Page 90 of Whirlwind
“I’ll…I’ll call if I need you,” she stammers.
“Thank you,” I say, and drop a kiss to the crown of her head. “Try and get some sleep.”
“I will.” She looks over her shoulder at the makeshift bed. I can’t guess what’s playing through her mind, I can only hope it’s not all horrible. “Thank you, Tyson. For…well, thank you.”
“Anything you need, love.”
Reluctantly, I walk out of the room, leaving my heart behind. My whole world used to be hockey. Now, it’s that woman, her hair in messy braids, her feet in worn out Converse, with tears in her eyes and her chin held high.
I love her. Irrevocably.
I only hope I have the chance to tell her, someday.
“We’ll keep an eye on her,” Willa tells me, patting my shoulder as she walks with me out the door.
“Never doubted that for a second.” I try to smile at her. “Did she tell you?”
“What you did? Yes.”
“It was bad, but it’s not what she thinks. I’m not in love with Isla. I never was,” I say. “This isn’t to get you on my side or anything. I’m in love with Kit. I have been for weeks, now.”
She looks at me with a mix of sympathy and something else. Probably pity, since I fucked my chances so miraculously.
“Actually, I knew that as soon as I heard you were flying here.”
“It felt important that I tell someone,” I say, not understanding my reasoning enough to vocalize it. I only know that I had to tell somebody. “I told her I’m not leaving Maine until she does. Whether she wants to include me in anything here is up to her. I’ll be here, though. In case.”
“That’s sweet of you, Tyson,” she says as a truck pulls down the driveway. “I wonder who that is. Her father?”
A man drives the truck, a cap on his head making it hard to tell his age. Unease tickles the back of my neck. There’s no man in this state that Kit would want to see.
“Go inside, Willa,” I say. “If Kit wants to talk to whoever it is, she can let me know. Okay?”
“Okay,” she agrees, and rushes into the house while I wait for the man to exit the vehicle.
He hesitates when he gets closer to me, as if he underestimated my size—or maybe the scowl on my face. First impressions matter, and I want his first one to be clear: he must get through me to get to her. Friend or foe, I’m his first obstacle.
“Uh, hey,” he says.
“Who are you?” I cross my arms over my chest, my stance wide as I block the path to the house.
“I’m a friend of the family.”
“Whose friend? Be specific.”
“Of Carl’s. Kit’s dad. We go way back,” he says, and my veins chill. Did this motherfucker think he could show up here and take advantage of her vulnerability? Again.
“What’s your name, man?”
“Derik.”
Fuck my life, I’m going to jail tonight.
“Derik what?” I ask. The front door of the house opens behind me; a quick glance tells me it’s Damian who has stepped out—not Kit.
“Johnston.”
“Hey, Damian?”
