Page 68 of Fly Boy
He’s quiet for a long while, and I wait, not wanting to rush him, my fingers kneading into his traps.
“I’m so angry at her.” He pushes the heels of his hands into what I assume are his eyes, a strangled noise coming from his lips before he snaps his head up, his fists resting on his knees. “And then I’m angry at myself because I feel guilty for feeling angry with a dying woman.” Thrusting a hand into his hair, he tugs on the strands. “Why do Ineedto see her? Why should I drop everything now that she’s sick? Thirty-four years, and she’s not once thought about me until now. She wasn’t therewhen I started to walk, she wasn’t there when I went to school, broke my leg playing football, went on my first date. She doesn’t even know I’m a pilot because she wasn’tthere. She didn’t care enough to be in my life, and suddenly, she wants to be in it now that her life is coming to an end.”
I bite the inside of my cheek as the hurt and anger come off Wyatt in waves, the bitterness and resentment he holds for the woman who birthed him so palpable I could choke on it. My fingers stiffen against him, and he notices, angling himself to look at me, a deep frown etched on his brow.
“You think I’m a bastard for saying all that, don’t you?” I open my mouth to reply, but he continues. “She wasn’t mymom,Pippa.Sadie was. She didn’t raise me alongside my dad. Sadie did. And now Fiona’s dying, I have to suddenly be the son she forgot? I’ve got to make her feel better for her shitty choices in life? I’ve got to—”
I slide off the sofa and swing my leg over his, sitting on his lap as I clasp his face in my hands, forcing him to look at me.
“Baby, you don’t need to do a damn thing,” I tell him, my eyes imploring him to believe me. “I cannot imagine what you’re going through. The years of hurt all this has brought up, the number of emotions this has stirred. What she did was awful. What you heard as a child wasawful.And I am so unbelievably sorry you had to go through that.”
He stares unblinking at me, eyes glazed, jaw clenching under my hands. I feel helpless, wanting to support him but not knowing how. Does he need me to be that person to offer advice? Or does he want to be left alone to wallow, feel his feelings and deal with them alone? I’m so out of my depth right, hating I can’t do more.
“What she’s asking you to do now, after years of radio silence, at the very end of her life, is selfish; it’s horrible and mean, and I don’t understand it. I don’t get why she waited until now.” I runmy fingers through his hair, pushing it back until I’m pressing firmly into the side of his head as I continue. “But how would you feel if she died without reaching out, without giving you a chance to talk to her, to get closure? This is a chance for you, too. Not just her.”
He looks at me for a long second before tipping his head down, resting against my chest. I hold him close as my fingers play with the hair at the nape of his neck.
“I’m not sticking up for her or telling you what you should do. That choice is yours and yours alone. But if I could have the chance to speak to my mom before she died, I’d do it.” My hand brushes over the back of his head. “I know my relationship with my mom was totally different from yours, but if I got the chance to tell her everything I wanted before it was too late, I would.”
His arms band around my back, plastering me to him. Kissing the top of his head, I feel his breath against my skin as he exhales. “I’m sorry for putting this on you. I shouldn’t have called.”
“Hey,” I say firmly, leaning back to look at him. “Don’t do that. Don’t apologize. I’m glad you did, Wyatt.”
He nods before laying against me again, his body warm beneath mine.
“What can I do?” I whisper, raw and exposed, wanting to help heal him. “Tell me how to make it better.”
He shakes his head. “You’re already doing it.”
I rest my cheek on the crown of his head and close my eyes. We stay there, on the floor, wrapped up in each other, in the darkness of his living room, until my legs go numb. Gently, I slide off his lap and stand, holding out my hand. “C’mon, let’s go to bed.”
I lead him toward the stairs, where he pauses to lift my bag from the floor. “Shit, I ruined my surprise.”
“Tomorrow,” I tell him, opening his bedroom door and walking inside. “It’s late, and I just want to hold you.”
And that’s what he lets me do as we drift off to sleep.
Chapter Twenty-Four
I can’t sleep. OrI can’t sleep anymore. It’s early, far too early to be awake, but my head’s working overtime, processing everything I told Pippa last night. I trail my fingers over the curve of her spine, dragging my comforter with me, exposing her silky skin.
“What are you doing?” Pippa groans sleepily, one eye peeking open to look at me.
Lowering my head, I press my lips to the spot between her shoulder blades. “Go back to sleep.”
“I didn’t know you were into somnophilia,” she says, rolling onto her back, lifting her arms above her head, bringing my attention to her pebbled nipples. I can’t resist. I drift down her body, sucking one between my teeth, biting lightly. Her back bows off the bed, her soft moans going straight to my cock.
“I’m not,” I murmur around the taut peak. “Or at least I wasn’t until you.”
“I’m a bad influence,” she whispers, her voice husky.
Glancing up, I lock onto her gray eyes as my breath ghosts over her skin. “The worst.”
She licks her lips, her hips grinding in small pulses that I’m not sure she’s aware she’s doing as arousal wakes her up. I kiss a path between her breasts, up to her collarbone, her neck, her jaw until I reach her mouth. I’m addicted to her, my lips wanting to savor the sweetness of her skin, the slight salty flavor after sex, each one I want to swallow…devour…relish.
“Wyatt,” she moans, pushing my shoulders to break the kiss. Her eyes search mine, and I nod, answering her unspoken question. “I’ll be right back.”
She rolls out from under me, lifting her overnight bag and taking it into the bathroom. I watch her go, closing the door behind her. Smacking my head against my pillow, I dig the heels of my hands into my eyes and silently groan.
