She didn’t know what to say to that, didn’t know what she could say that wouldn’t sound like she pitied him. Especially since she did have a ton of empathy for him—and the small boy he’d once been. Bill Germaine might be a bastard, but he’d always made sure she and Caleb were well cared for. It hurt her that Wyatt obviously hadn’t had the same experience.
As if he sensed that he’d turned the whole conversation into a downer, Wyatt concentrated on keeping the rest of dinner light. He told a couple of really funny stories from before things had gone to hell on the last tour, and even filled her in on why Quinn’s favorite Harley was now a hot pink, bedazzled mess (the answer being because Elise was diabolical and—according to Wyatt—the only woman who had ever been able to handle Quinn).
By the time he moved on to stories about Jamison and Ryder—and how Jared had definitely not taken that whole relationship well—her sides hurt from laughing. She was totally charmed by this new side of Wyatt. He was wry, sarcastic, witty, but somehow also really kind and understanding of his friends’ foibles, and she loved it.
Loved listening to the way his voice changed when he talked about them.
Loved even more the way his eyes turned a soft, swirly, happy blue with no darkness or angst in sight.
It was a rare enough occurrence that she found herself studying him, trying to memorize every detail of this version of Wyatt. Happy Wyatt. She wanted to tuck this picture of him away, wanted to hold it deep inside of herself for the rainy days she knew were coming.
But eventually the food ran out and so did the stories. She could see Wyatt kind of come back to himself, could see the moment he remembered he’d quit the band and would no longer have access to all the funny little things that happened between them. It was like the light inside him had been extinguished and his whole being plunged back into darkness.
And though she knew it was exactly the wrong thing to do, she couldn’t help resting a hand on his knee as she asked, “Are you okay?”
Those three words were all it took for his eyes to go dull and his face to close completely up. Not that she was surprised—every time she’d tried to have any kind of meaningful conversation with him at all, Wyatt had used sex to distract her. And himself.
And much as she’d like to take him into the bedroom and let him have his way with her—or have her way with him (she was flexible like that)—she couldn’t just ignore what had happened today. Couldn’t just let it go, not when it was obviously still bothering him. And not when she was terrified her father’s bullshit would set him right back to using.
She might be terrified of him and the feelings that were growing between them despite her best intentions, but she was even more terrified for him.
“I’m fine,” he said, pulling away from her both physically and emotionally. As he did, she realized for the first time just how much he’d let her in since their first meeting. It left her feeling bereft, though she knew it was stupid. After all, she’d known him less than a week.
But she’d known of him a lot longer than that, had been emotionally invested in him pretty much from the moment she’d first discovered Shaken Dirty. Now that she actually knew him—knew how hurt and how strong he was—she was a million times more invested. Which was why she had to keep pushing.
“You sure?” she asked, wrapping her hand around his bicep and holding him in place as he went to get up. “I know Germaine was awful today. I’m sorry.”
“I already told you, you don’t have to apologize for him. Besides, he didn’t say anything that wasn’t true. I’m not good for the band.”
“Will you stop with that?” she demanded, pulling at his arm until he turned to face her again. “Do you have problems? Yes. Does everyone have problems? Yes. Shaken Dirty wouldn’t be the same without you, and you know it.”
He opened his mouth, and for a second he looked like he was actually going to say something real. She braced herself for it, but in the end he just shrugged off her hand and headed for the front door. The asshole.
“You don’t get to do that,” she said, rushing to stand in front of him. “You don’t get to spend the afternoon worrying all of us, then barge in here and make me come, and then just get the hell out the second things turn uncomfortable for you. That’s not how this shit works.”
“That’s exactly how it works. If you don’t believe me, just ask the others. It’s what I’ve been doing for years—I mean, not the making them come part obviously, but the show up, fuck things up and then disappear thing…yeah. That’s pretty much my modus operandi. If you don’t like it, then you’re welcome to go running back to the label.”
“What do you care what I do, considering you’re no longer part of the band or the label?”