Chapter 17
Wyatt isn’t sure who he expected to come through that door, but it absolutely was not her piece of shit husband.
The sight of him feels like a crack in reality, ruining the illusion of domesticity he and Addison have crafted.
There’s a momentary lapse in silence among the group as multiple levels of confusion blanket them.
He casts a glance at Addison, who hasn’t moved an inch or said a word.
Her arms hold Emma close as they stand behind him, her eyes fixed on the man ahead as if he manifested like a ghost from her darkest nightmares.
She looks smaller somehow, folded inward around her daughter, like the only thing she’s learned to expect from this man is another blow.
At first, Wyatt considered that the husband might be a figment of her imagination, conjured up to keep him from stepping over any lines.
As time went on, he realized that wasn’t the case, but beyond assuming him dead at the teeth of a rotter, he hadn’t put much thought into what might happen should they be reunited.
Imagining it always ended the same. With the only person he’s come to care about in what feels like forever, torn away one way or another.
“I thought you were dead,” Addison says.
Her voice doesn’t shake, but the hurt beneath it is unmistakable.
It’s quieter than the anger she gave Wyatt when he confessed to his lies.
Detached in a way that shows she let go of this relationship long before he returned.
“Or that you left us for good. Where have you been all this time?”
There’s a brief flash of guilt across the other man’s face at her accusation before he schools his features back into a neutral mask. “I got held up, but I’m here now. And I found our brothers, David and Conrad. We’ve come to collect you for the rest of the journey.”
Her eyes narrow. “It’s been weeks. What could have held you up all this time that didn’t actually kill you?”
“Come now, we have little time to spare and a long road ahead. I’m only grateful to find you both well. Come.” He snaps his fingers with barely hidden annoyance, as if that will manifest his wife and child at his side.
The sound echoes louder than it should, sharp and possessive, and something ugly coils tight in Wyatt’s chest.
If this had happened yesterday or the day before, his reaction would be far different, but Wyatt expects nothing from her after their recent discussion.
She would be right to leave him, even if going with this fucker isn’t the smartest option in terms of survival.
So he waits. Shifting his gaze between the two, ready to see if he gets exactly what he deserves or if he’s offered a second chance.
“I no longer share your desire to make it to Sedona.” She raises her chin. “We will be staying, but I wish you the best in your travels.”
The words are calm and controlled.
She’s lost a bit of her formal, matter-of-fact pattern of speaking since he’s met her, and it’s jarring to hear it come back full force. The fact that she’s allowed herself to slip in Wyatt’s presence at all suddenly feels like a victory he didn’t realize he earned.
It’s a fragile new aspect of her personality that he wishes he had more time to encourage.
There’s a twitch of anger in Vincent’s expression as he steps forward, reaching out to grab for Emma. “My patience grows thin with you, my darling. We will have plenty of time to—”
Wyatt steps between them in a move that’s far from the smartest thing he’s done recently, considering he’s a few feet from a bullet up the nose. “She said she’s staying. You know where the exit is since you broke the damn thing.”
His heart slams hard enough to rattle his ribs, but his feet stay planted.
In his periphery, the barrels pointed at him get slightly closer, and while every inch of closing distance should ratchet up the fear for his life, all he can feel at the moment is rage that this asshole has the balls to come crawling back after disappearing into the void for a month.
“Getting between a man and his family is dangerous business,” Vincent says calmly.
“I think they stopped being family when you left them behind in the middle of an apocalypse.”
Her husband’s patience runs just as thin as Vincent warned because that’s all it takes for him to raise his gun in an attempt to be rid of Wyatt.
What the hell is he supposed to do, though?
Stand here and allow her to be hauled away against her will?
If he takes a bullet for trying to protect them both, then so be it.
Not like he has much other reason to stick around these days.
Keeping them safe is impossible if he’s dead, though. That’s where his lack of foresight fails him. What he doesn’t expect is Addison’s plea for mercy, or her refusal to leave overturned by her desire to save his life.
“I’ll go with you!” she yells. “Leave him unharmed, and let Emma stay here, and I’ll go. I can give you many more children. We can still follow the mission as we intended when we left the compound.”
The words hit Wyatt like a physical blow.
She is willing to rejoin what’s left of this cult and become what amounts to a sex slave for this man, birthing him babies in the middle of an apocalypse and risking her life in the process, all to keep Wyatt from swallowing a bullet and her daughter from following in her footsteps.
The realization settles cold and heavy in his gut.
Even after his confession, she would trust her child with him. That’s when he knows exactly what he needs to do.
There’s no hesitation when Wyatt squares his shoulders, levels his voice, and pulls out the one card that he’s kept so close to his vest all this time. “I can fly you to Sedona. You can be there tonight. I have a plane. I’ll take you. But they stay here.”
His plane has one more trip left, if he’s lucky.
He may not be able to get back via air, but he’ll crawl back to Addison on his hands and knees if he has to.
It’s surprising how easy it is to give up the one thing that has felt like a lifeline all these years.
That plane offered him solace during the rough points of his marriage, escape to Alaska after the divorce, and safety after the end of the world.
She was all he had left, and he held on with a vice grip… until now.
It’s not just metal and fuel. It’s proof he survived. Proof that he could still leave whenever he wanted. One last chance at beating the odds.
He would sacrifice the plane a hundred times over to keep Addison and Emma safe.
“Wyatt,” she whispers in a scolding hush.
“It’s alright,” he says under his breath. You’re worth it, is what he keeps silent in his heart.
“Or I shoot you and take the plane.”
Wyatt grinds out his next words to Vincent with measured irritation. “Can. You. Fly. It?”
Sheepish silence. This one isn’t the brightest, that’s for damn sure.
At least his stupidity works to Wyatt’s advantage.
Wyatt doesn’t bother hiding his disdain.
He also doesn’t bother explaining that the plane only holds two passengers.
That truth belongs to a later moment, one he hopes Addison and Emma will be far away from when it comes.
“It’s pretty simple,” Wyatt continues. “I give you something you want…and you do the same for me.”
“Your plane for my wife?”
“Yes. The kid, too. Kind of a package deal.”
“There will be others there,” one of his friends whispers to him. “She isn’t the last one left. Once we reach the city, it’ll be easy to rebuild a community.”
There’s a funny taste in the back of Wyatt’s mouth when he realizes they mean she’s not the last woman alive to procreate with.
That’s their whole mission after all. Addison is nothing but a breeder to them, and if he didn’t have several guns pointed in his direction, he’d be happy to shove the barrels directly up all three assholes.
“I accept your proposal. Show me this plane,” Vincent agrees, ignoring his family entirely.
Wyatt barely registers the shifting guns or the hurried movement, along with the sound of his own pulse roaring in his ears. He grabs Addison’s arm before they can pull him away.
“Stay here,” he whispers fiercely, forehead nearly touching hers. “I’ll come back to you.”
And then he’s roughly led out of the house, swiveling his head back to find her face one last time, taking in every panicked feature as if he might never have another chance.
Those big eyes water with preloaded grief, her knuckles whitening where they grip Emma’s shirt as if to stop herself from chasing after him.
He burns the image into memory like every other moment they’ve shared together, hoping he’ll have a chance to add more to the pile someday.
How he plans to follow through on this promise is anyone’s guess. But he has every intention of trying. First, he’ll have to fly the enemy to a fictional promised land.
* * *
It’s a four-mile walk to reach the plane with a gun pointed at the back of his head.
When he gets there, it is exactly how he left it.
Hidden in a field surrounded by trees. They have to shove their way through branches and brush, but then there she is again, weathered and worn but still standing strong. Waiting for him like an old friend.
“Are you sure it can fly? It looks rather damaged,” Vincent questions.
“About that. Ran into some trouble up north. The left wing is struggling. But she’ll hold…assuming we don’t overload the cabin.”
“Overload?”
“She can only carry two.”
The weapons raise in his direction with accusations of lies.
“Hey, I’m just telling you the facts. You wanna stuff all four of us in there and try that’s fine, but it’ll be a real short trip, and none of us will hit the ground gracefully. You can pick one person to go or take your chances. Maybe I’m lying, but if I’m not, that’s a big risk.”