Chapter 21 Wyatt
WYATT
BY THE TIME I REACH the dock, I’m already half running. The boards groan under my weight. I stand at the bottom, staring up at her. The moon carves silver edges into everything. The roof, the lake, the defiant hardness of her features.
“Blake,” I snap. “What the hell are you doing?”
“Facing my phobia.” Her voice floats toward me from the roof.
My jaw clenches. “You’ve got to be kidding me. It’s almost midnight. Get down. Now.”
“Why?”
“Jesus Christ. This isn’t a joke. It’s late. Get down here.”
She seeks out my eyes in the moonlight. “I chickened out that day with Annaliese and her friends. I should’ve jumped.”
“Great. You can jump in the morning.”
“What’s the big deal? You and the Golden Boys jump off at night all the time.”
“Yes, because we’re damn idiots. You are not. It’s pitch-black, and you can’t see the bottom. This is reckless. Actually, no, it’s irresponsible.”
“Fine, then I’m irresponsible. And why do you care anyway? We’ve already established you’re not my dad. You’re not even my friend most days. You hover and scowl and act like I’m some dumb teenager.”
“I’m just trying to keep you from doing something stupid.”
“Maybe I want to do something stupid,” she shoots back. “Maybe I’m tired of everyone assuming I won’t. That I’ve got no passion.”
“What the hell are you talking about?”
Frustration tightens like a vise at my ribs, but something beneath it burns hotter, more dangerous.
Fear.
And not just the kind that comes with watching someone you care about do something reckless. It’s the fear of losing her.
And that fear makes me angry, because I hate feeling it.
“What, you’re up there because you have something to prove? Why? Because you wanted to kiss me last night and I wouldn’t do it?”
She flinches but doesn’t back down. “Screw you, Wyatt. You wanted it.”
I let out of breath. “Even if I did, we’re not going there, okay?”
“Yeah, sure, keep saying that. In the meantime, I’ll stay up here, thank you.”
My anger boils over. “Is that what it’ll take to get you down? You want me to stick my tongue down your throat? You want to ride my dick? Want me to screw you till you can’t see straight? Throwing a tantrum isn’t going to get you what you want.”
She blinks, stunned into silence for half a second. Then her incredulous laughter echoes in the night.
“Wow. You really think you’re that important, huh? You’re so goddamn full of yourself. I don’t need to prove anything to you. If anything, I’m proving something to him.”
I falter. “Who? Isaac?”
“Yeah.” She peers over the edge again at the water, her tone thickening with bitterness.
“He blames me for his cheating. He sent me this long-ass message tonight saying I’m to blame for what he did because I wasn’t ‘passionate’ enough.
I wasn’t exciting. I was the boring, steady presence that he needed, but she was his fire. ”
“And you’re listening to this dickhead? You’re up on the roof at midnight to prove something to a guy who doesn’t deserve it?”
I’m already climbing the rickety staircase as I talk. Because enough. I’m done arguing with her. I take the steps two at a time, emerging on the roof in seconds.
Blake turns to face me, her expression awash with resentment. “He said I was his safe place but that I never made him feel wanted.”
I swallow my irritation, all of it directed at Isaac Grant. “He’s an idiot, Blake.”
“Maybe, or maybe he’s right. Maybe that’s who I am. The safe, comfortable one.” She gives me a pointed look. “The one men come to for comfort or to talk to when the world is too loud. But then when they crave the heat, when they want to burn, they go somewhere else.”
“That’s not who you are.”
She ignores my gruff statement. I don’t even think she notices me anymore.
“But you know what?” she says angrily. “Fuck him and everything he wants. What about what I want? You know what I want, Wyatt?”
I step closer, careful, as if I’m approaching a wounded animal. “What do you want, Blake?”
“I want someone to need me. Not just love me. I want to be wanted so badly it hurts. I want to be someone’s obsession.
Their undoing.” Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t look away, and I suddenly can’t breathe.
“I want to be someone’s passion. Not their safe place.
Not their steady plus-one who makes them look good because I’m John Logan’s daughter.
I want to be the thing they lose themselves in. ”
I can’t take my eyes off her. The fire burning bright in her eyes. The moon glinting off her skin like frost. She’s incredible. But she’s also a live wire right now, and I need to temper that fire before it consumes us both.
I inhale, filling my lungs with much-needed oxygen. “I get you’re upset about that message. But jumping off the boathouse isn’t the solution. It’s just you being reckless.”
“Maybe I want to be reckless for once. Maybe I’m sick of everyone thinking I’m safe and small and forgettable.”
“Jesus, Logan,” I say hoarsely. “No one who’s ever looked at you could forget you.”
“You did.”
Her hard, emotionless eyes crack something wide open inside me. I move closer, but she shifts her gaze back to the water, banishing me from her gaze.
“I’m so forgettable that you didn’t even remember mauling me on Christmas Eve,” she mutters.
And then she’s laughing again, a high, hysterical tinge to it.
“We hooked up, Wyatt, and you didn’t fucking remember.
So that’s the effect I have on people, apparently.
They don’t want me, and they forget all about—”
“I remembered.”
She spins around, her gaze flying to mine. “What?”
“The next morning. I remembered.” Shame constricts my throat, and I have to clear it before continuing. “I remember exactly what happened that night in the kitchen. I just pretended not to.”
“Why?” she demands, stunned by the confession.
“Because I’m an asshole, and I knew if I opened that door, we would never be able to close it.”
Her breath catches.
“Of course I want you,” I say quietly.
“Stop,” she says, but her voice trembles. “I don’t need your bullshit right now. I told you I had a crush on you, and you laughed at me.”
“You told me that when you were sixteen and I was almost twenty. What was I supposed to say, Blake? You were too damn young, and you’d been part of my life since forever. But the moment you said it, it changed everything, and I’ve been shoving it down ever since. Because we can’t go there.”
“Why not?”
“Because your dad would kill me for one, and when it ends—”
“When?”
“Yes, when. I told you, I’m not good at relationships. If we hook up, I’m going to hurt you.”
She stays quiet, watching me uncertainly.
“I’m a goddamn head case. And I’m selfish. Trust me, you don’t want some self-absorbed, struggling musician who can barely quiet his own thoughts.” I shake my head in frustration. “All I can give you is a good lay.”
Her breath hitches again.
“You deserve more than that.”
She still doesn’t say a word. And I still can’t pull my gaze away from her. From those big eyes and the perfect Cupid’s bow in her lips. The freckles, visible even in the shadows.
I’ve never wanted to kiss anybody more than I want to kiss her right now. And I think she knows it. Her tongue darts out to moisten her lips, and I almost groan. I want to suck on that tongue. I want to suck and lick every part of her. I want to know what she sounds like when she comes.
Instead of moving away, I take a step closer.
One step, then another, until I’m right in front of her.
Now I see her breathing pick up. The sharp rise of her tits beneath her tank top. If I looked closer, I bet I would see the shadowy outlines of her nipples.
Her head tilts up to look at me because she’s so much shorter. Our faces are inches apart. Gazes locked. It feels like she’s peering into my soul.
When I’m only a foot away, Blake reaches up and touches my face. A hot shiver travels up my spine. Her fingers scrape the stubble along my jaw.
“Stop,” I warn.
“You don’t really want me to stop.”
She’s right. I don’t.
Time stands still as I lean into her touch. The soft slosh of water against the dock fades. All I can hear is my own pulse pounding in my ears. And all I can feel is my body betraying me, inching toward her, drawn by a pull I’ve never been able to understand.
“I’m going to ruin you,” I say roughly.
“Maybe I’ll ruin you too,” she whispers back.
She already fucking has.
We need to walk away. Go down those stairs, march inside, and return to our respective beds. I’m about to tell her this when her hands suddenly bunch up the collar of my T-shirt.
She rises onto her toes, her mouth finding mine before I have a chance to object. Not that I would. Common sense abandons me, all my willpower dissipating in the night air the moment she kisses me.
The first press of her lips is soft, tentative, but there’s no stopping the rush of urgency that courses through me, years of restraint snapping all at once.
In a heartbeat, the kiss is fierce and hungry and unforgiving.
God help me, but I can’t stop it. Her lips part under mine, and I fucking claim them.
I chase her tongue into her mouth, then swallow the tiny moan that she lets out.
It’s such a sweet sound. She tastes even sweeter. Like mint toothpaste and temptation.
I shiver when her hands slide into my hair, stroking, pulling my head closer. This kiss is goddamn everything. It’s a drug. Deep and desperate. I’m so hard it hurts, unable to stop myself from cupping her ass and tugging her against me. Letting her feel what she does to me. How bad I want her.
She thinks she’s not fire.
Christ.
She’s the fucking sun.
Her tongue gains confidence, stroking mine, and I make a low sound in the back of my throat.
I lose myself in the wet heat of her mouth, my body reacting to every glide and flick and stolen breath.
I’ve never been this hard from one kiss.
My cock strains against my pants, eagerly pressing against her thigh, craving relief.
Stop this.
The warning finally penetrates, and it’s almost violent how I tear my mouth from hers. Our faces drag apart. Her eyes flicker with surprise. Her lips are still parted, swollen from our kisses, and the sight makes my dick twitch.
“I’m sorry,” I mutter. “We can’t. This is a mistake.”
“Why?”
Because you mean too much for me to destroy you.
“Because I’ve had too much to drink,” I lie. “I’m not thinking clearly.”
Disbelief fills her eyes. Then she starts to laugh. “Do you ever get tired of it?”
I gulp. “Of what?”
“These stories you tell yourself. That you’re too drunk. That you’re a fuckboy who’s incapable of catching feelings. That your dick is all you can offer a woman. That you can’t succeed as a musician unless you do it without a shred of help from anybody.”
The accusation throws me off-kilter. I don’t even know what to say to it, but she doesn’t give me the chance anyway.
“You’re like some old dude who’s so set in his ways that he can’t adapt to new experiences or change with the times.
Except in your case, you’ve committed so fucking hard to this story of who Wyatt Graham is, it’s like you can’t see all the other paths you can take.
And that’s what keeps you stuck in your life. ”
“I’m not stuck,” I mutter, discomfort squeezing my chest. “It’s just writer’s block, for fuck’s sake.”
“No, it’s everything. But fine. Pretend I’m wrong.” She brushes past me, jostling my shoulder.
“Blake, stop. Come on.”
“What?” she says, keeping her back to me.
She sounds cold and unimpressed. “I’m not jumping off the roof anymore, so just relax.
I’m going inside, back to my room, where I don’t have to listen to your goddamn bullshit anymore.
” She pauses at the stairs, finally sparing me a look. “Is that all right with you, Daddy?”
I clench my teeth. “Blake—”
“Fuck off.”
She gives me the finger, then disappears down the stairs.