Page 27 of Wyatt

I want us to be together. Be happy.

Her jaw clenched, and she threw her arm over her eyes.

Coco, I don’t get it. I don’t understand any of it. Why you came to me in Russia two years ago. Why you even left Montana in the first place. You… You broke my heart, okay?

Yeah, well, it was break his heart or…or…

He’d done his share of breakingherheart, thank you. Like when she’d showed up at the door of his hotel.

How she hated the memory.

Hated it. Loved it, and sometimes, now, in her weakness, let it wash over her.

Even if it hurt.

Maybe she shouldn’t have come—she was practically a glutton for pain. She should have given in to her impulse to turn and, well, run. But no, she’d stood in the hallway of the Vega Hotel in the middle of Moscow. He had one of the executive, aka party, suites. The music slid out from under the door in a pulsing mix of Russian pop and American hip-hop. Which meant probably a mixed crowd inside.

She was about to knock when room service showed up, a cart roughly the size of a hockey rink filled with champagne and chips and dip and pizza which said yes, there were probably Americans inside.

The room service attendant knocked at the door, and she held her breath.

Wyatt answered. He was dressed in a pair of faded jeans, a blue oxford unbuttoned two down and was grinning, looking over his shoulder, laughing at something. He wore a mid-season beard, his hair long and tucked back behind his ears, and…he looked happy. Without her.

She drew in a shaky breath.Run.

Then he turned to receive the food and spotted her standing across the hall and froze.

Yeah.Hi.

For a second, their past flashed through his eyes, the flirting, the texts and phone calls while he was at college.

The night he’d pulled her to himself and kissed her like she was more than just his kid sister’s best friend.

Her throat thickened.

“Coco?”

She turned and sprinted down the hallway. What had she been thinking—that she’d show up and he’d be alone, staring out into the darkened Moscow skyline pining for her? Sheesh, she had read too many romance novels, for sure, and—

“Stop!”

His hand hit the wall above the elevator button just as she pressed it. Her breaths came hard, running under his, and she closed her eyes a second before he grabbed her by the shoulders, turning her into the wall.

When she opened them, his gaze was trailing over her, as if to confirm it was her, then fixed on her eyes. Oh, he had beautiful eyes. Whiskey brown with flecks of gold when he got serious or intense. They practically shimmered now. “What are you doing here?”

She reached up to push his hands off her. “I don’t know, okay?” Her voice shook, and she wanted to just press her hands over her mouth, back away from him. The lift was taking an eternity—

But she knew exactly the answer to that question.I’m here because of Mikka. Because you’re a father and—

“I’ve been trying to find you for a year,” he said, cutting his voice low, almost a growl. “Ever since you came to Montana—I’m sorry. I know I was a jerk that weekend, but…you vanished.” He’d taken his hands off her shoulders now, but hadn’t backed away, his body too close to her space. If she ran, he’d catch her.

“I know. I just…”

“You live in Moscow?”

She nodded. Glanced at the lift.Please.“I’m a computer tech.” Not really a lie. She could do this…not lie.

“How did you know—oh wait, the tournament.”

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