Chapter 22
22
Wyatt
S omeone was going to get hurt tonight. If this was a hockey game, my gloves would have been dropped a long time ago and people would be learning some lessons about running their mouths.
If only Syd wasn’t so damn classy about the whole thing. Any comment, any question that seemed to paint her in a negative light, she just pushed it away like it was harmless. Always smiling. Always with her chin held high.
We were inside the lobby of the Staples Center now. The place crowded with musicians and all the overflow that came with them. Managers, producers, agents, record label execs.
In the crowd, I pulled Syd in tight against me so we wouldn’t get separated and I whispered into her ear.
“I’m proud of you.”
Her head whipped up to look at me, the question obvious on her face.
“You could have gone low,” I said. “I don’t know that I would have had as much class.”
She patted my arm like it was nothing and turned to face the crowd.
I hated being stuffed in this too tight suit. I hated the cameras and the impertinent questions. I hated the fake drama.
I hated all of it.
Except I didn’t hate Syd.
At all.
Tricia’s question wasn’t lost on me. How was I fitting into my wife’s life?
Not very well. I’d basically been a pain in the ass this whole week, whining about everything from my suit, to the traffic, to the cameras and reporters, and none of this was about me.
Meanwhile, Syd had put up with all the same shit. Only, she’d smiled and laughed the whole way through. And when the punches came, instead of swinging back, she was the epitome of class and elegance.
“I don’t deserve you,” I said low into her ear.
Again with the head whip, only this time her expression was inscrutable. What was going through that head of hers?
“Why…why would you say that?”
“It’s true. You’re a better person than me. Maybe tougher too.”
She smiled. “I don’t think that’s true.”
“Sydney! Hey, how’s it going?”
We both turned to see Syd’s original fake boyfriend, the boyband singer, Axil.
She lit up at the sight of him, and I could see, despite whatever had gone down between them, they were genuinely friendly. There were hugs between them and then Axil stepped back as if aware of the cameras and how any lingering closeness would be misconstrued all over the place.
“Heard you got married,” he said, turning to face me. “Wyatt Locke, I’m stoked to meet you. I am a huge Peaks fan.”
“Really?” He stretched out his hand and I shook it.
“Yep. My dad and brothers too. I was so bummed you didn’t win the cup.”
“That makes two of us,” I said, weirdly happy to be talking hockey.
“How are you?” Syd asked him. “Still working on your solo album?”
Axil nodded. “I’ve got some songs, but nothing is jumping out yet. Actually, I’m glad I saw you here tonight. I’d love to get your opinion on some of them. Maybe you could punch them up.”
“Really?” She seemed surprised by the suggestion.
“Yeah, I’ve always admired your songwriting. I’ll have my people reach out. Cool?”
“Uh, sure. Yeah. Definitely cool.”
He blended back into the crowd in front of us.
“Someone else sees your song writing brilliance,” I pointed out.
“He was being nice,” she deferred.
I was about to contradict her when I felt someone bump into me from the side. I didn’t take it as being intentional. We were packed in like famous sardines as people made their way into the arena. Guests, Syd explained, would be seated on the floor facing a large stage, while the public would fill up the rest of the arena.
We turned and I recognized the actor immediately. Syd went stiff as a board. I twined our fingers together and stroked the back of her hand with my thumb.
“Oh, sorry,” John Bernard said with a smile as fake as Tyler’s tan. “Sydney. How goes it?”
She nodded her head curtly. “John.”
“You remember Ellie?” John stepped aside to show off an emaciated blonde with fake eyelashes. I couldn’t tell if she was winking at me or if her bottom and top lashes kept getting stuck together.
“Hi, Ellie,” Sydney said tightly.
“Good luck tonight, Sydney,” the blonde said. “May the better artist win and all that.”
“Of course,” Sydney said.
“You must be the husband?” John asked, staring me down. Or should I say up, as I was at least a half a foot taller than him.
I looked down at the hand he offered. It was petty, and again, not worthy of Sydney, but I took his hand in my grip and held tight.
Like I said, someone had to get hurt tonight.
He tried to pull his hand away. I was pretty sure I was close to breaking his pinky finger. I tugged him in tighter and bent down so only he could hear me. “Mention my wife’s name in an interview again and we’ll have words. Understand?”
“Look, I’m not trying to start anything. Dude, seriously, you’re, like, hurting my hand.”
I squeezed tighter and he paled.
“Dude, seriously,” I mocked him.
“Wyatt?” Sydney was tugging on my sleeve. “We need to get to our seats. It’s going to start soon.”
I released John’s hand and he instantly cradled it with his other one against his chest. “Oh, my bad. I guess I don’t know my own strength sometimes.”
We left and made our way down to the floor of the arena. Our seats were only two rows from the stage.
As soon as Syd sat down next to me, I wrapped an arm over her shoulder, which wasn’t easy with her winglets.
“I told you, I don’t need you to fight off my old fake boyfriends,” she said through stiff lips. Everything about her was stiff.
“But it’s so much fun,” I said.
She turned to glare at me and I realized she was actually mad. Her shoulder’s shifted under my arm like she didn’t want me to touch her.
I moved my arm.
“The thing is, Wyatt, when this is over and you’re gone, I have to face the consequences of all of it. On my own.”
The words pierced my heart. The idea of her standing here alone, unprotected, in this world filled with assholes, gutted me.
The host, a late night talk show star I recognized, was on stage starting his monologue. There was the distant sound of laughter around us, but I couldn’t really register it because of the buzzing in my ears.
“What if I didn’t go?” I said, surprising myself with the words. It was one thing to leave her, but it was another thing entirely to leave her alone to deal with the fallout of everything we’d done. The mess we made in Vegas was only slightly smaller.
“What are you talking about?” she asked. The light in her eyes flared and I couldn’t tell if she was happy or angry. “We said this was temporary.”
“I know what we said,” I snapped. “I’m telling you maybe I’m changing my mind.”
“Maybe you’re changing…” her voice was drowned out by applause. The show must have been going to commercial, because everyone started talking amongst themselves.
This wasn’t the time or the place. I knew that. But we were in it now.
“Maybe we just keep going. Until I have to go back to work. That gives us more time.”
“More time for what?” Her lips pressed together tightly. “You said that I was the last woman on the planet you would marry.”
I winced at the reminder.
“All I’m suggesting is that things don’t have to end right now. We can keep seeing each other until-”
“Until what?” she pressed me.
“We reach a natural conclusion.”
Why did those words feel so stupid coming out of my mouth? Why had I even started down this terrible road, in the worst possible place, at the worst possible time? “Let’s talk about this later,” I said, trying to dig myself out of this hole.
“No. Let’s talk about it now. So, what I think you are saying is you want to keep fucking me…for another few weeks or until we reach our natural conclusion? Whichever comes first.”
“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said, trying to salvage this.
“What’s the natural conclusion, Wyatt? When you get sick of me, when you get bored? When you meet the woman who would make a better wife for you than me?”
She was angry. Like spit fire angry. Two presenters were coming out on stage.
“Now isn’t the time to talk about this.”
“No, it isn’t. But you brought it up,” she snapped.
“You don’t need to get angry,” I said.
“You don’t get to tell me how I feel. This whole time…it’s been you calling the shots. How long this lasts, when it stops, where we should go, what we should do, how we should make love.”
Shit. She was getting loud. I looked around to make sure no one could hear us.
“The rules were very clear for me up front and you kept changing them. That’s not fair.”
“This isn’t a game, Syd,” I growled. A woman I didn’t recognize ran up on the stage after her name was called.
Syd’s angry jade eyes were filling with unshed tears. “No, Wyatt. That’s where you’re wrong. All of this has been a game. Excuse me.”
She stood, and before I could stop her, she was stepping over me, then the two people in the row next to us. I turned and watched her walk up the aisle, her wings bouncing behind her.
A fairy bride…on the run.
“Fuck,” I muttered.
Did I go after her? Did I try to explain myself better?
Two other presenters came on stage to announce the winner for best female artist.
Sydney was right. She didn’t win.