Chapter 24 #2
We rode the elevator together, Beth making satisfied little noises like she was cataloging her own victory, Natasha watching me with that steady, quiet warmth that always made me feel safer than I wanted to admit.
The second the door closed behind us in our room, Beth spun and pointed at my neck like she was accusing me in court.
“Show me.”
“Oh, my God.”
“Sophie,” she warned.
I sighed and tilted my chin up, pulling my hair aside.
Beth made a noise that was half gasp, half laugh. “Oh, he bit you.”
“He did not—”
Natasha stepped closer, unbothered, and examined it with the calm of a woman assessing a bruise like it was a weather report. “It’s not too bad.”
Beth grabbed a pillow and hugged it to her chest like she was containing herself. “This is a man who has been thinking about you for twelve years. Of course, it’s not too bad. He’s been practicing restraint on a spiritual level.”
I groaned, covering my face with my hands. “Please, stop talking.”
Beth plopped onto her bed, eyes gleaming. “I’m not stopping. I’ve waited for this. Tell us everything.”
Natasha sat on her bed with her legs crossed, patient. “Only what you want to share.”
I dropped onto the edge of my bed, exhaling. “Wyatt left this morning.”
Beth’s grin dimmed. Not vanished—just sharpened into something more serious. “Okay. How are you feeling about that?”
“Not … spiraling,” I said, and I could hear the pride in my own voice. “I woke up and he was gone, and yes, I had a moment of what the hell, but I don’t think it’s about me.”
Natasha nodded slowly, like that confirmed something she’d already guessed. “That’s a healthy interpretation.”
Beth leaned forward. “Did he leave, like, leave? Or did he go for coffee and come back?”
“He took his stuff,” I said. “But he also took the belt buckle I gave him.”
Beth’s eyes widened. “Oh.”
Natasha’s brows lifted slightly. “That’s significant.”
“It felt significant,” I agreed. “Like he didn’t walk out trying to erase it. He walked out trying to … process it.”
Beth made a face. “Men. Why are they like that?”
“Because feelings terrify them,” I said simply. “And Wyatt’s feelings terrify him more than most.”
Natasha studied me. “And you’re okay giving him space?”
“Yes,” I said without hesitation.
Beth blinked. “Who are you and what have you done with Sophie?”
I smiled, small but sure. “I’m just … done trying to shrink myself into something easy. He knows how I feel. I’m not going to punish him for needing time to catch up to it.”
Beth’s expression softened into something almost proud. “Okay. Damn.”
Natasha tilted her head. “Do you think he’ll call you today?”
“I think he will,” I said.
Not because I needed to believe it.
Because I did.
Beth kicked off her sandals, suddenly energized like we’d moved into planning mode. “Okay, so. Let’s talk logistics.”
“Beth,” I warned.
“No, listen.” She pointed at me. “You said you belong together. Great. Love that. But practical questions still exist. Like: Where does he live? Where do you live? How does that work?”
Natasha nodded. “He said he travels.”
“And he’s military,” Beth added, like she was listing crimes.
I let out a breath and leaned back on my hands, staring at the ceiling for a second. The mark on my neck pulsed faintly like it had its own heartbeat.
“He travels,” I repeated. “Yes. And I’m in Austin.”
Beth gestured wildly. “Is he moving? Are you moving? Is he going to, like, fly in and out like a secret boyfriend?”
I looked at both of them, my voice calm. “We’ll figure it out.”
Beth scoffed. “That’s not an answer.”
“It is,” I said. “Because there are a hundred versions of ‘figure it out’ that are possible. People do long-distance all the time. People relocate. People make hard changes when the thing they want is worth it.”
Natasha watched me closely. “And you think he thinks it’s worth it?”
I didn’t even have to think.
“Yes,” I said. “He’s panicking because he thinks he’s going to ruin it. Not because he doesn’t want it.”
Beth sat back, eyes narrowing like she was revising her mental file on Wyatt Dane. “So, his fear is going to look like distance.”
“Probably,” I said. “But I’m not going to interpret distance as rejection.”
Natasha’s expression softened. “That’s powerful.”
I swallowed, feeling something warm settle in my chest. “I just … know. I know what last night was. And I know what we are.”
Beth pointed at my neck again. “Also, your neck knows.”
“Stop.”
Beth laughed, then sobered a little. “Okay, but real talk. What do you want?”
The question landed like a gentle weight.
I stared at the window where the Charleston light fell across the curtains, thinking of the belt buckle in Wyatt’s pocket. Thinking of Jonesy’s grin in that photograph. Thinking of the way Wyatt had looked at me like home was a person.
“I want us,” I said quietly. “I want the version where we stop circling each other like we’re afraid to touch. I want him to let me be in his life without treating me like a liability. I want to build something that lasts longer than one perfect night.”
Natasha nodded slowly. “And you believe that’s possible.”
“Yes.”
Beth’s voice softened, almost careful. “Even if he tries to run?”
I turned and met her eyes. “Even then.”
Because here was the truth: loving Wyatt didn’t require me to become small.
I could love him and still stay steady in myself.
I could let him have his fear without letting it infect me.
I could give him space without abandoning myself.
Beth stared at me for a second, then made a sound like she was conceding a point she didn’t want to give. “Okay. Fine. You’re annoyingly emotionally healthy.”
Natasha smiled. “It’s not annoying. It’s rare.”
I laughed softly, because something about the way they were both looking at me—teasing and proud and protective—made my throat tighten.
I reached for my phone, not to chase Wyatt, not to demand reassurance, but because I wanted one small act of honesty to anchor the morning.
I opened a new message.
My fingers hovered.
Then I typed:
Me: I woke up and you were gone. I’m not mad. I’m not spiraling. I’m just … here. I hope you’re okay. And I hope you kept the buckle.
I didn’t send another text.
I didn’t add paragraphs.
I didn’t apologize for wanting him.
I hit send.
Beth watched me do it and made a satisfied sound. “That’s hot.”
“It is not hot,” I said, laughing.
Natasha’s eyes warmed. “It’s clear. It’s secure. It gives him space without letting him disappear.”
Exactly.
I set the phone down and exhaled, feeling my body settle even more, as if it approved of my choices.
Outside, Charleston moved on—carriages, tourists, the rhythm of a city that didn’t care about my love story.
But inside me, something had shifted.
I wasn’t the girl begging a man to pick me.
I was a woman who knew what she wanted and trusted herself enough to wait for the right man to rise to it.
And Wyatt—messy, terrified, loyal Wyatt—had already shown me he could.
Now he just had to believe it, too.