belly. Tears formed immediately in my eyes. “What? When?”
“Last week.”
“Last week?” I repeated. Rage was bubbling up within me as I stared past Wyatt at the stretch limousine.
“Yeah.”
“You found out last week and didn’t tell me.”
“I didn’t know how.” He shrugged.
“And when exactly did you plan on telling me?”
“I…”
“You weren’t going to tell me, were you?” Heat consumed every bit of skin on my body as I glowered at him.
“I didn’t know how,” he said again.
“Where?” I asked, staring again at the limousine.
“Europe. Norway.”
“Norway? Jesus Christ, Wyatt. There’s no way you found this out last week. I call bullshit.”
