Page 34 of Those Heartless Boys

Ispend the rest of the weekend in my room at Jacobs Manor, as I’ve come to think of it in my head. I imagine myself behind bars, secluded, locked away, but honestly, this is the nicest room I’ve ever been in. The view is spectacular as long as one of the assholes isn’t walking in front of the glass wall. The furnishings are pristine, and Wyatt brings me food on a rotation, leaving it just outside my door. So, if this is jail, it’s a nice one.

I’ve even met Stone’s cleaning lady. I almost gave her a heart attack when she came into the room. She no doubt expected it to still be empty. I tried to tell her she didn’t have to clean the space, but she wouldn’t hear of it. She told me to continue doing my coursework while she worked around me, chatting cheerfully as she scrubbed down the bathroom and used a fancy mop on the floors.

Her cleaning prowess wasn’t the craziest part about meeting her though. The crazy part was how well she spoke of Stone Jacobs. I had to ask her twice who she was talking about before it finally dawned on me that she was talking about the same person who I’ve been cursing for over twenty-four hours.

On Monday morning, despite my cohabitants, I wake up cheery. I’m not hungry. I’ve done all of my homework—except for that damn English paper—and even moved onto the next assignments according to the course syllabi. While standing in front of the bathroom mirror, I realize I’m not stressed either. I know my truck is out front. I know if I walk out of this room right now, I can find food in the cupboards. I also know that I’m surrounded by people. They may not be the people I would’ve chosen, but even I can admit that seeing them walk down the hall at various times over the last couple of days made me feel less alone.

Which makes me about the saddest person alive. I’m glad to have my enemies near. Jesus. What is my life coming to?

I dress and head toward the kitchen with my bag in tow. I’m relieved to see that Lance is gone. I don’t even know how long he stayed on Saturday, only that I’m glad I didn’t stick around to hear any more bullshit come from his mouth.

“Good morning,” Wyatt says in an even tone. He’s dressed in a dark blue t-shirt, sleeves stretching over carved muscles. He has a perfectly tapered waist, jeans hitting him just right. And like a typical cowboy, he has a belt on with the t-shirt tucked into the front. The only difference with Wyatt is that his belt buckle isn’t flashy like you see some cowboys wear on TV. It’s a normal belt with a tame, silver buckle.

And the hat. Jesus. There’s just something about this guy in his hat. “Morning,” I say, almost forgetting that he greeted me.

He sips a glass of orange juice, perched on a bar stool at the island. “Mornings during the week are low-key. It’s a fend-for-yourself kind of venture,” he says, nodding toward the kitchen itself. “The cupboards are completely stocked. Cereal. Toast. Bagels. Oatmeal. I’m sure whatever you like to eat, we have it.”

Honestly, I... Wow. Fuck. I’ve never had a choice before. I always just ate what my dad bought or what was on the menu at school. Shame crashes into me. I’ve had oatmeal before. That must’ve been relatively cheap. Cereal? I’ve had that before, too, but not like those brands that are on TV. I’ve never had Lucky Charms or Frosted Flakes. Whatever we ate was off-brand and typically pretty bland, kind of like eating the desert floor. Oh, and no milk. We ate it with water.

For a moment, I just stand there, gazing at their huge kitchen. It may as well be a labyrinth to me. A puzzle made up to confuse people.

Wyatt’s gaze narrows. “You did hear me, right?”

I nod slowly and swallow. “Yeah, I heard you.”

I peek at him as he runs his hand across his chin. “Can I ask you a question, Dakota?”

I shrug. It’s not as if I can stop him, and even if he asks it, that doesn’t mean I have to answer. “Sure.”

“Do you like chocolate or fruit?”

It’s my turn to look at him strangely. He gets off his stool and goes into the kitchen. He starts pulling things out of the cupboard. A plate, a measuring cup, and some sort of cooking appliance.

He gazes over his shoulder when I don’t answer. “I know. You probably like both.”

“I do...” I say, letting myself trail off. Admittedly, my experiences with both are limited. I didn’t get treats or snacks when I was a kid. Or ever, actually.

Wyatt smiles. “I’m going to make you something that will blow your mind, Dakota Wilder.”

I lift my brows. “Yeah?”

He returns to cooking, chuckling softly to himself. I watch him work from where I’m standing, but then move closer. He whips up a batter that I realize is going into a waffle machine—the appliance he pulled out of the cupboards. Then, he grabs some fruit and Nutella. He chops up the fruit and when the waffle machine beeps. He places the waffle onto a plate, layers Nutella over it and then drops a sprinkling of strawberries and blueberries over the top.

“Hell yes!” a voice exclaims. “Hurry up, Stone! Wyatt’s cooking!”

I jump at the intrusion. I’d been salivating over the waffle and hadn’t even heard Lucas come in. I’m also not used to so much noise. My father was a quiet man when he was doing anything except for discussing treasure.

“Not for you two fuckwits.” Wyatt hands me the plate, and I take it with a smile.

I pass by Lucas to the barstools surrounding the island. He frowns as he looks at my plate. “What?”

“Nothing’s changed,” Wyatt says. “I cook on the weekends. What happened to you guys cooking a little during the week, huh?”

Lucas gazes at the waffle machine like it’s a UFO. I’m right there with him. I’d never seen one in use until just now. After watching Wyatt, I think I might be able to make one though.

Wyatt hands me a fork. I cut off a piece, spear it, and put it into my mouth. The chocolate hazelnut flavor mixed with the sweetness of the waffle melts in my mouth. “Mmmmmm,” I moan. “Oh my God.”

Wyatt winks at me. “I knew you’d like it.”

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