I decided to make a stop that was bound to make me uncomfortable. I’d spent the better part of the drive from Sandy’s house thinking about Hank’s definition of true love—that you would be willing to give up something of yourself to make the other person happy—and I realized he didn’t just feel that way about romantic love.
I turned off into the Drummond Garage and pulled into a space in the front parking lot. One of the garage bay doors was open and an older pickup truck was parked inside, its hood up. I headed toward the door to the waiting room, but Wyatt walked around the side of the truck toward me.
I stopped in the entrance to the garage, suddenly nervous, although I had no idea why. I knew he wouldn’t refuse me. Maybe that was why I felt so on edge. In a way, I was using him.
“Carly, is everything okay?” he asked, squinting. The sun was at my back.
“Yeah,” I said with a weak smile. I almost asked him if he could say the same. Something had driven him into the tavern to talk to Max, whether it was related to one of their father’s favors or not, but I decided to hold that card for later. “I’m here about Hank.”
He held his hand up to his forehead to shield his eyes. Still, I could see the concern blooming there. “Is he okay?”
“Yes and no.”
Why was this so hard? Probably because I hated asking him for anything, even if it wasn’t for myself. I gestured toward the garage beyond the pickup. “Do you want to go inside for this conversation?”
“Yeah.” He stepped to the side to allow me to walk past him, and he followed several feet behind until we stood in front of the vehicle, out of view from people driving past. I glanced over at the other two bays, surprised to see them empty.
“Do you want to go into my office?” he asked, still looking worried.
“No,” I said, my brow wrinkling. “Sorry, I think I’m making this into a bigger deal than it needs to be, so let me get to the point.” I gave him a tight smile. “Obviously I didn’t know Hank before his leg was amputated and Seth was killed, so I have no idea what his life used to be like. Did he leave the house much? Did he hang out with friends? He just sits at the house all day long, mostly by himself and…I’m just worried that he’s lonely.”
He leaned his hip against the side of the truck, the tension leaving his face. “He didn’t leave much the last six months or so before the surgery. He was dealing with the sores on his foot and ankle, which made it hard to walk and drive. I’d been spending time with Seth and Hank since Barbara died, but I went out there more in those last few months.”
My chest tightened. While I hadn’t outright made Hank choose between me and Wyatt, he’d chosen anyway. “I took you from him.”
“Hey,” Wyatt said softly, pushing away from the truck and closing the distance between us. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He chose me over you, and you were the one who’d been there for him for months.”
“That’s not it, Carly. He didn’t approve of the way I was treating you. There’s a difference.” He grimaced. “He didn’t just tell me to stop comin’ round. We had a discussion about it. He knew I was keepin’ things from you, and he told me to come clean. I told him I was protectin’ you, but he insisted that you deserved the truth. It was after the Lula mess that it all came to a head. He said I was hurtin’ you and that I needed to stop comin’ round for a while.”
Hank had given up part of himself to make me happy. While I loved him for it, I hated that I’d put him in that position.
I turned away, running a hand over my head.
“I think you remind him of Barb,” he said softly. “How she was before she started using drugs. She had this sweet, generous spirit. Just like you.”
I knew I should counter that statement somehow, especially since I wasn’t feeling very sweet or generous. It felt like I kept hurting the people I cared about—Marco, Hank, and even Wyatt to some degree.
“But you’re different than her,” he said. “You’re stronger. I think Hank wishes Barb had been more like you.”
I spun around