9. Wyatt
9
Wyatt
I pull my pickup truck into a spot and switch off the engine, resting my forehead against my hands on the wheel. It’s been a busy morning in the heat, and while I wouldn’t usually stop home for lunch, I’m working on a job site that’s only five minutes away, and the temptation was too great. There’s nowhere decent within walking distance for lunch, a fact the crew repeatedly remind me of. Besides, I’ve been craving some quiet time at home. I’m used to having the space to myself, to come and go as I please, and I’ve felt the need to stay out more since Poppy arrived. I miss sitting on my sofa, with a beer and the cool comfort of the air conditioning, watching TV. Which is exactly what I plan to do for an hour now, safe in the knowledge Poppy is at work.
The street is quiet when I step from the truck with my lunch. I grabbed a veggie burger from my favorite place on the way home, but I know it won’t be anywhere near as good as the burger Poppy made. As I cross the street, I have to fight to keep thoughts of her from my mind. The way I’ve replayed our dinner together, over and over since that night. How cute she looked this morning in her little work uniform. The hurt on her face when I agreed it was time for her to move out.
But what choice do I have? I can’t keep avoiding my own home.
And I definitely can’t keep letting myself enjoy her company, because I can’t have her in all the ways I want. I can’t let myself think of her like that.
I swing my keychain around my finger, sighing as I approach the house. Asking her to move out is for the best, I keep telling myself, but…
My thoughts trail off as I spot a guy inside the courtyard, hovering by the front door with a bunch of pink lilies.
“Can I help you?”
He turns when I speak, and I run my gaze over him. Short, sandy-blond hair, eyes a pale blue, stubble on his square jaw. Around twenty-five and tall, but I’m taller by a few inches. He’s immaculately dressed in a crisp gray suit, as if he’s popped out of the office for an hour.
“Oh, hey, man.” He gives me a megawatt smile as I step through the gate to the courtyard and draw up in front of him, and I frown, instantly irritated by the way he greets me like we’re old friends. “Is Poppy home?”
My frown deepens. “She’s at work. Why?”
There’s a flash of something in the guy’s eyes, but it’s too quick for me to read. “No worries. Can I bring these inside? Put them in some water?”
I hesitate, feeling a prickle of protectiveness. Who the hell is this guy?
“I’m her boyfriend,” he adds.
My heart drops. She has a boyfriend ? Why didn’t Bailey tell me? Endless hours about the ex from hell and not one mention of her current boyfriend?
For fuck’s sake.
“I won’t be long,” he says, already stepping closer to the door. “Just need to get them out of the heat.”
I grip my keys tightly, wavering. I don’t really want to let this guy into my house, and not only because I was looking forward to some quiet time alone. There’s something about him that unsettles me, but I shove the irrational feeling away.
“Fine,” I mutter, unlocking the door and letting him inside. I kick off my work boots in the entryway, noticing he doesn’t remove his leather loafers. Whatever, he’ll be gone in a minute, anyway. “In here.” I lead him into the kitchen, then search under the sink for a jar or something to put the flowers in.
“Nice place,” he murmurs, casting his gaze around the living room. “How long have you had it?”
He’s perfectly pleasant, but something about him grates at me as I pull a mason jar from the cupboard. I tell myself it’s because I want to be left to eat my lunch in peace, and not because I’m still reeling from the fact that Poppy has a boyfriend. I mean, it’s not like I’m jealous. She’s fucking twenty-five, for Christ’s sake. And I’m…
Well, it doesn’t matter.
“A few years,” I say vaguely. I motion for him to hand me the flowers, but he doesn’t. Instead, he walks further into the living room, and I grit my teeth.
“Poppy loves it here.” He glances at me, as if to check my reaction, which, admittedly, is one of surprise. Despite that dinner we shared, I got the sense she hated being here with me. She was the one to announce she was leaving, after all.
I keep quiet, hoping he’ll get the message and leave, but he turns back to lean against the counter and look me over coolly, as if sizing me up.
“How do you know her, again?” he asks, which strikes me as an odd question. Shouldn’t he know this?
“She’s my daughter’s friend.”
“Ah, that’s right. So, I’ve got nothing to worry about then,” he adds, with a pompous chuckle that riles me. I’m tempted to say something to contradict that statement, but I don’t. It would be both inappropriate and immature.
Not to mention plain incorrect.
Besides, he’d probably just laugh. As if Poppy would go for a guy my age when she can have a young man like this. When she can have any guy she damn well wants.
I reach for the jar and hold it out impatiently. “Well, thanks for stopping by. You can—”
“She’s a good girl,” the guy says, suddenly wistful. There’s an unusual statement if I’ve ever heard one. “But she does make some silly mistakes.”
“Don’t we all?” Protectiveness surges through me again. There’s something about him I really don’t like, but I know better than to trust my judgment right now.
“Not me,” he says, with a supercilious air that makes me want to clock him in the face. “I’m about to make partner at my firm.”
“Good for you,” I mutter. Why the fuck is telling me that?
He runs his gaze across me again, finally handing over the flowers, but he makes no move to leave, and anger rises inside me. All I want is to sit down with a beer and my lunch. Why does he even have my address, anyway? Poppy has barely been here for a week; how inconsiderate to give my address out to her boyfriend and not even warn me that he might show up unannounced. The sooner I can get her out of here, the better. Hell, why doesn’t she move in with this guy?
I set the flowers aside and lift my hands to my hips. He seems to get the message because he reluctantly peels himself from where he’s leaning against the counter. On the way past, he extends his hand.
“I’m Kurt. Kurt Snell.”
I shake it with great hesitation. “Wyatt,” I bite out.
“Tell Poppy I stopped by.” He flashes me another smile, and there’s something almost predatory about it, something that makes my stomach squirm.
But whatever. He’s not my boyfriend.
There’s a sound at the door, catching both of our attention, and when Poppy enters the kitchen, she stops dead in her tracks, her gaze riveted to Kurt.
I heave a sigh of exasperation. So much for peace and quiet.
“Tell her yourself,” I mutter, snatching up my lunch and turning for the stairs. I’ll have to sit on my bed and watch TV, which is not what I had in mind, but there’s no way I’m staying to witness these two together.
Poppy goes to speak to me as I pass, but I continue up the stairs, not in the mood. I can’t tell if I’m irritated that she’s come home when she should be at work, that she’s given out my address to her slimy boyfriend, or that she never told me she had a boyfriend in the first place. But why should she? It’s not like I have a right to know these things. She’s my daughter’s friend, not some prospective love interest. She can do whatever—and whoever—she likes.
I’m doing a piss-poor job of convincing myself, though, because the moment the door to my room is closed, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial Bailey. At the very least, I can tell her that Poppy is happy and fine because her boyfriend is here. She’d want to know that.
“Hey, Dad.” It’s not until my daughter answers her phone that I realize she’s probably starting her workday.
“Hey,” I say gruffly, sinking down onto the bed. “Sorry, kiddo, are you at work?”
“I am, but I can talk.” I hear the clacking of keys in the background. “What’s up?”
“I just met Poppy’s boyfriend. Thought… you’d want to know she’s fine.”
There’s a pause. “What?”
“Her boyfriend stopped by. Bought her a huge bunch of lilies.”
“Her…” The clacking stops. “What was his name?”
I unwrap my burger. “Kurt something.”
“Shit—” There’s a rustling sound, and when Bailey speaks again, her voice is much closer to the phone. “You met Kurt ?”
“Yep.” I ignore the bitter feeling swirling through my chest as I lift my burger for a bite. “He showed up with flowers.”
“Oh my God, Dad, that’s him! That’s her ex!”
The food lodges in my throat and I choke, coughing roughly until I can breathe again. “ That’s him?” I echo, doubtful. “He said he is her boyfriend. Like they’re still together.”
“They’re not ,” she says emphatically. “He’s full of shit. Trust me. He’ll say whatever he needs to get to her. God .” Bailey’s breath comes heavy and angry down the phone. “I knew this would happen.”
I set my burger aside as the irritation I felt earlier returns, flaring to life in my chest. That asshole lied ?
“But… how did he have my address?” I ask, scratching my beard.
“I don’t know. She wouldn’t have given it to him, that’s for sure. He probably hacked her email or something.”
I give a snort of disbelief. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m dead serious. He’s done it before. Honestly, he’s the most toxic person I’ve ever met.” Bailey’s voice echoes as she speaks. She must have gone into the restroom. “He used to manipulate her by completely stonewalling her for days, then giving her tiny crumbs of affection, to keep her holding on. And I’m sure he was sleeping with someone else. He spoke about this other woman constantly, as if to remind Poppy how lucky she was that he’d chosen her. That he had the option to leave anytime.”
My mouth opens in shock. “Really?”
“Yup. It’s called triangulation.”
Jesus. I thought it was called being a piece of shit.
“Why didn’t she leave?”
“Because he wore her down, made her feel like crap about herself, and anytime it looked like she was going to leave, he’d shower her with love and attention to win her back. She tried to leave him like three times, and every time he convinced her to stay. The only way she managed to leave for good was when Dean and I went around to their apartment in Queens to grab her stuff while he was at work. He didn’t know until she’d already moved in with us.”
“God,” I mutter, glancing at the door. Their voices drift up the stairs, and I wonder if I should go back down and ask him to leave.
“And then he stole like eight thousand dollars from her,” Bailey continues. There’s a clicking sound, and I realize it’s her heels on the tiles. She’s pacing as she talks. “He set up a joint bank account, saying it was for their future, telling her she wasn’t good with money, but all it meant was that he could clean her out when she left. That’s why she can’t afford to get her own place.”
“What an asshole.” Anger floods my veins at the injustice of it. “Why doesn’t she take legal action?”
“I want her to,” Bailey says, “but it’s expensive, and every time I bring it up she says it’s not worth it. She’s worried it will make him do something crazy, and says we should let it go. She seems to think if she does that, he’ll leave her alone, but I knew he was up to something. He was too quiet.”
“Shit.” I grind the heel of my hand into my eye. Poor Poppy, dealing with all of this. “It’s abuse,” I mutter. “Emotional abuse.”
“And financial,” Bailey adds. “I didn’t even know there was such a thing as financial abuse, but leave it to Kurt to find a new way to hurt her.”
A tight, hot fist forms in my gut as something occurs to me. “Did he ever hit her?”
“Not that I know of.”
There’s a tiny bubble of relief at this, but if I find out he’s laid a single finger on her, I won’t be responsible for my actions. The sudden primal need to protect her shocks me, and I grind my fist into the comforter.
“This is worse, in a way,” Bailey continues. “I mean, no one wants to get physically abused, obviously, but at least when that happens there are bruises, or scars. This kind of abuse is invisible.”
I feel sick, thinking of Poppy dealing with this prick. All the warnings from Bailey come back to me, and I realize she wasn’t overreacting at all. She had every right to worry about her friend, a fact that’s especially clear after the way he blatantly lied to my face to get inside.
Shit. She can’t move out. It doesn’t matter if I’m attracted to her. I’d never act on my feelings, especially after learning what she’s been through. The most important thing is that she’s safe. Bailey was right. She’ll be safe here with me, now that I know who Kurt is. If she moves in somewhere on her own, who knows what shit he might try, but he won’t get past me again.
“You don’t have to worry about her,” I assure my daughter. “As long as she’s with me, she’ll be fine. I’ll keep her safe.”
Bailey breathes out. “Thanks, Dad.”
I stand from the bed, resolute. “I’ll get rid of him right now.”
“What?” Bailey’s voice rises in alarm. “He’s at the house?”
“Uh… yes. They’re downstairs.” I wipe a hand down my face in shame. How could I have been so stupid as to let him in? I knew there was something off about him from the start.
I won’t make that mistake again.
“Shit, Dad.” Bailey’s words come out in a panicked rush. “You have to get him out of there.”