Chapter 19 Blake
BLAKE
IT’S NOT EVEN MIDNIGHT WHEN I emerge from the shower after letting the icy-cold spray beat down on my head for more than twenty minutes.
I don’t know if this is common to all absinthe partakers, but that green shit turned my body into a furnace.
I’ve never gotten so overheated drinking alcohol before.
Or that wasted. Even now, hours later, I still feel a lingering buzz in my veins.
Still a bit unsteady on my feet as I wrap myself in a short white bathrobe.
I’m startled to find Wyatt in the hall, leaning against his closed bedroom room.
“Have you been waiting out here the whole time?”
“Yeah,” he says gruffly. “Wanted to make sure you didn’t slip in there and crack your head open.”
“That’s…very sweet. Thank you.”
He gives me a thorough once-over. “You seem more alert. You feeling better?”
“Oh my God, yes. My head is so much clearer. The cold shower helped.” Along with the bottle of water he made me chug and the two ibuprofen he made me swallow before we barely even walked through the front door.
“Good.” He pushes away from the wall. “I’m going out for a smoke. G’night.”
“Night,” I murmur to his retreating back.
I go to my room and put on my pj’s, but that shower was too successful at waking me up. Rather than climbing into bed, I roll on a pair of warm socks and head outside. It’s cooler out than I expect, so I grab the throw blanket off the deck chair and wrap it around myself on my way to the stairs.
When I step onto the dock, Wyatt smiles at the sight of me all bundled up. Then he takes a quick drag of his cigarette before exhaling a puff of smoke into the night.
I wrap the blanket tighter around my shoulders and stretch out on the lounge chair next to his. “How was your date?” I ask reluctantly.
“Short.”
I bite my lip. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to ruin it.”
“You didn’t.” He blows out another smoke cloud. “I mean, okay, yeah, you did. But I was about to cut it short anyway.”
I ignore the traitorous flipping of my heart. “How come?”
“Wasn’t into it.” He glances over at me. “How was your night? Before the absinthe?”
“Shitty. Isaac accused me of wanting to get back together and using Hot Boi as my excuse.”
“Any truth to that?”
“Not in the slightest. I have no desire to get back with him. Once a cheater, always a cheater, right?”
Wyatt shrugs. “Life isn’t that black and white.”
“Cheating is,” I say simply. “For me at least. It’s not about whether he cheats on me again. Even if he didn’t stray again for the rest of our lives, I’d never forget that he cheated before. I’d never trust him.”
“Fair enough.”
“Also, I sort of had an epiphany earlier at the party,” I confess. “An absinthe-induced breakthrough.”
“Yeah?”
“Uh-huh.”
I go quiet for a moment, and Wyatt patiently waits for me to continue. I appreciate that about him. He never rushes me through my own thoughts.
“I was thinking about Isaac and our relationship and why I was even with him. He came on so strong at first, and…” I sigh.
“And yeah, fine, it was love bombing. It was all a big show. I see that now. But I didn’t at the time.
I thought it not only meant he was madly in love with me but that he had depth.
He seemed so in touch with his emotions.
A lot of men can’t access those intense feelings, you know? ”
Wyatt nods.
“I was wrong, though. The thing about Isaac is that he likes everything big and shiny and perfect. He’s all about the surface, the aesthetics.
His whole identity is wrapped around grand gestures and flashy things.
I mistook it for passion maybe. But it was distraction, a way for him to avoid growth.
He wants the sparkly, shallow version of life, not the messy parts. ”
“You could never be shallow, Blake. You’re depth. And that terrifies people like him.”
His conviction leaves me a little breathless. I swallow, letting Wyatt’s words sink in.
“It’s frustrating,” I admit, “because for the first time in my life, I really did want something deeper. I was ready for someone to actually see me, when before I used to go out of my way to avoid that.”
“Why’s that?” Wyatt asks roughly. He reaches toward the table and puts out his cigarette, but his focus remains on me.
“Because…” I exhale, trying to vocalize my thoughts. “You know what it was like to grow up with our dads. You had a famous mom too, so you probably know even better than I do. All the cameras, the attention. Especially in a hockey town like Boston. Everyone recognized my dad everywhere we went.”
“Yeah, I get that.”
“I hated it. Not because I wanted to be anonymous but because I never got to be me.” The confession pours out before I can stop it.
“I couldn’t be, because if I showed any cracks, it would be photographed, or worse, turned into gossip.
I know other celebrity kids—real celebrities—have it so much worse when it comes to living under a spotlight.
But I didn’t like even a hint of that light on me. ”
I tighten the blanket when a cool breeze wafts off the water.
Noticing me shivering, Wyatt says, “Come sit with me. You look cold.”
I hesitate. His demeanor isn’t flirty or sexual, and we’re in the middle of a serious conversation, yet it feels too intimate to share a lounger with him.
But then he scoots over to make room for me and extends a hand, and I move toward him as if hypnotized. Awkwardly, I stretch out beside him, still cocooned in my blanket. He wraps one arm around me, the warmth of his body instantly surrounding me.
“I got really used to hiding,” I tell him.
“Putting on a blank face or making a sarcastic remark. I’m not like Alex, who craves the attention.
I liked not being seen. But it’s not because I didn’t want people close.
It’s because I was afraid of being seen wrong.
Until I started college and I started opening up more, and I realized I was craving that closeness. ”
I feel his chest rise on a slow, pensive inhale. “And the spotlight?”
“God, no. I still want nothing to do with that. I’m okay staying in the background, being the plus-one.
But I was ready to find that deeper connection with someone.
” I give a weak laugh. “And then I went and picked the most surface-level guy on the planet. I mean, he’s fighting for a toaster with more passion than he ever fought for me or our relationship.
That tells me everything I need to know about how deep we got. ”
Wyatt’s grip tightens around me. I lean against his shoulder, breathing in his spicy, smoky scent. God, I’m becoming addicted to it.
“I’m the opposite,” he says. “I used to think if the connection was there, that was it. Instant click, soulmates, ride off into the sunset, cue the strings.” He chuckles to himself.
“But real life’s not like that. The instant clicks always burned out just as fast. I got tired of confusing chemistry with something deeper. ”
We fall silent for a moment.
“Can I tell you something kind of vulnerable and not have you write a song about it?” I ask him.
Wyatt holds up his hand to make a fake signal with his fingers. “Songwriter’s honor.”
“I’m sort of scared of being known. Really known. Every time someone gets close, I feel this urge to run. Like I’d rather be alone than risk disappointing them when I’m not what they thought.”
His fingers toy with the edge of my blanket now. “Yeah, I know all about disappointing people. Women especially. I’m probably the worst person to be in a relationship with.”
I tilt my head to frown at him. “Why do you think that?”
“Just not built for it. Long-term shit. That’s why I never let anyone become too attached.
I get so fucking restless. My family calls it wanderlust, because I always need to be in a different place, but it’s not about the travel.
” He inhales again, sharp and ragged. “My mind never stops. There’s so much noise inside my head, like this storm that just won’t settle. ”
I stay quiet, because I want him to keep going and I’m afraid if I speak, he’ll stop.
“I daydream a lot. I live in my own world, especially when I’m making music. That’s the only thing that lets me focus. Everything else feels fuzzy. Like I’m trying to catch smoke with my fingers. I…”
Wyatt pauses, and I can’t stop myself from pulling my hand out of my blanket cocoon and slipping it into his. I want him to feel something solid, to know that I’m not smoke. That this conversation isn’t smoke, and it’s not going to blow away.
He freezes for a second before relaxing, and my pulse speeds up when he links his fingers through mine.
“I think that’s why I can’t sleep. My brain refuses to shut off, and I lie there in the dark while all these ideas and worries and half-written songs crowd in.
Sometimes it gets so loud, fucking deafening, and I don’t know how to quiet it.
And when it happens…” His voice breaks. “I’m scared, I guess. ”
“Scared?” My heart is beating even faster. Talk about depth. I don’t think I’ve ever gotten this deep with anyone. “Scared of what?”
Wyatt falls silent, but just when I think he won’t answer, he speaks again. Voice low, stripped raw.
“That if I show someone all the dark parts, how messy and chaotic and fucked-up I really am, they won’t want me.”
I can’t conceive of a world where someone doesn’t want Wyatt Graham. He’s everything I’ve always been drawn to. That rare combination of strength and vulnerability.
“I don’t think you have to worry about that,” I say softly.
“I’m just saying, I hear you about not wanting to be seen.”
I rest my head against his shoulder, a tired smile tugging on my lips. “At least you have something to show people. I’ve got nothing.”
Wyatt stiffens. “What do you mean?”