Page 101 of The Hearts We Fumble
Zane
The drive back to Braysen is quiet, but not in an uncomfortable way. Wyatt doesn’t push for conversation or demand answers I don’t have yet. Instead, she slides across the bench seat again, pressing herself against my side, and rests her head on my shoulder.
I exhale, some of the tension in my chest loosening as I settle my hand on her thigh. Without hesitation, she laces her fingers with mine, and a sense of calm washes over me.
Whatever Reed has to tell me—whatever he found—it’ll be okay. Maybe not right away, but eventually. As long as I have Wyatt, I can take on anything thrown my way.
As I pull into the driveway, my stomach tightens at the sight of Colter’s truck parked out front. I already know what’s coming. He doesn’t know about the nights I climbed the tree outside Wyatt’s window just to sit with her in the quiet. Or how we’ve held each other up through our worst and best moments. He’s always seen us as friends but never really understood what that meant.
And if I know Colter, he’ll have questions the second he sees us together like this.
Wyatt doesn’t wait for me to open her door. Instead, she steps out and meets me at the trunk, watching me closely.
I hold my hand out, offering it to her.
Her gaze flicks between my face and my hand, searching for something, before she exhales softly and slides her fingers between mine. It’s a small moment, but it carries so much weight.
I lead her up the steps to the front door. Normally, I don’t bother knocking when I come over, but something about this moment feels different. So I rap my knuckles against the wood before pushing the door open.
Tatum is curled up on the couch, flipping through something on her phone. She glances up as we step inside, her expression shifting into a warm smile.
“Hey, you two.” Her eyes flick down to our joined hands, and her smile grows.
“I’m guessing you’re here to talk to Reed,” she says, stretching out on the couch. “He mentioned he was helping you with something. He’s upstairs in our room if you want to head up.”
Wyatt squeezes my hand gently before letting go. “I’ll stay down here with Tate,” she says, already moving toward the couch. She must see my hesitation because she adds, “I’m not going anywhere. I’ll be right here if you need me.”
I nod, then take the stairs two at a time.
Reed’s and Tatum’s rooms are at the end of the hall, though they barely use them separately anymore. One is their bedroom, the other transformed into Reed’s gaming and tech space.
When I step into the room, I find him and Hayes both in gaming chairs, headsets on, barking orders into their mics. The massive TV on the wall flashes with whatever game they’re playing, but the desk setup on the other side of the room catches my attention.
Three large monitors are blacked out, locked behind a warning screen in Reed’s usual smart-ass fashion.Unauthorized Access Will Result in a Very Bad Day.
I smirk, but the unease in my chest doesn’t fade.
Reed’s good—scary good. Whatever he found, I have a feeling I’m not going to like it.
They don’t hear me at first, so I knock against the wall, and both of their heads snap toward me.
“Jesus,” Reed mutters, pressing a hand to his chest. “You don’t think you could’ve made yourself known before scaring the shit out of us?”
I arch a brow. “I did. Said ‘hey’ when I walked in, but you two were so lost in your own world, I could’ve set off fireworks and you wouldn’t have noticed.”
Hayes rolls his eyes and reaches for his headset, sliding it off as he flicks off the game. Reed follows suit, spinning his chair toward me.
“What the hell do you have for me that was so urgent you had to call and tell me to get my ass over here ASAP?”
Reed lifts his hands in surrender before rolling his chair closer to his desk. His fingers fly over the keyboard as he types in his password, and the screen flickers to life. A string of open tabs and documents come into view, along with a folder labeled Kinnick sitting front and center.
“Okay, so, first things first,” he says. “I wanted to weed out what’s just media drama and clickbait versus what’s actually real. You know how the tabloids have been running stories about your dad for years—accusations of affairs, whispers of divorce, the whole nine yards? How much of that is true?”
The floorboards creak behind me, and I turn to find Colter standing in the doorway, arms crossed, his face unreadable.
Out of everyone here, he knows the weight of the truth better than most. He was there for me, opening his door every time I needed to get away from the late-night fights, the slammed doors, the sharp words I was never supposed to hear. He knows damn well my dad threw a hell of a lot of money at those rumors to make them disappear.
“Yeah,” I say, exhaling through my nose. “I don’t know the full extent, but I’ve overheard plenty over the years. The shouting. The arguing. The times they barely spoke to each other at all.”
