20. CHAPTER 20
I pull two cheap mugs I found at a thrift store out of the cupboard by the fridge. Pure luck that I bought both when I never have company, but they’re a cute little set. After putting them on the counter, I secure my long hair into a ponytail while waiting for the coffeepot to turn off.
We’ve spent the last couple of days just recouping and resting at my place while he adjusts to the changes in his body. He’s adapting pretty well but says I help calm him further, so it’s easier when I’m around. I’ve been trying to practice my glamouring and isolating single senses. I haven’t even tried to teach him either yet because he’s still trying to navigate the basics of being a Vanamisch.
It’s also an adjustment for us both to be staying with someone else. Neither of us has had anyone around this consistently since we were children. It’s helping us get to know more about each other too—like, I knew he still struggled with the trauma of Hope’s passing, but I didn’t realize just how much. He wakes from nightmares more nights than not. His pain, sorrow, and guilt flood through our bond into me. I hold him and try to calm him, but we need to find a way for him to release more of that. I’m not sure if it’s always been this bad or if it’s worse now because everything’s heightened with the change.
For me, I’m struggling having someone here with me. Someone who can feel what I feel. I’m not used to trusting others. I’ve always been on the run and taking on new personas. Fuck, I don’t even know who I really am. I’ve lost so many pieces of myself along the way. What’s still real and still a part of me?
The machine switches off, and I pour two cups of black coffee, my thoughts swirling more than the steam billowing up from the mugs. We haven’t talked about what this means for us, as in us together. I’m assuming we’ll live together simply because we both get physically ill apart. But then, that means I’m staying here, in Chicago. My stomach flutters with excitement while my shoulders tense from all the unknowns. I haven’t put down roots since I was a kid.
But I can’t keep running. Patrick will just follow me. And Tilly’s right; it needs to end. I have more than myself to worry about now. I need to protect Wyatt.
“What are you stressing so much about before we’ve even had coffee?” He walks out of the bathroom, hair still damp from his shower and a towel riding dangerously low on his hips.
I lick my lips, zoning in on the water droplets running down his chiseled abs to the deep V, disappearing beneath the towel.
He chuckles. “You know I can smell your arousal now, right?”
“I wasn’t trying to hide it.” My gaze rises to follow the sharp line of his jaw to the lickable cleft on his chin.
“Is that so?” He saunters over to the counter separating the kitchen and living room. “I thought you didn’t have time.”
I sigh in disappointment. “I don’t. But I can still enjoy the view.” I slide a cup towards him.
He grabs his black-framed glasses off the counter. “What time do you have to be at the café? And are you sure you can’t be a little late?” He wiggles his eyebrows at me with a playful smirk.
“Three PM, and I probably shouldn’t be late on my first day back after so much medical leave.”
“I understand.” He leans across the small counter to brush a light kiss to my lips. “I’ll be there right when your shift ends to pick you up.”
I look down, picking at the peeling edge of the old laminate countertop. “I’m really nervous about it.” I nibble on my bottom lip.
“I know, I can feel you. Which just makes me want to be your distraction even more.” His thumb brushes my lip free of my teeth, and I look up at him from the ruined countertop. “But why are you so nervous?”
“I… I’m worried about them judging me for being gone so long. I’m worried about you adjusting. And I’m still really worried about Elena and… I guess Patrick, too. I don’t know, it all just feels like too much, and I want to stay in this apartment instead of dealing with any of it.”
He circles the bar and pulls me into his arms, his chin resting on top of my head. “It’ll be alright. They won’t be judging you. They’ll be happy you’re back. And I’m adjusting okay. Plus, we won’t be apart that long. As for Elena, we haven’t heard from Tilly yet, and no news is good news. And Patrick… Well, I don’t have much experience there, but you aren’t in this alone, and we’ll handle whatever comes our way. We have each other, and we’ll just take things one day at a time.”
I sigh into his chest, my shoulders relaxing, and wrap my arms around his bare waist. “Thanks, Dr. Phil.” I poke his ribs.
He squirms and tsks at me but keeps me in his embrace. “I’m way superior to Dr. Phil, and you know it.” He nips my ear playfully.
I hardly know him, and I fucking love being with him. This is so new to me. Like how can I trust him so completely and yet still feel like I can’t trust anyone?
No, that’s not true. I started trusting people with Elena. Then Wyatt came along and stole a piece of my heart. Hell, I even kind of trust Tilly. I’m changing… Isn’t this what I always wanted? A normal life with friends, family, and a home?
But I’ll never have it with Patrick still hunting me down.
That confirms it. I’m not running and hiding anymore. This ends now, or I’ll never have what I want. A small part of me wants to hunt him down just so it’ll be over sooner, but that’s a waste of time and energy.
No. I know he’ll find me. And when he does, we’ll end this.
Wyatt squeezes me tighter, no doubt picking up on my emotions again. I snuggle closer, letting myself be momentarily distracted.
It’s almost closing time, and the rush finally ended. I’m busy restocking supplies and cleaning for tomorrow’s shift, but when I turn to disassemble and wipe down the espresso machine, unease pricks down my spine. I’ve had this itchy feeling like someone’s been watching me all day, but every time I look around, there’s no one.
Another guy escaped with Patrick. Could they be working together? Would I even notice someone watching me? My stomach churns.
Blah. Stop it. Nothing weird happened today. Everyone was nice and understanding about my accident and recovery time. The weird feeling excluded, it was actually one of my better shifts. And yet, I can’t drop this feeling. There’re only three customers left—one typing away on a laptop in the corner and two girls giggling about boys over blended lattes. None of which is a cause for alarm.
I’m just freaking myself out over nothing. Only fifteen more minutes, and then I can leave. The door chimes, and my chest immediately tightens, as if expecting danger.
Glancing up, I relax at Wyatt’s warm smile.
“I felt your worry and thought I’d swing by a bit early. Just to keep you company. I promise I won’t get in your way.”
Damn, I love him. Wait, what? Love? My face warms, and I chew on my bottom lip.
He chuckles, cocking his head. “It’s okay. I love you too.” Then I feel his emotions. He’s focusing and pushing the feelings out in powerful waves. They wash over me like cool water on a steaming hot day, cleansing any of my lingering embarrassment and filling the spaces with his love. I suck in a breath and take a tiny step back.
“Sorry. That was that a bit strong? I’m still getting the hang of this bond and experiencing each other’s emotions.”
I clear my throat. “No. I mean, yes, it was intense. But it was good.” My voice is breathy. I smile and turn away to finish cleaning the equipment.
“I’ll just be over here.” He nods to a corner table.
It wasn’t even a super busy shift, and yet I’m still beat. Wyatt’s supporting most of my weight while we trudge up the stairs to my apartment.
“Do you have to work tomor—” Wyatt cuts off mid-sentence.
My door’s slightly ajar, and the knob’s busted off, sitting in the middle of the hallway.
“Wait here.”
I reach to stop him, but he’s too quick and already slipping inside. He shouldn’t have to deal with this. I’m the one with a mentally unhinged family member and all the baggage. This isn’t his problem. My hands tremble, but I force myself forward and peek inside the darkened apartment.
Wyatt makes his way back to the front door at the same time. “It’s empty. But why don’t you pack a bag, and we can go to my place until your door is fixed?”
I nod and go to my bedroom, tossing clothes and toiletries into a small tote. “What if it’s him and he follows us?”
“Wouldn’t be much different from waiting here for him to attack. At least there we have a functioning door.”
I return to the living room with a single tote bag over my shoulder. One nice thing about living light is I can pack fast. “Yeah, you’re right.” I lean against the hallway doorframe, longingly looking back at my bed. I want nothing more than to crawl into it and crash, but I don’t feel safe here right now.
“You ready?”
I yawn. “Yeah.”
“Here, let me?” He takes the tote from me and holds my hand while we walk back out. “You can rest in the car.”
“Yeah, okay.” I yawn again.
The highway passes in a blur, which would normally lull me to sleep, but my mind’s still racing. Wyatt’s hand rests on my thigh, helping to physically calm me, at least.
“This might sound soon, and you can totally say no if you aren’t ready. But I was…” His hand rises from my thigh to rub at the back of his neck. “Yeah, um, I was thinking, with this mating bond in place and us wanting to spend all our spare time together anyway.” He clears his throat and takes the exit off the highway. “Would you want to just move into my place?” His hand lands on the steering wheel and his fingertips tap nervously against the leather cover.
He pulls up to a stoplight and glances over at me sheepishly. I’m still processing the rushed words, but he continues filling the momentary silence. “Or it doesn’t have to be my place. We can get your door fixed and use yours. Or find a new place together. Or—”
“Hey.” I cut his rambling off. “Breathe.”
“Right.” He takes in a breath, letting it out slowly. “Sorry. This is new to me.”
“Me too. Between Patrick and the foster homes, I haven’t had the best experiences living with others.”
He nods, clenching his jaw.
“But yes, I want to live with you. I have no attachment to my place, so I’ll just stay with you, and we can figure the rest out from there.”
A huge grin spreads across his face, his joy booming through our bond. “Sounds perfect.”
He pulls into a much fancier and newer apartment complex and parks under a covered awning. He snatches my bag from the floorboard, and I follow him to the elevator. His place is on the sixth floor. It’s bright, modern, and warm.
Way cozier than mine. Some small part of me can actually picture staying here.
“It’s so weird to be contemplating staying in one place. I’ve been running for so long.”
“A good weird, though, right?” He drops my bag on the couch.
“Yes, a good weird. It’s refreshing.” I’m in awe, turning in circles and taking it all in.
“Well, make yourself at home. The kitchen and dining nook are off to the left.” He sweeps his arm to the right. “And the bathroom and bedroom are off that way. I’ll clear out drawers and shelves in both for you.”
“Ha. Don’t trouble yourself. I don’t have much stuff anyway.”
“We can work on fixing that, too.” He plants a soft kiss on my cheek.
His joy makes it easier to accept this all. He wants this. He wants me here with him, baggage and all.
“Wyatt, pleeeeease!” Hope whines in the voice she knows will get me to do anything.
“I’m not supposed to drive without a parent. It’s only a permit, Hope, not a license.”
She thrusts her hands on her hips and tilts her head mockingly. “Because you never do anything you’re not supposed to do.”
I squint. “What are you getting at?”
“I heard you and Jake talking. I know you skipped class last week and went to the movies. And neither of you have your full license, plus you skipped school.” Her head tilts left and right with a sassy attitude.
“You little rat.” I love her, but I want to throttle her.
“I didn’t tattle on you. I’m just asking for a short ride. I’m boreddd…”
“You wouldn’t really tell on me. We both know that.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But I want to see you drive, and it’s something to do. It doesn’t have to be a long ride. Please, Wy, pretty please.”
“Ugh. Fine. A quick drive to the gas station for snacks, then back home and no mention of it to the parents. We’ll tell them we walked there after school. Got it?”
She jumps up and down excitedly. “Yay, yeah, absolutely.”
“Grab a hoodie. It’s getting chilly.”
She runs off for a jacket, humming to herself, and I snatch the keys from the small wicker basket. She flies down the stairs and out the front door while shoving her arms into her hoodie. I lock the door and follow her to my old used station wagon. I should be more embarrassed by the car, but considering most of my friends don’t even have one yet, I’m pretty proud of it.
We climb in, and I glance over to make sure she’s situated. I check my mirrors, start the ignition, put it in reverse, and inch out of the driveway, checking the rearview mirror.
“This is soooo cool.” Hope’s bouncing in her seat with excitement.
I head down the street. The gas station’s about six blocks over, totally walkable, and even quicker by car. I flip on the windshield wipers and jump when they scrape loudly against the not-wet-enough windshield. It’s just beginning to sprinkle. I flip them off as I turn left, heading further out of the subdivision.
“I want Twizzlers, and SweetTarts, and ohhhh, can we get popcorn too?”
“Sure.” I’m only half listening, white-knuckling the steering wheel. The pavement’s starting to get a glaring sheen that’s making it hard to see the lines.
“I mainly want Twizzlers, lots and lots of Twizzlers.”
“Yeah, I know you—”
A horn blares. I look over just as tires squeal so loudly Hope covers her ears and screams.
And then crunching metal, wood smashing, and glass breaking. The car spins and comes to a crashing halt. Pain flares all over my body. Broken glass from the windshield and windows has sliced up my skin. There’s got to be a bruise on my ribs from me hitting the hard steering wheel. I lift a shaky hand to my throbbing head and try to look around, but I can barely see. Blinking the haze and shock out of my eyes, I look to my right… The windshield in front of her seat is broken outward. And Hope isn’t there.
I bolt straight up in bed, panting, chest aching, tears threatening to fall. My shoulders scrunch up, and I drop my head into my hands. Twenty years, and it still feels like yesterday. The nightmares pulling me back to a time and place out of my control.
How can I possibly move forward, let someone into my heart, build a life of my own when I’m still a broken mess? Still thrust back into past wounds and memories almost nightly. It was all my fault. I never checked her seatbelt. I had a checklist, but I didn’t use it, more worried about getting there and back before my parents got home.
Plus, I should’ve been stronger, more of a role model, and just told her no. Everything would be different if I’d just told her no. We wouldn’t have been at that intersection when the drunk ran the stop sign. We would’ve been safe and sound in our home.
My parents always said they didn’t blame me; they were disappointed I broke the rules, but ultimately it was the drunk driver’s fault. They’ve said that time and time again, yet I still have trouble looking them in the face. I’ve distanced myself so much and hardly ever see them anymore. It’s hard to, knowing I’m part of the reason their little girl is no longer here. I’m part of the reason their marriage crumbled after losing her.
I wheeze in air through my constricting lungs. Hell, I haven’t even been home for holidays in four years. So not only do I fail in the big brother department but in the good son department too.
Arms loop around my bare torso and squeeze tightly. I jar from the surprise and return to reality. Teagan snuggles in closer, as if hugging me will help mend all my broken pieces. My hands drop, brushing her hair from her face.
“It wasn’t your fault.” Her voice is soft against my neck.
We’ve spent days together now, and I’ve had more nightmare nights than ones without. She knows how frequently they come. She’s learned I can’t talk for a bit as all the pieces settle. My brain has to sort through the actual memories, the fake ones, and all the exaggerated bits until I feel secure in my reality again.
But she can feel my emotions through our bond. Something I hated at first, but now I’m growing to like. I can’t hide how I’m feeling which is something I’ve learned how to do well. To block and bury those feelings and deal with them later at home, alone. But I’m not alone anymore, and even if I can’t voice anything right now, she feels it, understands it. She’s here.
She rubs my back slowly while cocooning me in her arms.
“You loved her. She loved you. You didn’t fail her. You were trying to make her happy, and something bad happened. That’s life. Shit happens, and you can’t do anything about it. It wasn’t your fault.”
Therapists have said this stuff to me countless times, but it hits differently in an office at a scheduled time versus after the throes of an intense nightmare. I want to believe her. I want what she says to be true. Or what hope of a life do I have?
“Remember the changes your body just went through. It’s making everything feel more intense. It’ll get better.”
I nod and grip the arms she’s wrapped around me like a life-raft.
That’s good. I’ve surfaced enough to at least be able to answer nonverbally. A small sign I’m coming out of the mental paralysis.
“Would you like some water?”
I shake my head and wrap my arms around her, not wanting her to move yet. My breathing slows. I need to get up and get ready. Today’s my first day back at work, but I woke up before my alarm even went off, so I’m in no rush and just want to cuddle a little longer. Maybe she can hold me tightly enough to mend a few tiny pieces back together. Maybe she could be my salvation?