Page 74 of I'll Keep Her Safe

I understand his reasoning about Bailey. Last night I convinced myself she wouldn’t mind, but after hanging out with her all day, the guilt has piled on thick, especially given how understanding she was with the business. It reminded me what a good friend she really is, how lucky I am to have her. She might have been understanding about that, but this is something else entirely. Something I’m not so sure she’d understand.

“And after what happened with Kurt…”

I twist in my seat. “What’s that got to do with anything?”

“You’re…” he pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Vulnerable.”

“Vulnerable? Why? If anything, that asshole made me stronger.” I grip the armrests, frustration bubbling inside me. “I’m not a victim, Wyatt, and if you’re not acting on this because of what Kurt did, then you’re letting him win.”

But Wyatt shakes his head, looking away.

“So, what are you saying?” I ask. I told myself this was coming, but it’s still a shock. “You don’t want this?”

“Of course I want it. You know I do.” His jaw is hard as he wrenches his gaze from mine. “But I shouldn’t. I can’t have it.” He drags his hands through his hair, staring down at the floor. “I’m sorry. I probably should have stopped before we went so far.”

I stare at him, slumped with misery, wishing I could take the feeling away. Wishing I could stop him from beating himself up. Maybe I should beat myself up more, but try as I might, I can’t regret last night. I can’t regret sharing that with him.

“Well, I’m not sorry,” I murmur, and he glances at me. “I wouldn’t change last night for anything.”

“I wouldn’t either,” he admits, softening. I want nothing more than to reach out and stroke his face, press my lips to his, but I know I’m not allowed to do that. It’s so much harder now that I know what it’s like to kiss him, how safe it feels to be in his arms, how good he feels inside me.

And I’ll never feel that again.

The thought is like a kick to the heart, and I shove it away, digging my fingernails into my palm.

“What are we supposed to do then?” I ask bitterly. “Pretend we didn’t fuck like animals on the floor?”

“Jesus.” Wyatt grimaces, pressing his eyes shut. “Yes. That’s exactly what we do.”

Maybe I should be mad at him, at the way he moves on from what happened between us so easily, but this is all my own fault. He had reservations from the start; I’m the one who pushed him. Besides, I can’t blame him for worrying about Bailey when I feel the same.

“And you’ll be able to do that?” I ask quietly.

He turns to stare grimly out the plane window. “I’m going to try.”

26

Wyatt

The hot shower scalds me as I step under the spray, but I let it. I let it rinse away the guilt that’s eaten at me ever since I tried to look my daughter in the eye yesterday morning. Ever since I told Poppy we can’t be together.

I know it was the right thing to do, but my chest is hollow as I step from the shower, drying myself mechanically, getting ready for the day on autopilot. I descend the stairs with a rock in my gut, the smell of Poppy’s heavenly cooking wafting up to greet me. Despite getting in late last night, she’s up early, prepping for the first day of testing her catering idea with the team. I want to be excited for her, proud, but if I let that feeling in, then I let them all in, and I can’t do that. Not if I’m going to keep some distance between us.

She glances up as I enter the kitchen. “Morning,” she mumbles, returning to her cooking. She’s doing something with pasta on the stove. My stomach rumbles at the scent, and I’m glad I ordered a lunch for myself.

I pour coffee into my travel mug, deciding to leave her to it. I can’t be around Poppy in her apron right now, and besides, she’ll drop into the job site later to deliver the food, so it’s not like I won’t see her.

Which shouldn’t matter, I remind myself.

As I turn for the door, it occurs to me that we haven’t thought this through. She has to deliver lunch to multiple job sites, and she doesn’t have a car.

Shit.

“How are you planning to get around today?” I ask, and she pauses her stirring on the stove.

“I don’t know,” she admits. “The subway, I guess.”

I frown. “That’s not practical.”

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