Page 100 of Fight For Me

She sighs, reaching for my hands. “I know you don’t feel young, Alex, but youare. You’re just out of college, just starting your life. Wyatt has been living on his own as an adult for years. I don’t want you to miss out on any of the stuff you’re supposed to be experiencing in your twenties because you’re with a guy who’s already been there, done that.”

“He would never hold me back like that,” I insist vehemently, then wonder why in the hell I’m still defending the person who put my heart through the woodchipper last night.

I slump into the couch cushion. “I know it’s a significant gap. But it neverfeltlike that, you know? Not when we were together. It just felt…” It just felt right. But I don’t think I can say that out loud without crying again.

We sit in silence for a while. My mom is really good at knowing when to back off on the inquisition so I can think.

“It’s more than that for Wyatt,” I finally say. “I mean, the age difference, yeah, that bothered him. But I think it was even worse that the families are close.”

Her forehead furrows. “He thinks that’s a bad thing?”

I remember the way his face had looked last night when I asked if he was afraid of losing his family. “You know, growing up, in a lot of ways, the Ransomes felt like my family.”

She nods. “That was always the plan. We wanted you guys to feel that way.”

“It wasn’t like that with Wyatt,” I clarify. “Probably because he was older and not around as much. But Rose and Will and Everly…they all felt like my cousins, you know?”

“And that makes Wyatt uncomfortable?”

“I think it’s more like…” It’s hard to put my suspicions into words. It sounds so silly. But I know for Wyatt it’s very real. “I think he feels like if it came down to it, they would all choose me over him.”

She frowns. “Why would anyone have to choose?”

I shake my head. “I don’t know. But it’s like he has it in his head that everyone is going to be furious at him for dating me and they’re going to turn on him, or something. Abandon him.”

Her eyes look sad. “You know his childhood wasn’t exactly…easy all the time, right?”

I nod. “He talked to me about it a lot, actually.” My mom looks surprised. “What? You didn’t think we were just making out the whole time, do you?”

She tugs on a lock of my hair. “No, smartass. It’s just that the girls and I have talked about this with Sam before. She’s always worried because he won’t ever discuss that stuff with her. He always insists he’s fine.”

I lean my head into her shoulder, sadness enveloping me. “I don’t think he’s fine, Mom.”

She kisses the top of my head. “You can’t always fix stuff like that for people. I know it’s hard, but you can’t force someone to deal with their shit unless they want to.”

We sit in silence for a few minutes, my mom running her hands through my hair. I know that what she said is right—I can’t fix Wyatt. But I hate that I can’t at least try. He’s hurting right now, I know he is, and it feels wrong that I can’t be there with him to make it better.

“This sucks,” I mutter.

She kisses the top of my head, laughing lightly against my hair. “I know it does.”

Another bang downstairs, another curse, then the familiar sound of heavy metal music. I sigh. “Should I talk to him?”

“Why don’t you wait a few minutes. Sometimes when he’s in a bad mood like this he stress-bakes.”

“You want me to wait to smooth things over with dad because you think you might get baked goods out of your husband’s unhappiness?”

She grins. “They’re really yummy baked goods, Alexandria. He does this sea salt caramel brownie—”

I snort out a laugh. “You’re terrible. I’m going to talk to him. You can make your own baked-goods.”

My mom was right—I find my dad angrily stirring a bowl filled with brownie batter when I get to the kitchen. He looks up when he hears me, scowls, and goes right back to mixing. I go over to the Bluetooth speaker and adjust the volume so it’s more of a dull roar than a screeching banshee. “You must be really mad if you’re busting out the Black Sabbath.”

He just grunts. Great. Normally my dad would be all over me about questioning his music choices. He really is mad.

“I’m sorry.”

He looks up from his baked goods. “That’s not the kind of thing I want to find out about on television.” His voice is flat, way colder than I’m used to, and my stomach twists. I hate it when my parents are mad at me.