16. Forrest
SIXTEEN
Forrest
Wyatt had me sit on the kitchen counter by the sink, his whole kit laid out like a real doctor or something.
He checked my ribs first; hands pressing methodically along my side, watching my face for a flinch. I flinched twice. Wyatt just nodded along, calm and patient and professional.
“Bruised,” he said. “Not broken. You’ll know the difference tomorrow morning when you try to get out of bed.”
“Great.”
“You’re lucky.” He moved to my face, tilting my chin up toward the light.
They’d clocked me in the face and split my cheek open; it had been trickling blood the whole drive.
I’d never been in a fight before today…and I didn’t intend on doing it again.
“Cut’s not deep enough to need stitches.
Butterfly closure, ice, you’ll have a black eye by morning. ”
“Also great.”
Haven had Willa sitting at the table, the two of them murmuring to each other. There was already bruising on Willa’s arms where they’d grabbed her—red marks that would be purple tomorrow. I kept looking over, Wyatt redirecting my chin so he could clean and close the cut on my cheek.
“She’s okay,” he said quietly. “Haven’s got her.”
“I know.”
“Look at me.”
I looked at him. He checked my pupils, held up two fingers, ran through the standard protocol. I found myself grateful that my cousin had been a combat medic so I didn’t have to turn right back around and go back to the doctor.
“No concussion,” he said. “You’re just beat up.”
“You say that like it doesn’t hurt like hell.”
A smile ghosted over his face. “My baby cousin in his first fight…what a day.”
“I’m thirty-three, Wyatt.”
He snorted. “Yup. Took you thirty-three whole years to get here. She must mean a lot to you.”
I glanced over at Willa; she met my eyes, blinking fast before looking away. None of them knew yet what had been going on between us…we’d been quiet about it, wanting to keep it private.
Guess it wasn’t private anymore.
“She’s pregnant,” I whispered to Wyatt. “Is she gonna be okay?”
Wyatt’s eyes widened just slightly—which was enough to show that Wyatt, always unflappable, was genuinely shocked.
“Is it his?” he asked.
“No,” I shook my head. “It’s mine.”
Wyatt rolled with the punches, but even he looked surprised as he put the butterfly closure on my cheek. It stung. “Well, that’s new.”
“It is.”
“That’s why she was at the clinic today?”
“She needed to get checked out,” I said. “She thought she couldn’t have kids. Turns out she was wrong.”
Wyatt was quiet for a moment, pressing the closure into place.
“At this stage,” he said, still quiet enough that it wouldn’t carry across the kitchen, “we’re talking maybe the size of a poppy seed.
It’s basically just cells right now, protected by everything her body’s got.
” He glanced at Willa, then back at me. “The bruising on her arms is from gettin’ grabbed.
As long as she’s not cramping or bleeding, there’s nothing to worry about. ”
“You’re sure?”
“I’ve seen a lot worse come out fine.” He tilted my chin again to check his work. “Y’all want to keep it?”
“She wants to.”
“And you?”
I hummed. “I’m uh…still pretty shocked, but it’s really not up to me, is it?”
“And if it was?”
I chewed on that. Finally nodded. “Yeah. Yeah, I would absolutely want to keep it.”
“Didn’t even know you two were an item.”
“It’s still new.”
Wyatt finally let go of me and it gave me the liberty to look at Willa, really get a chance to make sure she was okay. She was talking to Haven now, hands wrapped around a glass of water, some of the tension gone from her shoulders.
“She’s tougher than she looks,” I said.
“She tore Shepherd Daley’s face open,” Wyatt said, smiling again—this time more out of satisfaction than because it was funny. “I know she’s tough.” He stepped back and assessed me. "You did good today."
"I lost the fight."
"You didn't lose anything." His voice was even. "They had four men and you kept her safe. That's the whole job."
I didn't say anything to that.
Haven appeared at my elbow. "Willa told me," she said quietly. "About the baby. She's not cramping, she feels fine. You can stop worrying about that part."
"I wasn't—"
"Forrest."
"...I was a little worried about that part."
"I know." She squeezed my arm once. "Congratulations. Both counts."
The front door opened and Stetson came in, the sheriff behind him, hat in hand. A deputy stayed outside, raising one hand in a short wave before the door shut. He was chatting with Gage outside—maybe keeping an eye out in case the Daleys came back.
“Well, shit,” the sheriff said. “Gage told me there was a bit of a scuffle at the gate. Wanna fill me in?”
Willa looked at the sheriff and then at me. I gave her the smallest nod…because this really wasn’t up to me.
This was her choice.
It was all her choice.
She straightened in her chair.
“I’ll tell you whatever you need to know,” she said.
The sheriff looked from me to her. “And you are…?”
“Willa Daley,” she said. “I mean…Willa Pruitt? Willa somethin’.”
The sheriff frowned, and I could see the alarm all over his face. “You’re one of the Daley girls?”
“Yeah,” she said. “And I’m ready to tell you the whole story.”
The sheriff sat down, then, across from Willa, clasping his hands on the table.
“Alright,” he said. “Lay it on me.”
So she did…and I had to listen as I got all the details of what she’d been through.