35. Wyatt #2
“Thank you, thank you,” Wilson’s voice boomed through the speakers. “It’s so great to see so many familiar faces but so many new ones too. I hope you enjoy our island for all it has to offer—”
I pushed the two people at the very front to the side and stepped up between them, looked up at Wilson in his little podium, and used my core to speak up.
“Murder, crime, and drugs. That’s all the island has to offer you, isn’t that right, Wilson?” I said.
I could see the people around me turn to look at me, but I didn’t care. I only cared for Wilson, who looked me dead in the eyes.
He gave me the once-over and then let out a chuckle. “Apologies, everyone. It seems we got ourselves a heckler.”
“Just speaking the truth,” I shouted and stepped a little closer before I spun around to face the people. “The people deserve to know who we voted for. They all deserve to know the criminal you are.”
There was a collective gasp as some faces contorted. Others grimaced. A few tutted.
Wilson’s laugh cut through all of it and pierced through me.
“I think everyone knows out of the two of us who the criminal is,” he said, and I glared at him.
To the untrained eyes, he seemed…entertained, not at all disturbed by my interruption, but I could see underneath the mask. I knew him better than most people here. He was pissed.
With one swift motion, I hoisted myself up on the stage and approached him.
“Oh, you mean the dead cop you had murdered and pinned on me? Yeah, he probably forgot to tell you that in his most recent memo.” I turned to the audience who had started getting loud and dissatisfied with me.
I didn’t let that deter me. There was a purpose to it all. I was doing it to help everyone, even if they hated me for the next few minutes.
“Do you know he’s the man behind all the recent uptick in crime around here?
He’s got his fingers dipped in all the pies.
Drugs, weapons trafficking, racketeering.
The mastermind behind it all. He put up a front for everybody, the philanthropist. The good Samaritan.
He was stabbing you in the back this whole time. ”
Two cops ran up to the stage to seize me. I was ready for them. I didn’t resist. I didn’t put up a fight. I let them cuff me.
“He’s a criminal. He ran from the mafia in New York and built his own family here. On our doorstep. He set my bar on fire. He set Luna’s on fire. He killed Mr. Rogers.”
People booed. The cops put my hands as far behind me as they could and tried to push me off the stage.
“I’m really sorry, everyone. It seems we’ve got a crazy man on our hands. Wyatt Goodman has clearly lost his damn mind. We all know none of this is true.”
“Are you sure about that?” I shouted, and just as I was being forced to take the step down to get off the stage, the speakers came to life.
The screen behind Wilson flashed, the logo for Winterfest was replaced by the image of a warehouse and two figures.
“So you turn to crime? Really? How’s that going for you?” my voice crackled through the sound system.
The police captain in the video shrugged.
“It’s going a lot better than you think. Or it was, until you came back and started digging your nose into our business.”
The officers behind me stopped pushing me and stared at the screen. I did the same.
“So what’s the endgame here, Hank? Why did you bring me here?”
“Oh, I didn’t. The big guy did.”
“Wilson,” the me from the video said.
“Did you have to cause a scene? He was happy to let you run your little group of pathetic retired heroes and no one needed to get hurt. But you had to ruin it.”
“What is this?” Wilson shouted. “Stop this. Stop this right now.”
He looked at me, and I could see the panic in his eyes. Could see his composure drop little by little.
I smiled.
Footsteps echoed in the speakers as Wilson came into view, folded up his sleeves, and started punching me. Then…
“You think I wanted to kill Mr. Rogers? He did nothing to me. He never hurt me. But you and your stupid men—”
The audience gasped. I turned to see their disbelief written across everyone’s faces.
“Make this stop. Stop this right now. This is doctored. It’s fake.” Spittle came out of Wilson’s mouth as he shouted—or screeched, as was the case.
I glanced at the cops and raised an eyebrow.
“You might want to get him instead of me,” I said.
Before they could react, there was screaming from the side of the stage, and I looked at the direction of a parting audience as Hank, who had been standing next to his men, tried to make a run for it.
Dakota, his son, was quick on his feet and jumped on top of his father, tackling him to the ground.
On the stage, Wilson walked back and to the side, but before he could jump off and make his escape, Alpha Team stepped up and surrounded the stage.
“The jig is up, Wilson. You’re done,” I shouted at him, and he turned.
He snarled and ran toward me. Gone was the composed suited man who was so proper and kind. This was a wild animal out for blood.
He leapt across to me. His eyes were almost bloodshot. His hands stretched out in front of him, aimed at my throat. Before he could touch me, the cops who had arrested me grabbed him and tried to take him down.
He pushed them off. He kicked and punched and screamed. He got free and turned back to me.
But I was done being kicked to the ground by him. I stepped to the side and ducked away from his punch and then threw all my weight on him.
He stumbled but found his footing and made another attempt at knocking me down, but I had far more experience than him.
I hadn’t spent the best part of my life in SEAL Team 13 for nothing.
Even with my hands tied behind me, I could take down most men.
Especially frantic men like him. Gone was the pain from yesterday.
The bruising I’d collected was forgotten.
I was sure it’d come back to bite me later, but now, I was nothing but a tank with one goal in mind.
Taking down enemy number one.
Every time he attempted to hit me, I slipped to the side. Once, twice. I spun around and turned my back on the cops, and Wilson faced me again.
I saw the hatred in his eyes. It seeped out of him like some sort of ghoul ready to infect anything in his path. I was sick of him.
This time, when he came for me, I didn’t move. I shifted my weight to my middle and pushed my stomach out, bracing for impact.
He, predictably, punched my stomach. And I, in return, headbutted him. I let out a loud growl, exhaling the pain that coursed through my body from the impact.
He stumbled back. I didn’t waste my chance. I closed the distance between us and headbutted him again. This time, I moved my feet behind his.
He fell to the ground groaning, and I knelt on top of him, trapping him under my weight.
“You bastard. You fucking bastard. You’re dead. You hear me? You’re dead.”
The crowd booed. He tried to hit me again, but the cops he’d knocked down came to my aid and seized him.
As he was led to the closest police car, the video kept playing on the screen, his confession loud and clear for everyone to hear. The crowd booed, and once he was carried away and I was left on stage with another cop who uncuffed me, they turned quiet, staring at me.
I felt their gaze penetrating to my very core, and I gulped.
I thanked the officer behind me and looked at the microphone. With small, hesitant steps, I approached it and leaned closer.
I cleared my throat. “I’m sorry for this. I…I couldn’t let this man destroy the island I love. The people I love,” I said.
I looked at the crowd, tried to show them I meant it. That I wasn’t the monster they all thought I was. The monster I thought I was.
His eyes looked back at me.
They were a lighthouse in a sea of strangers. He looked at me with pride, but also worry. I could read it in his expression. I might not have known him for long, but it was as if I’d known him a lifetime.
Someone started applauding. Then another. It was infectious. Soon everyone was cheering for me when moments ago they had been booing me. They didn’t care. They weren’t important. I had been trying to protect them, but they’d have just as easily taken me down over Wilson.
But he was there. And he was important. He mattered. We mattered.
Warren was right. I couldn’t lose Ari. I couldn’t imagine a life without him. He’d made the past couple of weeks the most beautiful I’d ever experienced, even amidst the dark cloud over our heads.
But now the dark cloud had parted, the sun had risen, and I couldn’t even begin to imagine how beautiful a life with him could be when I didn’t have to look behind my back all the time.
I started walking to the end of the stage. Each step, another ounce of courage. Each step, bringing me closer to him.
When I got to the edge of the stage, he frowned, as if he was wondering what I was doing. Where I was going.
I jumped off and closed the distance between us.
“What are you doing?” he whispered as the crowd around us stared.
“Coming home,” I said.
I put my arm around the small of his back and the other on the side of his face, and as his eyes went wide, I kissed him.
Kissed him with all my mind, body, and soul.
It didn’t matter that I was breathless, that the nerves had rendered me numb and tingly, I kissed him like I’d never kissed him before.
And he kissed me back.
I no longer cared about everyone else. Who was watching and what they thought of me. What they thought of this. Of us.
All I cared about was Ari. He was my life. He was my everything.
Turned out, coming home was as easy as breathing.