Chapter 28 #2
Another name. Another hit.
I turned slowly to Wyatt. “That’s—”
“My brother,” he said flatly.
I blinked. Once. Twice. “Natalie’s last name is Dane, too.”
Sasha nodded. “She married Ethan Dane.”
Wyatt closed his eyes. “So, the mayor is my sister-in-law.”
“And the hotel owner,” I said weakly, “is also your sister-in-law.”
“Yes.”
I laughed. It came out a little hysterical, a little breathless. “You’re going to have to explain everything.”
Wyatt opened his eyes and looked at me then—really looked at me—overwhelmed, wrecked, and so clearly out of his depth, it almost hurt.
He nodded, already moving toward the elevator. “I will.”
The doors closed behind us. And I felt him settle.
We stepped into the suite moments later.
For a moment, neither of us moved.
The suite was quiet in that expensive way. Pale walls. Tall windows with the harbor glinting beyond them. A small kitchenette. A sofa that looked like it had never been sat on. It smelled faintly of citrus cleaner and something floral, like the hotel was trying very hard not to intrude.
I took it in with a different lens now—not as a splurge or a temporary indulgence, but as a bridge.
A place to land while everything else shifted into place.
Somewhere I could stay for a few weeks—maybe longer—while I got settled, started the job, and looked for something permanent that actually felt like home.
No rush. No pressure. Space to move deliberately instead of scrambling.
Wyatt stood inside the door, hands braced on his hips, chest rising and falling like he’d just run a mile. His eyes were on me, but unfocused, like he was seeing several versions of me at once and trying to figure out which one was real.
And I realized I didn’t feel transient anymore.
I felt … anchored. This was my city.
I took a step closer.
“Hey,” I said softly.
That did it.
He dragged a hand down his face and let out a sound that was half laugh, half wreckage. “Jesus, Soph. I thought—” He stopped himself, jaw tightening. “I couldn’t find you. Sasha said you’d be back soon, but your phone was off and I—”
“I know,” I said. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t trying to disappear.”
I didn’t mention the irony. He had disappeared on me only hours ago.
Wyatt’s eyes snapped back to mine. “I know that. I do. I just—” He shook his head once, sharp. “I’ve had a day.”
That was an understatement, if I’d ever heard one.
“Okay,” I said, calm by choice. “Sit down. Or don’t. But you’re not doing this standing like you’re about to bolt.”
A corner of his mouth twitched despite himself.
He dropped onto the edge of the sofa, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he was holding himself together by force. I stayed where I was for a second longer, watching him, clocking the tension in his shoulders, the way his leg bounced once before he stilled it.
Then I crossed the room and sat beside him.
Not touching. Close enough to matter.
“I took a job,” I said.
His head came up so fast it was almost comical. “What?”
“I know,” I said quickly. “Bad timing. But also … good timing? Natalie offered it. Community Response Manager. We can talk about it later, if you need me to slow down.”
He stared at me, blinking like his brain was buffering. “You … took a job.”
“I did.”
“In Charleston.”
“Yes.”
He leaned back against the sofa, staring up at the ceiling for a beat like he was recalibrating reality. “Of course, you did.”
I tilted my head. “That didn’t sound angry.”
“It’s not,” he said. “It’s just—” He laughed under his breath, rough and disbelieving. “You’re over here building a life and I’m finding out my entire existence is a fucking government experiment.”
That stopped me.
“What?” I said quietly.
He looked at me then. And something in his expression shifted.
Decision.
“Okay,” he said. “We’re doing this. No more half-truths.”
My pulse quickened, but I didn’t interrupt.
“You know how, when we saw each other at UT orientation after high school, I told you my father was gone?”
I nodded.
“My father is alive,” he said.
The words landed heavy, but I didn’t recoil. Didn’t rush to fill the space.
“I met him today,” Wyatt continued. “At Dominion Hall.”
I inhaled slowly. “Okay.”
“He didn’t abandon us,” he said, voice tight. “He disappeared. On purpose. Because of … things. Programs. People. Stuff I don’t even fully understand yet.”
“Wyatt,” I said gently, “you don’t have to give me the footnotes right now.”
His gaze softened at that. Just a fraction.
“There are fourteen other men at Dominion Hall,” he said. “They’re my brothers. Half-brothers.”
I blinked. “Fourteen.”
He nodded once. “Yeah.”
I let that sit, then reached out, resting my hand on his forearm.
“That’s a lot,” I said.
“You’re taking this better than I am.”
I smiled faintly. “I’ve had some practice surviving information that rearranges your sense of self. And I’m a counselor, remember?”
That got a real look from him.
“I ran,” he said then. “This morning. Not from you. Toward answers. But I left without explaining, and I hate that I did that to you.”
I squeezed his arm. “I know why you ran.”
His throat bobbed. “I don’t want to run from you. Ever. But I need you to understand—I’m not steady right now.”
“I do understand,” I said. “And I’m still here.”
He turned fully toward me then, searching my face like he was afraid he’d imagined that part.
“I tried to find you because everything in my life just exploded,” he said. “And the only thing that made sense was you.”
The room felt smaller. More intimate.
“I don’t need you to fix me,” he added quickly. “I just—needed to see you. To know you were real.”
I slid my hand from his arm to his chest, feeling his heart hammering under my palm. “I am.”
He covered my hand with his, pressing it there like an anchor. “You took a job,” he said again, softer this time. “You’re staying.”
“Yes.”
“For you?” he asked.
“For me,” I said without hesitation. “And because my life makes more sense here. With or without anyone else.”
Something loosened in him at that. Like the answer freed him instead of binding him.
“I’m proud of you,” he said quietly.
The words hit harder than the job offer had.
“Thank you,” I whispered.
We sat there for a long moment, just breathing. Letting the weight of everything settle without crushing us.
Finally, I tipped my forehead against his shoulder. “You booked an extended stay suite without even asking me.”
He huffed a soft laugh. “Are you complaining?”
“Not at all,” I said. “I’m glad you did.”
His arm came around me then, slow and careful, like he was asking permission with his body.
I went willingly.