Chapter 33 Wyatt #2
“You’ve done the work. Therapy, grief, everything.
I respect the hell out of that.” He pauses, choosing his words the way I chose mine.
“But sometimes I think your insight is its own kind of armor. You’ve got me figured out—you’ve got yourself figured out—but figuring everything out isn’t the same as sitting with it when it’s ugly and you don’t have answers. ”
“I’m in the middle of it,” he continues. “I don’t have your answers. I don’t have it figured out. I just need you to stop trying to push me through it faster than I can go.”
He’s right. I overexamine and turn every raw feeling into an insight, and maybe that is my version of keeping distance. My version of armor.
“Okay,” I say. “That’s fair.”
The silence that follows isn’t tense. It’s something new. Both of us exposed, neither one fixed.
I stand up. He tenses. But I only move to the chair next to him.
“We don’t have to wait for Nina to be the bridge,” I say. “We can figure this out directly.”
He’s quiet for a long moment. “Yeah,” he says. “We can.”
His phone buzzes again. He glances at the screen.
“The arraignment?”
“They moved it up.” He looks at me, and I can see him bracing for the guilt trip.
“Go handle it.”
Surprise flickers across his face. “You sure?”
“I’m sure. I’ll be here with Nina. Tonight, we talk more. Just us.”
He stands. Hesitates. “Tonight,” he agrees. Then, softer: “I do care about you. You know that, right? Beyond operational parameters.”
“I know.”
“I just need—”
“Time. I know.” I look up at him. “I’m not going anywhere.”
He meets my eyes for a moment longer than necessary. Then he’s gone, leaving me alone with the beige walls and the renovation show and his absence.
The woman at reception calls another name. The teenage daughter and her mother disappear through the double doors. The man with the paperback turns a page.
I pull out my phone and text Mason.
WYATT: Need to nail down who Rafael actually is. Chris is spooked.
His response is immediate.
MASON: Already on it. You good?
Define good, I think.
WYATT: Yeah. Just waiting.
A few dots appear, disappear, appear again.
MASON: Chris left?
WYATT: Had to handle something.
MASON: Right.
Mason doesn’t push. He reads the room better than I do, sometimes.
My phone buzzes with another text.
CHRIS: I meant it. Tonight. We’ll talk.
I stare at the message for a moment, then answer.
WYATT: I’ll be there.
Dots appear immediately, then disappear. Then appear again.
CHRIS: For what it’s worth, you were right. About all of it.
I stare at the message. He doesn’t say things like this easily. I know what it cost him.
WYATT: We both were.
The reception woman appears in the doorway. “Mr. Booth?”
I stand. “Yeah?”
“She’s in recovery. You can see her in about fifteen minutes.”
“She okay?”
“Everything went perfectly. She’s just waking up.”
I thank her, tension easing from my shoulders. I send another text to Chris.
WYATT: She’s out. All good.
His response is immediate.
CHRIS: Thank god. Tell her I’m sorry I had to go.
WYATT: Will do.
Fifteen minutes. Then I can see her. Make sure she’s really okay. Take her home. Get her settled.
And tonight, Chris and I will finally have the conversation we’ve been avoiding since Denver. Since before Denver, maybe.
I sit back down to wait, this time in the chair Chris vacated. It’s still warm.
The fifteen minutes pass slowly. Finally, the nurse appears again. “Mr. Booth? You can come back now.”
I follow her through the double doors, down a hallway that smells like antiseptic and floor wax. Nina’s in a recovery bay, propped up on pillows, looking drowsy but alert.
“Hey, troublemaker,” I say, sitting in the chair beside her bed.
She smiles, loopy. “Hey yourself. Where’s Chris?”
“Had to handle the arraignment. He’s sorry he couldn’t stay.”
She nods, unsurprised. “You two figure your shit out while I was under?”
“Working on it.”
She reaches for my hand, movements slow and uncoordinated. “Good. Because I meant what I said. You’re each other’s too.”
“He’s not going anywhere. Neither am I.”
“You better not.” Her words are slurring now, sleep pulling her under. “Love you both too much to watch you fuck this up.”
“We won’t.”
“Need you both. Need you to need each other too.”
“We do,” I tell her. “We’re just learning how to show it.”
But she’s already asleep, fingers still wrapped around mine.
My phone buzzes. I check it carefully, keeping my other hand in Nina’s.
It’s Chris. I answer quietly. “Hey.”
“She out?”
“Yeah. Everything went fine. She’s sleeping it off.”
He exhales, and I can hear the relief in it even through the phone. “Good. That’s good.”
“How’d the arraignment go?”
“Textbook. Tatiana played her part.” He pauses. “She had intel. Unverified, but worth flagging.”
“What kind of intel?”
“Chatter about a contract on Vicente and Arturo.”
I glance at Nina’s sleeping face. “How credible?”
“Unknown. Could be stale—these guys have enemies lining up around the block. Tatiana couldn’t confirm if it’s active or just old noise that’s resurfacing.” Another pause. “But given everything else we’re tracking, I don’t love the timing.”
“You think it’s connected to Rafael?”
“I think I don’t believe in coincidences.”
Neither do I. But right now, Nina’s hand is warm in mine and she’s safe and the rest of it can wait a few hours.
“We’ll dig into it more tomorrow,” I say. “Tonight, she just needs to rest. We all do.”
“Yeah.” He’s quiet for a moment. “I’m heading back now. Should be there in forty minutes.”
“Actually—can you swing by Mason’s garage first? I need you to pick up Nikita from my apartment. One of the guys can let you in.”
“The cat?”
“Nina could use a snuggle buddy for the next few days. And I’ve been neglecting her.”
Chris snorts. “You want me to transport your cat.”
“Unless you want to explain to Nina why she doesn’t have a furry nurse.”
The line is silent for a beat. “Fine. I’ll grab her.”
“Deal.”
I hang up and look back at Nina, still sleeping, still holding my hand.
In two weeks she’ll be back at work, back to her regular schedule—sitting in a room with two men who might have a target on their backs.
I hope the intel is stale. I hope it’s old noise, recycled threats from enemies who know better than to actually try.
But I don’t believe in coincidences either.