Page 64 of Full Split
“Maybe not. We can probably still pass it off as drunken silliness.” With everyone except Weston, I could almost believe that’s true. Unfortunately, it’s too early to know anything for sure.
He visibly clenches his jaw. I drag my fingers from his hair to cup his face. “Relax. Rest. We’ll figure out the rest later.”
“I don’t want to hide forever.”
My heart beats frantically. I have no doubt he can hear and feel it where he’s pressed against my chest.
“Me either,” I admit. “Let’s get through Worlds first. When we get home, we’ll test the waters with Weston and Mom.”
Wyatt flinches. Had he forgotten he’d have to confront my mom about this? I suppose I’d be a little scared too in his position.
Eventually he relaxes and his breathing evens out. I stay for as long as I think I can get away with, not wanting to raise more questions with Weston.
“I love you,” he whispers, so quietly I almost don’t hear it.
I freeze.
Then I swallow hard and answer before I can think.
“I know.”
I was expecting snark, but he doesn’t respond. His deep, even breaths tell me he’s asleep.
“I love you, too.”
I hate that I have to leave.
There’s a vending machine not far from our rooms. I grab some snacks to hopefully explain my absence in case Weston noticed I left.
When I get back to the room, he’s in bed. Either asleep or faking it.
I don’t care which, I’m too relieved to put off the conversation I know we need to have.
I climb into my bed, stare up at the ceiling, and wait for sleep that doesn’t come for a long time.
We sleep in late the next morning.
I’m groggy, disoriented, and a little hollow. I tell myself it’s the jet lag, not my worries over potentially losing my best friend, or the way his dad whispered he loves me like it was the easiest truth in the world.
I try not to think about Weston’s face. About the conversation I know we need to have. It’s not that I want to keep everything a secret and have to hide forever, but it’s been easier not having to explain ourselves to anyone. And I’ve enjoyed sharing something with only Wyatt. The secret has been fun, in a way, but mostly it’s just been really special. I’m terrified that our families’ opinions might make Wyatt decide he doesn’t want to be with me after all. I know I’m not worth losing his son, and I’d never want him to give anything up for me. Is it too much to ask that we get a little more time together before someone pops this bubble we’ve been in?
Weston and I meet Wyatt downstairs to go find some lunch since we missed breakfast. He seems to be feeling better. Today is supposed to be one of our rest days to walk around the city and see the sights.
Weston says something about splitting up, but Wyatt shuts it down immediately. After everything with the press coverage and this competition being a big deal in this city, we are to stay together and go nowhere unsupervised.
I overheard Wyatt’s conversation with Sid. I know this is because of me. Because this world isn’t safe for people like me. And thanks to Peter Trenton, there’s a target on my back. It’s not fair that Weston has to suffer because of my drama.
We wander the city, stopping at tourist shops, gawking at statues, taking photos in front of chocolate shops and fancy storefronts that none of us can afford. After a while, we all seem to relax. Wyatt stays back, acting as the dutiful dad and coach, close but not too close to cramp our style. Weston is joking around with me again, like nothing happened. Like he didn’t watch his dad drape himself all over me and tell me he loves me on the plane.
I try to laugh along, but it’s hard when Wyatt’s walking half a step behind us the entire time. Silent and tense, like every corner could have danger behind it. I catch him scanning doorways and windows, checking over his shoulder like he can’t stop himself. Still, I suppose he’s not the worst security guard we could have.
His hand brushes the small of my back once when we’re crossing the street, and I flinch. Not because I don’t want him to touch me, but because I want it too much.
I don’t think Weston notices.
It feels like I’m suffocating.
Wyatt doesn’t speak unless Weston asks him something directly. He’s not acting like himself. Maybe a more professional, protective version of himself. The stick-in-the-butt version of himself.
