Page 8 of Breathing Wisteria
Wyatt
“Holy fudging croc sucker.”
You can say that again.
“Come again?”
“Come again,” Cassidy mimics Flynn’s question with a savage smirk before her expression morphs into one of indignation. “Don’t judge me, I have kids, I can’t swear anymore, donkey dick.”
I watch their exchange through wide eyes, but I hear nothing over the sound of blood rushing to my brain. The thrum of my heartbeat.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
My eyes find Flynn’s and I see the exact moment he realizes his mistake and all I can feel is shame. Because it never would have occurred to him that he was my dirty little secret.
But that is only because he was too busy making sure I was his.
“You’re married?” Cassidy aims this directly at me. “To Flynn Maguire?” My stomach drops a little farther with every accusatory word.
“Look, if you don’t mind, Wyatt and I have some shit we need to talk abo—”
“Uh uh, pipe down, Romeo, this doesn’t concern you. Wyatt?” She does that thing where she quirks a single eyebrow. It’s always fascinated me how she does that. I’ve spent an embarrassing number of hours in front of the mirror trying to replicate that withering look.
I was not successful.
“It was a long time ago.” The hesitance in my voice is embarrassing and I can see the confusion all over Cassidy’s face. This is not the Wyatt she knows. The person she has laughed and cried with for eight years. This is the version of me I swore would never see the light of day again.
And she won’t, I quickly decide. Straightening my back and ignoring Cassidy’s curious stare, I lift my eyes to meet Flynn’s, prepared to blow him off and send him on his way. But when my gaze clashes with his, my breath catches in my throat as a tsunami of relief washes over me.
He’s here.
He’s here and I have missed him so damn much.
Tears prickle behind my eyes and I swallow hard, resisting the almost overpowering instinct to leap up and wrap myself around him. To touch him and make sure he’s real. But clarity prevails, and I take note of his hunched shoulders and guarded expression. I remember the pain on his face the last time I saw him, and I realize that I don’t deserve the luxury of his reassurance. The bad guy never does.
Instead I give him a tense smile.
“This isn’t a very good time.” I incline my head slightly toward Cass. “Maybe we could get together tonight?” The words come out in a rush and even though I know I should send him on his way, the need to talk to him is suffocating.
A whoosh of air escapes him and his face smooths as though he’s relieved at my suggestion.
“Yeah, that sounds great. Just tell me where, and I’ll be there.” The lilting sound of his Irish accent fills me with such familiarity and I allow myself a moment to remember how I used to love closing my eyes at night, falling asleep to the sound of his voice. His accent isn’t as pronounced as it once was, and I feel the regret of the years I’ve lost with it, with him, intensely.
I notice a table to our right, full of teenage girls, watching us curiously. Their brows furrowed as though trying to figure out where they know Flynn from. God, he must hate that.
“How about my place? I think privacy would be a good idea.”
A smirk flits across his mouth. “You always did like keeping me to yourself.”
My eyes narrow, but a quiet laugh from across the table reminds me that we are not alone.
“Not the way I remember it but play it that way if you have to. Give me your phone.” I hold my hand out in anticipation. Flynn slides his cell out of his back pocket without hesitation, placing it in my hand. His fingertips gently nudge me, and I can feel the pink blush bloom across my face.
Lighting up his screen, I look at him expectantly. Exasperation courses through me when he just stares back, wordlessly.
“I need your passcode.”
“You know my passcode, Wyatt.” His voice is quiet, but firm and my heart picks up speed when I realize what he’s saying. He still uses my birthday.
