Chapter 8 Blake
BLAKE
GIGI CALLS THE NEXT MORNING while I’m getting dressed.
It’s a workday for her, but she has a home office in the Dallas house she shares with her husband, who also happens to be her biggest client.
When she didn’t make the Olympics women’s hockey team in college, Gigi pivoted to a career as a sports agent.
Because she was able to bring in Luke Ryder, the best player to come out of college hockey in a decade, she landed a junior agenting role at one of the top agencies in the country.
“Is my brother driving you insane yet?”
I pull my denim shorts up my legs and zip them. “Oh yeah.”
Gigi laughs. “Figured. He’s a handful.”
He’s a moody asshole, more like it. Which is something I never knew about Wyatt.
I’ve spent time with him on family vacations but never just the two of us and not when I’m hyperaware of everything he’s doing.
Or not doing. For example, looking at me.
When I came downstairs in my pajamas earlier and told him my plans for the day, he didn’t look my way even once as he made himself some coffee.
I looked, though, and what I saw was a cause for concern. Eyes heavy with fatigue. Days-old stubble on his face.
“I don’t think he sleeps,” I tell Gigi. “Should I be worried about that?”
“Oh, that’s nothing new. He’s had insomnia most of his life.”
“He has? I didn’t know that.”
“He doesn’t really talk about it. But you can usually tell it’s getting worse when he acts like a bigger dickhead than normal.”
“Then he must be suffering from it big-time.” I’m unable to stop the sarcasm. “He acted like a total jerk last night.”
Her tone sharpens. “What did he do?”
Deciding it’s not a can of worms I want to open right now, I backpedal. “Nothing heinous or anything. He just snapped at me a few times.”
You’re desperate for attention from any guy who’ll give you five seconds.
You’re not trying to be friendly. You’re trying to be wanted.
My chest tightens with embarrassment as Wyatt’s accusations echo through my mind.
Fuck him for saying that. And fuck him for mocking me about how everyone knew Isaac would cheat on me. If they all knew, why didn’t they warn me then? Why did they let me play house with the man and plan a future with him?
“He hurt my feelings.” The words slip out before I can curb them. “It wasn’t cool.”
“Aw, Blakey.” Gigi’s heavy sigh fills my ear. “Listen, Wyatt can be a dick, yes, but he’s also a secret softie. If you tell him he hurt your feelings, I promise you he’ll take it to heart and never do it again. He’s kind of a sap when he’s trying to make things up to someone.”
I don’t know if I want to experience sappy Wyatt. I can’t soften to him, because every time I do, he turns around and obliterates my pride.
“It’s fine,” I say lightly. “I’m letting it go.”
“What are you up to today?” she asks.
“Going to the library.”
“You know school’s out for summer, right?”
“I know. But we met these paranormal podcasters last night—”
“I’m sorry, what?”
Laughing, I catch her up on the Spencers. “They claim that Lake Tahoe has a supernatural history, and you know me—now I must research it.”
“You’re such a nerd. But have fun, I guess?”
After we say goodbye, I go downstairs and find Wyatt waiting for me in the kitchen.
“You ready to go?” he says brusquely.
“No,” I retort. “You’re not coming with me. I don’t need an escort to the library.”
For the first time all morning, his gaze finds mine. “I’m not going to the library. I have something to do in town, so I need the Jeep. I’ll drop you off.”
I relax. “Oh. Okay. I’ll allow it. Let me grab a travel mug.”
Wyatt doesn’t say another word as we climb into the Jeep and make the drive to Tahoe City.
The silence makes me antsy, so I fill it by scrolling on my phone, cycling past mindless photos from friends and influencers and a few posts from the Delta Pi account announcing our summer charity events.
I never envisioned myself being part of a sorority, but Mom encouraged me to pledge because she said it would be a built-in friend group.
Turns out? Not at all. Other than my mentor, Charlie, who graduated a few years ago, the only Delta Pi I’m close with is Juliette, and neither of us even live in the sorority house.
I’m about to keep scrolling when something catches my eye—a photo posted on Tyrell’s account. Ty is one of Isaac’s teammates at Briar.
My stomach drops as I register what I’m seeing. It’s a group shot taken at a party in the backyard of one of the off-campus football houses. I see Ty’s smiling face. A couple other teammates. Two girls I don’t recognize.
And Isaac and Heather.
The cheater and the cheerleader, in the flesh.
Tears sting my eyes. Lovely. Six tearless weeks and now they’re pouring out willy-nilly at the most inconvenient times.
I shouldn’t care that Isaac is seeing Heather now.
He was already seeing her while he was with me.
But the fact that they’re attending a Briar party together like an actual couple makes me question Isaac’s vehement there-were-no-emotions-involved defense.
You don’t start dating someone you’re not emotionally attached to, right?
Unless they’re fuck buddies. I suppose that could be it.
But… They were holding hands in that picture. Fuck buddies don’t hold hands.
Ugh.
Maybe I need a fuck buddy. Or a hookup at least. Juliette insists it will be good for my flailing confidence.
Make me feel desirable again. But the only guy who was even remotely cute at the bar last night was Landon the bartender.
I could’ve even disregarded the mullet if I’d been attracted to him.
Unfortunately, it’s impossible to feel an attraction for anyone else when Wyatt Graham is breathing the same air as them.
If Wyatt’s in the room, my traitorous nervous system refuses to acknowledge pheromones that emanate from someone other than him.
Wyatt slows down when we enter the busy mountain town.
I shift my gaze out the window and take in the familiar sights of North Lake Boulevard, with its little cafés and restaurants, quaint boutiques, and several gear shops.
There are hanging flower baskets on all the patios, providing a splash of color that succeeds in bolstering my mood a little.
We turn off the main boulevard, driving a few blocks west of the lake before pulling into the parking lot of the newly built community center, a complex comprising a library, fitness center, and sports arena.
I assumed he would drop me out front and then go off to day drink or something, but he pulls the Jeep into an actual space and shuts off the engine.
“I thought you had to do something in town,” I say.
“I do. I’m just parking here.”
“And walking to the boulevard?” I’m confused. “It’s, like, two miles away.”
He reaches for the door handle. “It’ll be a nice stroll.”
Hopping out of the Jeep, I sling my messenger bag over my shoulder. I brought an oversize one in case I decide to check out any books.
“Why are you being weird?” I ask Wyatt.
“I’m not being weird. You’re the weird one. Just go to the library.”
“Jeez, Graham. Is someone on their period?”
“Shut it, Logan.” He confuses me further by locking the Jeep and then casually leaning against the driver’s door.
“What, you’re not embarking on your epic walk yet?”
“No, I’m gonna have a cigarette first. Is that allowed?” With a surly look, he fishes his smokes out of his pocket, then shoves one in the corner of his mouth while he searches for a lighter.
“Whatever.” I hike up my bag. “All right. I’ll see you in two hours.”
“Sounds good.”
I saunter toward the library, but for some reason, everything about…whatever that was…has triggered my suspicions. He was definitely acting strange. Wyatt’s way cooler than that. I swear he was even fidgeting when he was putting the cigarette in his mouth.
On a hunch, I enter the library but stop in the small vestibule at the doors. Then I twist around to peer at the parking lot.
Oh yeah. Wyatt’s up to something.
He stamps the barely smoked cigarette with his sneaker before walking to the trunk. I narrow my eyes when he hauls out a large black duffel bag. It’s a very familiar bag.
Bag over his shoulder, he stalks across the lot toward the enormous, boxy building with metal siding and a slate-gray roof. At the sports arena’s entrance, the glass doors are cloudy with condensation from the air inside.
I dart out of the library and hurry after Wyatt. He has earbuds in, so he doesn’t hear me coming. I catch up to him just as he slides through the doors.
He jolts when I grab his arm, spinning around. His expression darkens with displeasure when he sees me. Very deliberately, he presses a button on his phone, I assume to shut his music off.
“You’re playing hockey!” I accuse.
“Go away,” Wyatt grumbles.
“Does your father know?”
“No. And I don’t want him to. Now if you’ll excuse me…”
“I don’t understand. You hate hockey.”
“I don’t hate hockey. I like hitting the ice and shooting some pucks. Or playing for fun like the Boxing Day Beatdown or our family shootouts. I just never wanted to play professionally.”
“Why are you hiding it?”
“Because I know my dad. He’ll get way too excited about this. Read more into it than it actually means.”
“Oh, God forbid we please our parents.”
He gives me a dirty look. “Blake.”
“Wyatt,” I mimic.
Sighing, he takes off walking again while I trail after him like an eager puppy wanting to play ball with its owner.
“Go away,” he says over his shoulder.
“No, I want to watch you play.”
“Since when? You’re the one who hates hockey.”
“I don’t hate it either. I’m indifferent,” I say. “But now I’m invested. It’s not every day I get to see the Wyatt Graham on the ice.”
We reach the men’s locker room, where he stops to glare at me again. “What? You gonna follow me into the lockers too?”
I think it over. “If I wait out here, are you going to try to sneak out the back so I don’t witness you playing hockey?”