Page 28 of Breathing Wisteria
Wyatt
His eyes don’t leave mine, the deep brown gaze as intense as ever.
“I thought leaving would let you move on.” His face is tormented as though the thought of hurting me is causing him physical pain. “That if you didn’t have to face the person responsible for what happened, you could stop reliving it.”
I watch him closely, seeing the storm of emotion pulsing within him and, not for the first time, I consider how the last ten years have been for him.
Only this time, I don’t presume to know the answer.
“What about you?” My voice is barely audible. “How did you get past it?”
“Music,” he replies simply. “Music saved me when I had no interest in being saved.”
A small smile plays across my lips. I remember distinctly how he would deal with any turmoil in his life. Locking himself away in a room with just his guitar, a pencil, and paper, playing and writing until he had worked through whatever issue was bothering him.
For the first time, I am envious of that passion.
I wish that I had been able to save him.
“I’m glad.” I reach for my drink and run my fingertip around the rim. “I’m glad you got your dream, Irish. You deserve it.”
There’s a long pause and then he sighs. A bone-weary sigh from deep within his chest before he slumps back in his chair.
“I didn’t get my dream, Wyatt. You were my dream.”
“No, you’re lying!”
“I swear to God.”
“Ugh, I would have died!” I laugh.
The last few hours have flown by. Our earlier conversation was interrupted by the arrival of our food. Conveniently for Flynn, it was right after his declaration. He then promptly used the distraction as an opportunity to change the subject.
He always thought he was so stealthy, with some kind of ninja-like distraction skills. I want to roll my eyes just thinking about it. He never realized it only ever worked when I also wanted to change the subject.
I’m in dangerous territory here and I need to put a stop to this before it goes any further. Being with me will only ever cause Flynn unhappiness and, if there is one thing his reappearance in my life has reinforced, it’s that I love him too much to be the cause of any more of his pain.
I also know him well enough to know that he is going to be hard enough to put off as it is. If he gets even a whiff of hesitance from me, he’ll never give up.
“Yeah, well, I was more ready to kill than die, but whate—” The sound of his cell phone interrupts him and he grimaces when he checks the caller ID, before pressing ignore.
“Hey, Cherry?”
“Mmmm?”
“I think it’s time we call it a night and you invite me back to your place for coffee.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Coffee, huh?” The sight of his smirk, and more importantly how my core is clenching in response to it, sends me into a panic.
“Flynn.” I sigh.
“Wyatt,” he challenges.
“It’s—” His phone jolts to life again, but he silences it without even a glance. “It’s a bad idea.”
“I think it’s a fucking brilliant idea.”
My face heats at his words and all I can do is hope that the dimmed lighting hides the effect. Before I can come up with an appropriate off-hand response, we are interrupted by the same girl from the reception desk.
