Chapter 30 Wyatt
Wyatt
Eventually we have to move. Nina heads to the bathroom first while I pull on my boxers and retrieve my clothes from the armchair.
In daylight, the damage shows clearly. Grass stains mark my jeans.
Dirt grinds into the knees. A small tear runs near the pocket where I hit the ground when Lucia tackled me.
I pull on the jeans anyway, then the henley. Outside, the November morning hangs gray and overcast. From this window I can see the side yard—those bushes we crouched behind last night look smaller now, less like adequate cover and more like decorative landscaping. Worth it, though.
A piece of blue silk catches my eye on the dresser beside Nina’s jewelry box. Folded carefully. The pattern strikes me as familiar.
I pick it up, running the fabric between my fingers. The tie I left behind four weeks ago, the morning after Callie’s wedding. The morning I slipped out like a coward before Nina woke.
She kept it.
We saw each other later that day at the wedding breakfast. We sat beside each other on the flight home to Denver—three hours, side by side. She had this tie in her luggage the whole time and never mentioned it.
Nina emerges from the bathroom wrapped in a robe, hair damp at the edges. When she catches me holding the tie, she stops.
“Found it in the hotel room that morning,” she says quietly. “Kept meaning to give it back.”
“But you didn’t.”
“No.” She crosses to me, takes the tie from my hands, and loops it around my neck.
Her fingers work the knot slowly, deliberately, eyes tracking the silk as it slides against my skin.
When she finishes, she doesn’t smooth it down—just lets her hands rest against my chest, feeling my heartbeat through the thin cotton of my henley.
“I wasn’t ready to let you go completely. ”
I kiss her then, soft and unhurried. When we break apart, she keeps her hands on my chest.
“I have a client at nine,” she says. “Can’t reschedule—it’s her first session.”
“Right.” I’d almost forgotten she has actual clients now, not just Arturo and Vicente. Part of making the cover look legitimate. “Your regular job.”
She smiles faintly. “My regular job.”
“That’s fine. I need to check on Nikita anyway. And probably touch base with Chris.” I pause. “Tomorrow, though. The procedure. Who’s taking you?”
“Callie was going to take off work, but...” Nina’s expression shifts, uncertain. “If she can’t, Mason said he’d help.”
“I can take you,” I say.
The words come easily. I want to be there.
I want to be the one who drives her, waits with her, brings her home after.
Chris might want the same thing, but he’s neck-deep in whatever Tatiana’s intel means for the operation.
My role stays more reactive—monitoring developments, coordinating resources if something breaks.
I can step away for a few hours without the whole thing falling apart.
“I’ve got more flexibility in my schedule,” I add. “As long as whatever Chris is dealing with today doesn’t blow up—and I don’t think it will.”
Relief crosses her face. “You’re sure?”
“Yeah. We’ll figure it out tonight when Chris gets back. Talk through it together.”
She nods. “Okay. Yeah.”
We finish getting ready in comfortable silence, the kind that comes from knowing each other’s rhythms. Nina drives us back toward my apartment.
The clock shows just past seven, early enough that traffic on the 10 hasn’t completely gridlocked yet, but still heavier than anything I dealt with in Denver.
Nina weaves through lanes with focus, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift.
I cover her hand with mine.
She glances over, smiles, then returns her attention to the road. We don’t need to fill the silence with words. The radio plays something low and jazzy. Outside, the city slides past—billboards, overpasses, the sprawl of LA waking up.
By the time we take our exit, traffic has thickened considerably—the morning rush building toward its peak. Nina navigates the surface streets, her fingers laced with mine on the gear shift.
The building comes into view on Wilshire—three stories of red brick with large windows. Marcella’s dance studio occupies the ground floor front, but the windows remain dark. Too early for classes. Nina pulls around to the alley in back where Mason’s auto body shop sits.
The garage bays stand open. Both brothers work inside—Mason bent over an engine, Maddox holding something up to the light, examining it. In the corner, Zoey plays in her playpen, surrounded by foam mats and toys that look wildly out of place among the tools and car parts.
Nina parks near the bay entrance and cuts the engine. For a moment we just sit there, her fingers still laced with mine.
“Thank you,” she says quietly. “For not making my confession weird last night. Both of you.”
“It wasn’t weird. It was brave.” I squeeze her hand. “And Chris stayed. The whole night. Only left because Tatiana called.”
“He seemed different,” she agrees. “Present. Like he actually wants this to work.”
“Maybe he does.” I try not to sound too hopeful, but it leaks through anyway. “Maybe we all do.”
Her expression shifts with that particular glint that means Nina’s about to say something direct.
She turns to face me properly. “We should probably stock up on lube before my procedure tomorrow. Tonight’s the last night I can actually participate for a while.”
“How long is a while?”
“At least a week. No sex, no orgasms.” She makes a face. “Doctor’s orders. But you two don’t have to stop just because I’m benched.”
“That seems...” I search for the right word. “Unfair.”
She laughs. “What, you’re going to take a vow of celibacy in solidarity?”
“Maybe we only do things when you’re there to watch.”
“God, that’s worse. Watching you two go at it while I can’t even touch myself?” She shakes her head. “That’s just cruel.”
I squeeze her hand. “But seriously, the recovery period. What do you need?”
“Distraction. Lots of distraction. Movies, books, maybe some of that fancy chocolate from the place on Melrose.”
“I can do chocolate runs.”
“And maybe you two can save the really good stuff for when I’m cleared.” She gives me a sly look. “Though this morning’s creativity suggests you might discover new things while I’m out of commission.”
“We’ll try to take notes.”
“Detailed ones,” she agrees. “With diagrams.”
I lean over, kiss her once more. “We will. Drive safe. Text me when your session’s done?”
“I will.” She touches my face, thumb brushing my cheekbone. “Wyatt?”
“Yeah?”
“I meant what I said. I love you.”
“I love you too.”
I grab my jacket from the backseat and step out onto the sidewalk. Nina waits until I’m halfway across the garage entrance before pulling away.
Mason straightens from the engine he’s working on, takes in my rumpled clothes—the same ones from yesterday, grass stains and all. His eyebrows lift slightly.
Maddox glances up from whatever part he’s examining, looks between me and Mason, then goes back to his work with a smirk.
“Morning,” I say, aiming for casual.
“Morning,” Mason replies, wiping his hands on a rag. His expression stays neutral, but I catch the twitch at the corner of his mouth. “Nikita’s fine, by the way. Fed her when I got here this morning.”
“Thanks. I owe you.”
“You owe me nothing.” He turns back to the engine, but not before adding, “Good to see you and Nina working things out.”
Maddox snorts. “Working things out. That’s what we’re calling it?”
“Shut up, Maddox,” Mason says without heat.
I head for the stairs before this gets worse. Behind me, I hear Maddox’s low chuckle and Mason telling him to hand over a wrench.
The apartment sits quiet when I let myself in.
Morning light streams through the windows overlooking Wilshire, casting long shadows across the open space.
My suitcase still sits on the bed where I left it Tuesday night, mostly packed—I’d only pulled out essentials.
Nikita’s food bowls and toys are properly arranged in the corner by the kitchen area.
Everything else remains untouched from yesterday morning before I left for whatever briefings the DEA needed me for.
Was that really only yesterday?
“Nikita?” I call out, clucking my tongue.
A disgruntled meow answers from the bedroom. She’s curled in the center of my bed, looking deeply offended by my overnight absence.
“Yeah, I know,” I say, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “I’m sorry.”
She stretches, then stalks over to headbutt my hand with more force than necessary. Her way of saying I’m forgiven, but she’s making me work for it.
I scratch behind her ears, and she settles into my lap, purring despite herself.
She yawns, showing all her teeth, then curls tighter in my lap.
I sit there for a long moment, cat warm against my legs, morning light painting everything gold. My phone buzzes—a text from Chris.
CHRIS: T’s intel is solid. Moving faster than expected. Might need backup.
My spine straightens.
WYATT: Define “might.”
CHRIS: Will know in a few hours. Keep your phone close.
WYATT: Copy that. Nina’s got a client til 10.
Three dots appear, then:
CHRIS: Good. Keep her out of this for now.
Another buzz:
CHRIS: And Booth? Thanks for staying this morning.
I set the phone aside and look down at Nikita. She’s already asleep, trusting and content.
“Looks like things are about to get interesting,” I tell her quietly.
Outside, the muffled bass from Marcella’s dance studio filters up, the rhythmic thump of feet hitting the floor in unison. Normal life continuing while we edge closer to whatever Tatiana’s intel is about to unleash.
I ease Nikita off my lap and reach for the manila folder I should have reviewed yesterday. If Chris needs backup, I need to be ready.
The operation isn’t waiting for us to figure out our relationship.