9. Wyatt
WYATT
I stare at the front door of the Bardot house and realize I’ve never been in this situation before and I’m not going to lie meeting my soulmate’s family is terrifying.
I ring the bell and juggle the fucking flowers and bottle of wine. My palms are slick. I’m supposed to be the guy who keeps his shit together under sniper fire, but right now I’d rather bodycheck a stampede of crazed groupies than walk through this door.
It opens fast, and June Bardot stands in the frame.
She’s about five-four, auburn hair streaked with silver, and sharp blue eyes that seem to see right into my soul.
She’s wearing a floral blouse tucked into jeans, and her arms are crossed in the universal pose of “we’ll see if you’re worth my daughter’s time.
” She gives me a once-over, no apology, then sets her mouth in a polite smile.
“Wyatt,” she stares unblinking. “Come in.” She steps aside and I enter, boots barely making a sound on the glossy hardwood. “Please call me June.”
Inside, it’s all family photos and weird, homey art.
Every surface seems to have a story. I see a crooked vase holding three petrified roses, a faded theater poster with a hand-written “Congratulations, Naomi!” in gold marker, the glass bowl of candy sitting on the hall table.
It’s lived-in, not staged, and the air smells like roasted chicken and something spicy.
“I hope you like Pinot.” I hand her the bottle of wine I grabbed from Roman’s extensive collection. He assured me this will impress so I’m believing him.
June closes the door behind me with a deliberate click. “Thank you for the wine,” she says, taking it from me. She doesn’t look at the label.
“These are also for you,” I say, and my voice comes out with a goddamn hitch that shows how fucking nervous I am.
Her eyebrows go up as her steely eyes soften a little. “I hope you’re not just buttering me up.” She gives me a tentative smile.
I look her dead in the eye. “Is it working?” I pull on my collar theatrically. “Cause I’ve never tried to impress a mother before.” I lay my cards on the table.
“No one has been worth the effort?” her eyes harden again.
“No,” I shake my head. “I haven’t ever dated. I was too busy dealing with rockstars who acted like toddlers to even consider subjecting someone to that lifestyle.”
Her mouth opens and closes silently for a few seconds before she asks, “Seriously?”
“It’s part of why I wanted to leave that lifestyle. I’m ready to settle down. It seems the universe decided to have mercy on me when it dropped the most wonderful woman in the world right into my life.”
“Holy shit.” She breathes. “You’d better not be spinning lines or you’ll find out just how Bardot women deal with assholes.”
“I’ve already seen Bardot women in action and I’m not brave enough to piss one of you off.” I give a fake shudder.
She lets out a bark of laughter and, just like that, some of the tension dissipates. She sets the flowers on the counter and starts hunting for a vase, calling out, “Naomi! Your young man is here!”
I hear a thump from somewhere upstairs, then footsteps. My entire nervous system runs on red alert.
Naomi appears at the top of the stairs, hair down, wild, in a sleeveless green dress that looks criminally good on her.
Her mouth splits into a huge smile when she sees me.
She bounds down the steps and closes the distance in three seconds flat, then wraps her arms around my waist. She smells like vanilla and heat.
I pull her close and kiss her, just a quick one, but it crackles anyway.
“Hey,” she says, low and private. “You survived the front lines.”
“So far,” I mutter, but her smile makes it worth it.
Casey arrives with the subtlety of a tornado, skidding around the corner in cutoff shorts and a “Free Britney” tee that hangs off one shoulder. Her hair is wild, two streaks of pink on either side, and her eyes are already locked on me like she’s about to cross-examine a hostile witness.
“Hello, Wyatt,” she says, folding herself onto a bar stool and grabbing the wine bottle off the counter.
She spins it, inspecting the label. “You charmed mom. Let’s see what you can do with me.
” These three women come as a package deal and I’m ready to keep them all.
I haven’t had a family in years and this feels like coming home.
“I’m Casey. Your worst nightmare and also your new little sister. ”
“Good to meet you, Casey.” I look over at Naomi, who’s watching with love shining from her blue eyes. “I’ve always wanted a sister.”
June finally finds a vase and starts shoving the stems in with gentle violence. “Naomi, can you help set the table?” she calls, then turns to me. “You drink wine, Wyatt?”
“Yeah. But you don’t have to?—”
“Nonsense,” she says. “You brought it, we’re going to drink it.” Her tone brooks no argument.
I follow Naomi into the dining room, where the table is already half-set. She nudges me with her hip and whispers, “Relax. You’re doing great. Casey only bullies people she likes.”
“I really like both your mother and sister,” I say, and she snuggles against me. “And I can see where you get your spunk from.”
“I’m glad.” She breathes and pulls my head down for a kiss. As her soft lips move under mine, I almost forget we’re standing in the middle of her mother’s dining room.
June comes in with the vase and sets it on the table, then gestures for everyone to sit. I end up across from her, with Naomi on my left and Casey on my right. The wine is poured, the roast chicken is brought out, and for a minute it’s just normal, quiet, even. But it doesn’t last.
“So, Wyatt,” June says as she serves up the chicken. “Naomi tells me you’re head of security at the club now.”
I knew the goddamn interrogation was coming. I nod. “Just started a few weeks ago. Still figuring it out.”
She arches an eyebrow. “I hear that’s a… unique clientele.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Casey jumps in, waving a fork. “Did you really used to be a bodyguard for Steel Pulse? Or is that just a rumor?”
I smirk. “It’s true. Ten years of pure hell.”
Casey nearly chokes on her mashed potatoes. “Holy shit. I saw them in Dallas last summer. The crowd was insane.”
Naomi gives her a look. “Language, Case.”
Casey rolls her eyes. “You swear more than I do. Anyway, what was the craziest thing you ever had to do? Like, did you ever have to punch a fan or tase someone?”
I catch June’s expression of part horror, part interest. “No tasers. But once in Toronto, I walked into a hotel room and had to pull a guy off the drummer. He was naked, covered in green glitter, and yelling about intergalactic soulmates.”
All three women chuckle. “That’s so gross. What did you do?”
“Threw him in the elevator and closed the doors before he could get out. We always stayed on locked floors so he couldn’t get back in without a code.”
June sips her wine and watches me with that slow, measuring gaze. “Were you always in that line of work?”
“No, ma’am,” I say. “Started in construction, but it wasn’t for me so I decided to give security a try.”
She nods, as if she’s filing that away for later. “Where’s your family?”
I hesitate a half-second, then say, “Just me. I’m an only child. My parents died a long time ago.”
Naomi squeezes my hand under the table. She knows this part, but it’s still not fun to say out loud.
June’s voice softens, just a little. “I’m sorry to hear that.”
“Thank you.”
I shrug and add. “Roman Sterling is technically my cousin. And a few others, but they’re mostly scattered or boring. I don’t see them much.”
Naomi jumps in, steering the conversation. “Wyatt’s house is amazing, Mom. He’s got a grill that’s probably bigger than your car.”
“I’m hoping he’ll let me try out his grill one day,” June says, but there’s a glint in her eye now. A challenge, but a fun one.
“You can use my grill any time.” I tell her. “Consider it a family grill.”
For a while, we eat and talk about nothing important. Casey describes her disaster of a prom date and her ex-boyfriend. I already hate the little motherfucker who dared to break her heart. I make a mental note to find out more about him in case I need to teach him a lesson in the future.
June explains her obsession with learning French via podcast and I ask her demonstrate her skills. “Parlez-vous francais?” She asks me if I speak French.
"Only,” I draw on my very limited French, “où est la salle de bain.” I made sure I knew how to find the bathroom in every country Steel Pulse every toured.
“That’s a pretty good thing to know.” She laughs and I relax feeling at home. The jokes fly, the wine flows, and for the first time in a long time, I feel like I’m not just visiting someone else’s life.
After dinner, June makes coffee and brings out a chocolate pie. Casey demolishes her slice in under a minute, then starts scrolling her phone. Naomi helps her mom clear the table, their movements so in sync I realize they’ve been doing this dance their entire lives.
I end up alone with June at the table, the low hum of voices in the background. She watches me, then says, “You seem like a good man, Wyatt.”
I hold her gaze. “I try. Most days, I don’t screw it up too bad.”
She sets her cup down and leans in. “If you hurt my daughter, I’ll make your life living hell?—”
“I won’t,” I say, cutting her off. “I love Naomi more than life itself. I’d rather cut off my own hand than cause her any pain.”
She nods, then sits back, satisfied. “Good. I’ll hold you to that.”
A minute later, Naomi comes back, cheeks flushed from the kitchen heat. “Ready to go?” she asks, but the way she says it makes it sound like a question only I can answer.
I stand, thank June, and promise Casey I’ll come back with stories about the club next time. Casey smirks and says, “Don’t forget to invite me to your next security breach.”
Naomi walks me to the door, fingers laced through mine. Outside, the air is cool and full of night-blooming flowers and the faintest hint of cut grass.
“I’m sorry if that was—” she starts.
“Don’t be,” I cut her off. “They’re great. You’re great.”
She smiles, then kisses me, slow and careful. “Drive safe.”
“I’ll text when I’m home.”
I walk back to my SUV feeling lighter than I have in years. I drive home with the windows down, the night air sharp and sweet, and the taste of her lips on mine.
For the first time, I start to believe in things like luck. And maybe, just maybe, love at first sight.
The first thing I notice when I get back to my house is how goddamn quiet it is. Fucking hell, I need to find a way to convince Naomi to move in before I lose my goddamn mind.
A few days later, Naomi steps in and slips off her shoes by the door and drops her purse on the counter.
She pads across the living room floor like she’s lived here all her life warming me up from the inside out.
She’s wearing an oversized hoodie I gave her last week, the sleeves swallowing her hands, and she looks so fucking cute it physically hurts.
She grins, then tucks herself into the corner of the couch. “Sit with me?”
She doesn’t have to ask me twice. I drop onto the sofa and wrap my arm around her shoulders.
She nudges me, soft. “What’s wrong?”
“I missed you yesterday,” I admit. Our schedules didn’t line up this week and I had to work two days without her. It fucking sucked to spend nine hours without seeing her.
“Wanna talk about it, or just sit here and let me think up new ways to distract you?”
“Depends,” I say, “Are your ways legal in this state?”
She gives a dramatic sigh. “You wound me, sir. I am a respectable lady.”
I snort. “Says the woman who let me eat her out on the kitchen counter last week.” Just remembering the encounter causes my cock to turn to stone in my jeans. Fuck. I need to start wearing looser pants when Naomi is around.
She rolls her eyes and curls tighter against me. “I regret nothing.”
Her fingers drift over my arm, tracing the pattern of the tattoo she always pretends not to be obsessed with. I want to freeze this moment, live inside it. But I know what’s coming next.
“Can I ask you something?” she says.
“Anything.”
She looks up at me, her eyes huge and serious. “You never talk about your parents.”
I stiffen. Not because I’m ashamed but because I know this is the test. The part where honesty might scare my soulmate off.
I shift, pulling her onto my lap so she’s facing me. “You really want to know?”
“Yeah,” she says, and I can tell she means it. “I want to know everything about you.”
“My mom and dad were…famous,” I begin, running my hands through her curls. “Janelle and Linus Byrne of the rock band, Burned.”
Her face goes blank for a second. Then she screeches, “You’re kidding. Your parents were in Burned?” I’ve spent the last fifteen years trying to run from my family reputation.
“Yeah.” I wait for her to laugh or ask if I’m making it up, but she doesn’t.
“Oh my god, Wyatt. The Byrnes were like, rock royalty. My mom used to play their stuff on repeat. It was all over the news when their plane crashed.” Her eyes soften. She cups my face, thumb stroking along my jaw. “I’m so sorry.”
I shrug, because it’s been years and I’m good at pretending it doesn’t matter anymore. “I was seventeen when they died. Luckily, the Sterlings stepped in. Roman’s dad was my godfather and they did their best to contain the chaos.”
She’s quiet, processing. “Did you want to be a musician, too?”
I laugh. “I can’t carry a tune in a bucket. I always excelled at maintaining control and order, which made me an ideal candidate for a bodyguard."
She rests her forehead against mine. “I’m glad you finally told me about them.”
“I didn’t want to scare you off.” I swallow, suddenly nervous. “I need you more than I need my next breath.”
“Nothing could scare me off,” she says, no fear. “I lo?—”
I need her to know the rest before she finishes so I cut her off. “I inherited a shitload of money when they died. Like, obscene wealth. But I didn’t want it. So I put it all in the bank and tried to forget about it. I live off what I make now. The rest just…sits there.”
Naomi blinks several times like I’m speaking another language. “I still love you, even if you’re a trust fund baby.”
“Thank god.” I kiss her soft lips until we’re both breathing hard. “I love you, too, fever. I’ll never get enough of you.”