Page 46 of Fight For Me

“It’s been weeks,” he shoots back. “And as far as I can tell you’ve spent most of that time alone in your room at the condo. You haven’t gone surfing since you’ve been here. You haven’t wanted to go out with me and the guys to check out bands. You used to sit in your mom’s office for hours, just shooting the shit. And now you barely say two words to her.”

The guilt in my belly turns heavier, more leaden. “That’s bullshit. I talk to Mom.”

“Yeah?” He raises an eyebrow. “Then why did you only stay home for one night after your surgery?”

I open my mouth, then close it again.

“She was hoping to spend some time with you.” His smile is sad. “You know how she is. She’s been dying to baby you a little.”

“I don’t need babying.”

“I think you needsomething—”

I stand abruptly, surprising George out of his sleep. “I should get going.”

“Come on, Wyatt,” he argues, pointing at my abandoned bottle. “You’ve barely touched your beer.”

“I shouldn’t be drinking with my painkillers anyhow.”

He holds up his hands. “Then we’ll make dinner or something. But you don’t need to leave.”

“George needs to eat,” I mutter, already turning away.

“Wyatt.” My dad sounds frustrated now but I know I can’t sit through another moment of this conversation.

“I’ll talk to you later, Dad.”

He doesn’t try to stop me, but I hear his low curse echoing behind me as I walk away.

Alex

Istare down at the paperwork covering my desk without really seeing it. I’m finding it next to impossible to concentrate tonight. If I’m being honest with myself, that’s been the case almost every day since we moved into the condo. My sleep has been steadily diminishing in the last few weeks, making it harder and harder to do my work. My ability to focus has gone way down as my sleep deprivation has gone up.

I pick up my phone, finger hovering over my mom’s contact. I should call her. Tell her how rough it’s getting. Ask her to come over and sit with me so I can take my strong meds and fall asleep for a few hours. She won’t care that it’s one in the morning. She wouldwantme to call.

Then I think about the always recording stationary cameras in the main living areas of the condo. They’d catch her coming in, and I’d have Scott shoving a camera in my face first thing in the morning asking why I’d needed my mommy in the middle of the night.

I gather up some of my files and my laptop and push back from my desk. Aunt Paige insists on buying sleep-aid tea whenever she comes across a different brand or variety. It’s sweet and I don’t have the heart to tell her that shit doesn’t really work. But it is soothing and God knows I’m tired of sitting in this room, so I may as well give it another go.

I stop short when I reach the living room. Someone is already sitting at the dining table where I planned to bring my work. Someone with messy brown hair and the most gorgeous eyes I’ve ever seen. Someone who apparently chose to leave their room without a shirt on.

Wyatt must sense me standing there, staring, because he looks up. His face brightens for just a second before he smooths it into a bland smile. “Hey. Can’t sleep?”

It’s the first time I’ve been alone with him since the night we rescued George. I’ve seen him around the condo when Fox or Everly are home, but he spends the rest of his time in his room or out somewhere doing God knows what. I’m not sure if he’s intentionally avoiding me or if he’s just busy.

Something shifts in his face. “You okay?” I realize that I’ve just been standing here staring at him and shake myself.

“Yeah. Zoning out.” I set my laptop and papers on the table across from him and head into the kitchen. “You want something to drink? I’m making tea.”

“I’m good.”

You’d be a lot better if you went and put a shirt on,I think, then smile to myself. On the other hand, I completely forgot how tired I was the second I laid eyes on him. Maybe shirtless Wyatt is just the distraction I need.

I bring my tea out to the table, trying not to stare. His chest is mostly smooth, with a scattering of dark hair on his belly. He has a few tattoos, vivid ink dotting his shoulder and his chest. The contrast between this messy-haired, tattooed rock kid and the buttoned up, tuxedo-clad pianist he plays on stage is captivating. Not to mention that his lean muscles are a lot harder to ignore when he’s half naked. I want nothing more than to run my hands all over his chest. And his shoulders. And his abs.

Pretty much everywhere.

I’m so distracted by his lack of shirt that it takes me a second to realize what he’s doing. “Are you…knitting?”