Shit. How long have I been gone? I stormed out of Dad’s house with the sole intent of driving out here, giving Wyatt a piece of my mind, and driving right back home. I didn’t plan on, nor did I account for, letting Wyatt have me. He and I are like a disease that spreads so quickly that you almost miss it. A few minutes together and next thing you know, we’re both ignoring the outside world. And as beautiful as that kind of love is? it’s also dangerous. It makes you think the person you love is the only thing that is important to you. It makes you sever old ties and forge new ones—ones that your lover approves of. But I’m not sixteen anymore. I have two babies who—no matter how big one of them may be—need me. They need me to keep a clear head. This can’t happen again. My heart stabs at the thought of denying myself, but being with Wyatt isn’t worth all that it costs. This almost cost me my boy once. I can’t let that ever happen again.
“Thanks, babe,” I say confidently and wiggle out from underneath him. Wyatt’s always been a fucking genius with his fingers. God, I swear that man was given gifts that no earthly being should possess. I stumble to my feet and rush out of the pleasure palace—a room I genuinely hate on principle alone—and head for the front door. I gave Wyatt a piece of my mind, and then I gave him myself, and now I’ve done more than I came here to do, so it’s time for me to get back to my babies.
“Amber!” Wyatt bellows behind me. He’s gaining on me so quickly that I almost give in to the gut instinct to run. I don’t, though. What kind of old lady runs from her man? I came back here, thinking I would be the vice president’s old lady. I’d be taking cues from Ruby. If Ruby runs from Jim, I can run from Wyatt. But Ruby would never run, so neither will I. I represent Wyatt. I won’t paint him as either a tyrant or a joke by running from him. My pulse quickens even if my feet don’t as he descends upon me.
“Don’t walk away from me, woman!”
I stop just feet from the front door. The room is still crowded, with everyone here, including that bitch Wyatt was touching before I barged in. Even worse—Ruby and Mishy are still here. If I act like a petulant child, I’ll be hearing from both of them later. Mishy may not be acting in a way becoming of a founding member’s granddaughter, but that doesn’t mean she’s forgotten the code. We were raised with it, it was sometimes literally beaten into us. You don’t disrespect your old man in front of his brothers.
Thanks for that one, Grandpa. I have to stop myself from rolling my eyes. It’s so fucking archaic, but it exists for a reason. Still, it doesn’t matter how well I know that. Being barked at and ordered to do something you don’t want to do in front of a group that’s supposed to respect you, but sure aren’t acting like it is no easy task. I hate this life sometimes.
Wyatt walks around me, blocking my body from the front door, and cups my face so I’m forced to look up at him. I gasp and draw back before I can stop myself. That little, tiny show of fear is going to come back to bite me later. Wyatt’s eyes search mine—confusion, wanton need, and even hurt flare in them—as he tries to make sense of the last few minutes. I relax into his touch and do the only thing I can. I beg.
“Please not here,” I whisper softly. “Outside, baby.”
He lets me hang for a long moment before he nods his head in agreement. He removes his hand from my cheek, dragging his thumb against my soft skin as he does, and takes my hand in his. How is it possible for anything that feels so perfect, so right, to be so toxic? It doesn’t make sense, but that doesn’t make it not so. My heart takes another hit at that thought. I hate this so much. More than I can explain.
We walk out into the parking lot hand in hand. I try to ignore the eyes on us and just focus on the conversation we now need to have. Wyatt Strand isn’t the kind of man who will allow me to just walk away. He warmed me once, years ago, that I belonged to him. And everything that means. I’m not fighting it. I can’t. He’s mine and I’m his. That’s something I could never deny. Especially not with the two incredible kids we’ve created.
“You running from me?” His deep voice calls at the end.
“I can’t do this,” I say. I’m pleading now, but that’s too bad. I can’t bring myself to care. As embarrassing as it is.
“What can’t you do? Because it sure didn’t sound like you couldn’t do this when you were coming on my fingers.”
I flinch. Which is so not like me. I don’t shy away from a fight, I don’t flinch, and I sure as fuck don’t avoid confrontation. You can’t survive a childhood like the one I had without toughening up a little. And by a little, I mean that by the time I started kindergarten, I knew better than to cry over stupid shit. Dad didn’t allow it, and Mom never encouraged it.
I won’t do that with my kids.
“I just can’t, okay?” Wyatt won’t understand, no matter how I explain it. He hasn’t had the benefit of actually being a parent to understand. And maybe that’s what’s wrong with me. I’m unsettled here. Every time I come back to this place, I feel like there’s a million things I need to apologize for. I tied to reconnect with Wyatt. I know I did, but maybe I didn’t try hard enough. Maybe I could’ve done more. I could’ve insisted that he go to rehab or get clean. I could’ve done so much more than I did, which was run.
“I can’t fight with a goddamn ghost. What’s wrong with you?” Wyatt’s words are harsh. So harsh that a drop of his saliva hits my cheek. I take a deep breath and lock my jaw in place before I fly off the handle. Checking my temper has never been one of my strengths.