Chapter 1 #2
As I dress, I try to assemble a mental framework for last night, something that makes it make sense. But all I keep coming back to is how right it felt in the moment, and how impossible it seems in the light of day.
I’ve spent my career helping people navigate the messy territory of human connection. Now I’m standing in the middle of my own emotional minefield without a map.
There’s no telling what either of them thought it meant, Chris especially. But I know what it meant to me.
I can still feel the weight of their bodies around me. The scent of sweat and skin clinging to the sheets, to my hair, to the deepest part of my memory. Chris’s hands trembled after. Wyatt reached for me like I was something precious instead of a battlefield between them.
My phone buzzes a third time. I expect Chris this time.
Instead, it’s a reminder about my flight back to Denver this afternoon. Reality in digital form.
I zip my carry-on closed with more force than necessary, as if I can compress last night’s memories as easily as my clothes. The room is nearly returned to its anonymous hotel state, all evidence of our presence erased, except for Wyatt’s navy silk tie still draped accusingly over the desk chair.
I stare at it for a moment, debating. Leave it? Take it to return later? Both options feel loaded with significance I’m not ready to address.
With a muttered curse, I grab the tie and stuff it into the outer pocket of my suitcase. I’ll figure out what to do with it later, when I’m safely back in Denver with a thousand miles between me and last night.
As I do a final sweep of the room, my phone buzzes again. Still Wyatt. Still unanswered.
I shoulder my bag and head for the door, leaving the room and its ghosts behind. Whatever happened last night, I have a breakfast to get through and a flight to catch. Everything else can wait until I’m back in Denver.
At least, that’s what I tell myself as I step into the hallway, carefully avoiding looking at the spot where it all began.
The hotel restaurant buzzes with morning activity, but I spot our group immediately, the Longo-Nicolo-Black wedding party holding court at a long table near the windows.
Mason’s arm is draped casually around Callie’s shoulders while she bounces Zoey on her knee.
Senator Katherine Longo sits across from them, elegant as always even the morning after her daughter’s wedding, with Adrian Nicolo beside her looking pleasantly tired from the celebration.
Wyatt is there too, of course. Looking unfairly well-rested in a casual button-down, making faces at Zoey that have her giggling.
Something hot flares through me, not just attraction or guilt, but a spike of something sharper.
He left too. But he’s here now, easy and smiling, and Chris’s chair sits empty.
The therapist in me starts connecting dots I’d rather leave scattered. I think about the way Chris’s voice broke last night when he asked for what he wanted, how much that single request cost a man who’d rather swallow glass than admit need. And Wyatt gave it to him like it was nothing.
Maybe Chris didn’t run from me at all.
“There she is!” Callie calls out, waving me over. “We were about to send a search party.”
I paste on my best nothing-happened-last-night smile and navigate toward the empty chair, which, naturally, is right beside Wyatt. As I sit, the clean scent of his aftershave hits me with a sensory flashback so vivid I nearly miss Katherine’s greeting.
“Nina, darling,” the Senator says, reaching across to squeeze my hand. “We were just discussing Chris’s unfortunate morning call. Duty waits for no one, apparently, not even the day after his sister’s wedding.”
“Such a shame,” Adrian adds with a resigned smile. “But you know Chris—always the responsible one.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. Responsible. Using work as an exit strategy is the most Chris thing imaginable, noble enough that no one questions it, convenient enough that he never has to stay.
“Coffee?” Wyatt offers, already pouring me a cup. His fingers brush mine as he passes it, and I wonder if anyone else notices how I flinch at the contact.
“Thanks,” I manage, focusing intently on adding cream. “So, honeymoon today?”
“Wherever the tide takes us,” Mason says with a grin. “Drake’s yacht is fully stocked, fully staffed, and ready to go.”
“Which means my husband will be playing captain for the next two weeks,” Callie adds, rolling her eyes affectionately.
Mason laughs. “Hey, when a billionaire offers you his yacht, you don’t say no.”
From the end of the table, Maddox chimes in. “Just remember who taught you how to sail, little brother.”
“You may have outranked me,” Mason retorts, “but I’m still the better navigator.”
“Children, please,” Marco interjects dryly. “Not in front of the civilians.”
The easy banter between the brothers brings an unexpected lump to my throat. Family. Connection. The things that seem so natural to everyone but me.
“Speaking of us civilians,” Katherine says with the subtle shift of someone who’s navigated a thousand political conversations, “Callie mentioned you and Wyatt have been taking a break?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. Callie shoots me an apologetic look.
“Mom,” she warns, “not the time.”
“I’m just saying,” Katherine continues smoothly, “life is short. When you find someone who understands your world...” She glances meaningfully between us.
Zoey chooses this moment to fling a piece of banana, which lands with impressive accuracy on my sleeve. As I reach to clean it off, her little arms stretch toward me.
“Nina!” she demands, one of the few words in her 18-month vocabulary.
“Sorry,” Callie says, trying to contain her squirming step-daughter. “She’s been practicing your name all week.”
I hesitate, then awkwardly accept the transfer of the toddler to my lap. Zoey immediately grabs for my necklace, her sticky fingers leaving evidence of breakfast behind.
“She likes you,” Wyatt says quietly, just for me to hear.
The tenderness in his tone makes me look up. The softness in his eyes, not just for Zoey, but for the picture we must make together, hits me like a physical blow. This is what he wants. What I can never give him.
But there’s something else too, buried beneath the tenderness, something careful and measured that I can’t quite name.
Wyatt has always been still waters, the kind of man who processes everything three layers deep before letting a single ripple reach the surface.
Chris wears his damage like a neon sign; Wyatt buries his in bedrock.
Right now, I’d give anything to crack him open and understand why he left that room, because Chris I can explain. Wyatt, I can’t.
Zoey squirms against me, and I feel the familiar tightness in my chest. Wyatt notices my discomfort and smoothly lifts her from my lap.
“Come here, munchkin,” he says, settling her against his chest where she immediately starts playing with the collar of his shirt. The ease with which he handles her only twists the knife deeper.
“You’re so good with her,” Katherine observes, and I don’t miss the calculation in her eyes. “You’d make a wonderful father, Wyatt.”
“Mom!” Callie interjects more forcefully. “Seriously?”
“What? It’s true,” Katherine says, unapologetic. “And speaking of wonderful additions to the family, when can we expect a sibling for this little one?”
Mason laughs. “Maybe give us a chance to enjoy the first one for a bit longer?”
“Though not too much longer,” Callie adds with a smile that makes Mason’s eyes soften. “We’re thinking maybe next year.”
The conversation continues around me, but I’m suddenly underwater, sounds muffled by the roaring in my ears. Children. Families. The future stretching out in neat little packages of expectations I’ve never been able to meet.
“Excuse me,” I manage, rising abruptly. “Just need to... bathroom.”
I’m halfway across the restaurant when Callie catches up to me, concern written all over her face.
“Hey,” she says, pulling me into a quiet corner. “I’m sorry about my mother. She’s in full family-dynasty mode this weekend. Reconciling with Dad probably didn’t help.”
“It’s fine,” I lie. “Just a little overwhelming.”
Callie studies me with the focus of someone who’s known me since we were seven. “Something happened, didn’t it? With Wyatt?”
I hesitate, the truth burning in my throat. Any other day, I’d tell her everything. But this is Callie’s morning—her last few hours before the honeymoon—and I refuse to make it about my mess.
“It’s complicated,” I say finally.
“It always is with you,” she sighs, then surprises me by adding, “You know, Mason mentioned something that might interest you. A position in LA. Something consultant-related.”
“Really? When in the world did he have time for work in the middle of getting married?”
“He got a call yesterday before the ceremony. Some project the Agency needs psychologist for. He said he’d send details from the boat, but...” She shrugs. “Might be worth considering. You could be closer to us. And maybe some distance from Denver wouldn’t be the worst thing right now.”
The seed plants itself instantly. Distance. Space to think. A legitimate reason to step back from whatever tangled web I’ve woven myself into.
“I’ll think about it,” I say, meaning it.
“Good.” She hugs me tight. “Now, help me survive breakfast with my mother for ten more minutes, and then I’m off to sail to Cabo with my ridiculously nautical husband.”
As we return to the table, I catch Wyatt watching me, Zoey still contentedly playing with his shirt buttons. On his exposed forearm, I can just make out the edge of his tattoo, Zoey’s name inked permanently into his skin, a promise to her father.
A promise I could never make myself.
Mason greets us with a smile. “Everything okay?”
“Perfect,” I lie, reaching for my coffee. “Anyone else looking forward to cooler weather? Denver’s gorgeous right now with the leaves changing.”
As the conversation shifts to weather and travel plans, I feel Wyatt’s eyes on me, questions unasked hanging between us. I focus on my coffee, on Callie’s excitement about their coastal cruise, on anything but the message still unanswered on my phone.
You okay?
I’m not. But maybe, with enough distance, I could be.