Page 11

Chapter Eight

I didn’t sleep. I have my dad’s temper and my mom’s defensiveness when it comes to the people I love. Of course, I’m also a stubborn competitor despite my spinal injury, and when Mickey attacked my very core, whether he knew it or not, he lit my inner fire.

When I told Wyatt I had half a mind to show up alongside him and Whiskey this morning and lay out a few of the guys on Mickey’s prized O-line myself, I was only half kidding.

I may have been delusional, but I was pissed.

And I’m not so sure I want our family tied to that man and his organization.

What I am sure of is that the last thing I want to do right now is traipse around a winery with Tasha while Wyatt and Whiskey tap dance for that asshole.

I’m not sure how I’m going to keep my mouth shut around my friend.

If I repeat anything to Tasha about things said during last night’s dinner, she’s going to make a scene.

It’s her nature, and I love that she’s so loyal to our family and friendship that she’d throw away her and Whiskey’s future in solidarity. I can’t let her do that.

Tasha’s rap on the door to our suite comes a few minutes earlier than I expect, so I toss one of Wyatt’s T-shirts over my head and skip to the door to let her in.

“Girl, you aren’t ready?” She gestures down my lower naked half.

“You’re early,” I protest, urging her to step inside so the rest of the hotel doesn’t get a good look at me in my panties.

Tasha chuckles as she follows me into the living room and drops her giant leather bag on the loveseat, fishing out a hairbrush and a small makeup bag before jetting straight toward the bathroom.

“Uh, I need to use that,” I say, trailing close behind her.

She waves me off.

“I’ve seen you pee.”

My friend plunks her makeup bag by the sink and flips her head upside down, then brushes out her long black hair.

Since it’s obvious she isn’t budging from this bathroom, I shake my head and squeeze around her to the toilet.

I zero in on the tiny spot of red on my underwear the second I sit down, and my heart drops to the floor.

“It’s warm out today, that’s why I’m wearing this sundress. You might want to skip those jeans I saw folded on the back of the toilet and opt for shorts or something.”

My friend’s words are muted by the rush of blood suddenly whizzing by my eardrums. I don’t realize I’m crying until I feel the first drops hit my bare thighs.

I try to wipe them away before Tasha notices, but her head is already upright, her hair pulled tight into her fist as she holds a hairband between her teeth.

She blinks at me, and I can tell she reads my expression right when she drops her hair and tosses the band into the sink.

“Oh, honey,” she says, leaning against the opposite wall.

I shrug and sniffle away my disappointment.

“It’s fine. It takes time for some people. It’s just . . . I feel like it’s been a while. And part of me felt like maybe this was it.”

I shake off my last bits of hope and do my best to clear my mind as I finish up in the bathroom and head to my suitcase that’s parked on the stand at the foot of the bed.

I toss a few shirts onto the messy pile of blankets in search of my girl products, then snag my only pair of unsexy underwear and my black cotton shorts.

“Fuck!” The anger sneaks up on me, and I hear my friend step out of the bathroom behind me. I hold up my hand without turning around.

“I don’t want pity. Not today.”

She doesn’t respond, and I don’t make eye contact with her on my way back into the bathroom. She gives me privacy this time, but I’ve numbed myself to dwelling on another month gone by without a pregnancy, so it doesn’t take me long to change clothes and sweep my hair up into a bun.

“Ready?” I snag my favorite Kate Spade bag from the dresser and slide my oversized sunglasses up the bridge of my nose.

“How about we get day drunk?” Tasha’s voice stops me as I exit the bedroom, and I turn to give her a flat look.

“That’s the best idea you’ve ever had in your entire life.”

She nods, also not smiling as we head out the door and into the waiting rideshare vehicle.

There are times for being silly with your girlfriends, and then there are times to go to work.

These missions include late-night conversations about tasteful revenge plots for someone who wronged one of us, gossip sessions about someone we knew in high school getting married, divorced, or, occasionally , arrested, and self-medicating utter devastation at the winery while you both ignore the reason for it.

Today, it’s the latter. And neither of us cracks a smile until we’re at least a bottle in.

Tasha was right about the temperature today, and by the time we make our way back to the hotel, my face is flushed from both too much pinot gris and the bright sun I sat under for most of the day.

Drunk as I may be, though, everything from the morning and the night before is still lingering in my mind.

It’s turned into a mush of sad frustration, and it all comes to a boil the second I open our room door and see Wyatt stepping out of the bedroom with a towel around his waist and another in his hand that he rubs over his hair.

He drops the hand towel the second my lips begin to blubber. His arms wrap around me, holding my forehead against his chest. I feel his chin rest on the top of my head before he slowly moves his lips to my crown.

“What is it, Peyt? What can I do?”

I shudder in his embrace. I don’t cry often, but when I finally let things out—man, am I a mess. I sniff up what I can and pull one hand up to wipe away tears that are replaced by more in half a second. I step back enough to meet Wyatt’s gaze and bite the inside of my cheek as I lift a shoulder.

“I got my period.”

I shake with a quick sob and slap my palm over my mouth to hold it in.

My eyes flutter shut, and I feel a little stupid for being so upset.

It’s been a few months of actively trying, and I know these things take time.

But it’s those what ifs that attack me from all sides.

I can’t help but think about my injury and the changes it may have made to my body that we haven’t discovered yet.

“Come with me,” Wyatt says, weaving his hand with mine and leading me into the hotel bathroom.

It’s nicer than the one we have at home. For all my father’s fortune, the guest house at their ranch is modest. Even my parents’ primary suite is basic, the one upgrade is a tub with jets that my dad put in when my mom asked for it.

Wyatt turns the water on for the double shower heads and pops open the glass door before turning his attention to me.

He lifts my T-shirt up my body, and I lift my arms so he can remove it completely.

I start to slide my shorts down my hips, but he moves my hands out of the way, taking over the job and dropping soft kisses on my belly as he pulls my shorts and unflattering granny panties down my legs.

He drops his towel to the floor, then unties my sneakers and slips them off my feet, allowing me to step out of my clothes before he rolls my socks over my arches and tosses them to the side.

I slide my bra straps from my shoulders and reach behind my back to unhook the silk bralette, letting it fall to the floor between us.

Wyatt’s palms slide up the length of my legs, tracing the curves of my hips before slowly creeping up my sides until his thumbs brush over my nipples.

My lips part with a soft breath and he tips my chin up to meet his mouth, sucking in my top lip and holding it hostage until his stretching grin breaks his hold.

“You know I love trying to make a baby with you, right?” His smoldering voice helps erase the lingering distress, and I tilt my head to the side, stretching my neck for him to taste. His tongue takes a swipe at my skin, and the low rumble of his sinister laugh fills my ears.

Wyatt walks me backward into the shower, the warm water pelting my back and soon cascading over my head.

He fills his hand with a few pumps of lavender shampoo and works the lather into my scalp and hair.

My eyes fall shut at the sensation. Sometimes this type of touch is what I crave—to be cared for and eased away from my spiraling thoughts for a little while.

“I love you so much,” I whisper, my eyes still shut. I’m finding it hard to open them. I had a lot to drink today, and I fear I may pay for it in the morning. My vision is swirling, but Wyatt’s hand is on my back, bracing me. I’m not afraid. I’m simply . . . tired.

“I will always love you more.”

And those are the last words I remember before his lips press to my head and he shuts off the water.

Cool air blows a few stray hairs across my forehead, waking me from the deepest sleep I’ve had in days, maybe weeks.

I blink my eyes open, glad that the room is still dim.

Wyatt steps out of the bathroom, fully showered and dressed to take the field.

I’m not entirely sure what day it is or how long I was out.

“Good morning, sunshine,” he says with a wry smirk.

He steps back into the bathroom briefly then comes out with a glass of water and what I presume is a handful of Advil. He hands me three pills, and I quirk a brow.

“I’m not the one taking hits on the field this week. I think two will do,” I say, squinting as I pry my eyes open wider. He spills all three pills into my palm and closes my hand around them.

“I’m pretty sure you’re in three-Advil territory. You sounded like Whiskey last night when I put you to bed.” He chuckles and I wince, knowing full well what Whiskey sounds like when he sleeps. Like a bear. A fucking bear . . . gargling. A fucking gargling bear.

I toss the pills in my mouth and gulp down half of the water. That slight movement of my head sends a throb to my temples. I quickly hand Wyatt the glass and press my palms to the sides of my head before falling back into the pillow.

“Maybe four-Advil territory,” I admit.

He laughs, setting the glass on the nightstand before crawling into the bed and nestling next to me. He smells fresh and clean, and like the hotel’s lavender body wash. I’m thinking of plucking that bottle right off the wall, I like it so much.

“Why don’t you go back to sleep. It’s five, and I have a long day ahead. Then, maybe tonight we blow off Whiskey and Tasha for a date night all our own. How does that sound?” He nuzzles into the crook of my neck, his nose grazing my jawline before he nips lightly at my skin.

“ Mmm , maybe we order in,” I say, my body tingling with desire.

If I didn’t think I’d fall over from vertigo by doing it, I’d pounce on this man and pull those sweatpants he’s wearing down far enough for me to sit on that hard-on pressing against my thigh.

But moving any more than I already have might kill me.

And nothing kills the mood more than a grown-ass woman rushing to the bathroom with a hangover.

“Only if you wear that dress I saw you pack. You know the one, with the low back, and that slit that goes up the side, and?—”

“The red one?” I quirk a brow, my right eye opening a little wider than the left.

Wyatt lets out a guilty chuckle, then kisses my lips before getting up from the bed.

“That’s the one. Six o’clock. Be ready. I’ll take care of everything.” He winks as he backs away, like the damn teenager he was the first time he did that. And I fall for him all over again, right before falling back asleep.