the fact that her being at my house was a complete and utter sham. Whether she wanted to escape Lance or not, it wasn’t right.
“You don’t like her, do you?” Wyatt asks.
“Not really,” I tell him, feeling all the offenses against my father at her hands. Even the offenses against me.
“What happened to your own mother?” Wyatt asks quietly, like he’s unsure if we should bridge this territory or not.
“She died when I was a baby. I think it hit my dad hard. I can’t remember what it was like when she was there, but I kind of just imagine the slow degradation of my father until he was living like a hermit.”
Wyatt shifts uncomfortably. Neither one of us have forgotten the conversation we had about him before.
“I know he may not have been the best, but I always knew he loved me,” I confess. “I think that has to account for something.”
Wyatt looks away. “Yeah, that is something.”
The silence drags on and soon Wyatt’s breaths even out.
In the middle of the night, I’m awaken by a jolt. I blink, battling through the shadows until I find Wyatt sitting up in bed, running his hands through his hair. I reach out to touch his back, and he startles.
The pained look he gives me rattles my insides. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he promises.
“What happened?”
“Just a dream.”
“Do you want to talk about it?”
He shakes his head, hands ruffling through his hair with every turn. His fingertips follow the path of the scar buried beneath his dark locks, and I know whatever has woken him up must be linked to that. “You know, you’ve never asked about this.”
“I figured you’d tell me if you wanted to.”
“You didn’t even pull away the moment you found it.” He turns toward me, his face pale and tight, but there’s a ghost of a smile there. “Thank you for that.”
Wyatt sleeps with his blinds lowered, so it always feels like a caged box in here. Not like mine where I let everything in. Right here, right now, it feels as if it’s only the two of us. As if we’re speaking in a cave that would hide our secrets forever.
“You didn’t ask about my mom earlier...when I asked you about yours.”
“I’m sorry,” I whisper. “I never know what to say. You know that. I’m a societal freak.”
Wyatt lowers himself back onto the bed. I can only see his outline from this position as he blocks out the small light on the wall sockets. “Don’t apologize for being who you are, Dakota.”
He moves his fingers toward mine. It’s a slow, measured step, traversing the territory between us with the opposite of reckless abandon.
“Did they tell you why you found me at that jail drunk?” He shakes his head. “Of course, they didn’t. I don’t even need to ask, they would never go there.”
“Why were you there?” I ask, hoping this is what he wants me to say.
The tips of his fingers brush mine. “My mom is there.”
“Your mom?”
“Don’t sound so horrified. She deserves it. She deserves to spend her time rotting away in a prison cell.”
My stomach churns. I don’t wait for him to make a move. I follow the line of muscles down his arm and grip his wrist. “What happened?”
“My mom’s just like the pretentious princess Rissa with a silver spoon up her ass. She killed my father. Well, she had him killed. She didn’t even have the decency to get her hands dirty.”
“Oh, Wyatt, no.”
He lifts my hand and brings it up to his skull. He places my fingers on the raised edge with ease as if he’d be able to trace it without feeling in his fingertips. “And this is from when she tried to kill me.”
My stomach clenches. I pull him to me, rubbing my hands through his hair as if that will erase the pain he’s been through. “So, your dad’s—”
“Gone,” he chokes out, throat thick with emotion. He eases me off him, lying back down on his pillow as he stares toward the ceiling. “My family owns a ranch that my dad built. For a time, we were making really good money. Then, we started to have some rough patches. Dad started talking about selling acres off and my mother, who grew up in the same circles as Lance Jacobs, decided she was going to take the matter into her own hands. She figured out my father was worth more dead than he was alive, so she hired a hitman.”
I can’t