Page 8 of Shy Girls Can’t Date Celebrities (Shy Girls Sweet Romances #6)

I edge my way into the hospital room. There’s a few machines obscuring my view, but diagonally across I manage to see the panoramic view of city skyscrapers facing the famous yellow beach and cerulean ocean.

Whoa.

Near the floor-to-ceiling windows is a couch and two armchairs, and then a kitchenette where a nurse stands by the sink. She looks over her shoulder at me and smiles.

“Looks like you have a visitor, Wyatt.”

“Huh?”

Even though it was just a syllable, I’d recognize that voice anywhere.

I turn to the opposite side of the room, and there he is.

Sitting on his hospital bed in a light gray T-shirt and black sweatpants, a movable table fixed over his bed with an array of playing cards displayed.

His hazel eyes shine behind square-framed glasses, which he then rips off and tosses onto the moveable tray table.

Wyatt shoves the table away. “Josie!”

I move over to him as adrenaline courses through me. “Wyatt. Oh my gosh. I can’t believe it’s you.”

He leaps off the bed, pulling me into a hug. “Were you expecting someone else?”

I tremble in his arms, taking a moment before hugging him back. “No, it’s not that.” I let out a nervous laugh. “I just... It’s been so long. I never expected to see you again.”

He frowns, his shoulders slouching as he pulls out of the hug. “Really?”

My smile twitches. “Only because you’re such a big star now.”

He gently brushes back my curls and whispers, “I’ve missed you.”

My knees weaken. “I’ve missed you too.”

His throat flexes as he looks me up and down. “You look so pretty.”

The blush warms through my cheeks. “Oh, thank you.”

Wyatt stumbles backward, leaning against his bed for support.

“Are you okay?” I ask.

He smiles brightly. “Of course. You’re finally here.”

“Wyatt,” the nurse says, “maybe you should sit down again.”

Wyatt shrugs and pulls himself back on the bed. I get tummy flutters when I glimpse the tattoo inside his arm. He mostly looks the same as the boy I knew, just the tattoo, the hairstyle, and muscles are new since the last time I saw him in the flesh.

He pushes his palms down on the mattress, shifting in place and wincing from the effort.

“You good?” I ask.

He nods. “I just have a sore neck and shoulders. They say I had some kind of fall, or something.”

“Yeah, I heard.”

“I have to do all this ph-ph-physical therapy to help with my posture and walk properly again.”

“Did you have to relearn to walk?”

He smirks. “I was just super wobbly.” He catches my hand, tugging me closer. “Boy, am I glad to see you.”

Tingles run down my spine. “Erika only called me last night. I’ll be here anytime you ask for me.”

“I ah, ah, asked for you to come for like, uh, uh, ages,” he stammers with an adorable grin.

I giggle and rub a circle on the back of his hand. “Oh my gosh. It’s so good to see you.”

“You too. It feels like no ti-time has passed. But, la-la-look at you. You’re a knockout.”

I giggle, blushing so much I’m almost not concerned about his level of stuttering.

Wyatt clears his throat, and as if on cue, the nurse sets a glass of water down on the table near his playing cards and reading glasses. He thanks her and then takes a sip. His hand shakes as he places the glass back on the table.

“I, I stutter sometimes,” he says, keeping his gaze low. “Th-the doctor said it’s normal with, umm, the, umm, memory loss.”

I plant a hand on his shoulder. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, Wyatt. I’ve felt sick over it.”

He lifts his gaze, wearing a lopsided grin. “You’ve been worried about me?”

I bite my lip, slipping my hand down his arm. “Of course. You’ve never stopped being important to me.”

The nurse finishes up at the sink and turns toward the door. “I’ll give you two some privacy to catch up. ”

“Bye,” Wyatt says with a wave.

“Are they nice here?”

He shrugs. “I guess. Pretty nice for med-medical staff. I d-don’t love the fact I’m here.”

“But you’re out soon, right?”

Wyatt plants his hands behind him, sighing at the ceiling. “Yes, I can’t wait.”

“Do you know you’re moving into a penthouse?”

He looks down at me with wide-eyed optimism. “That’s real? I thought they were messing with me.”

I giggle with eagerness. “No, it’s true. I just saw my room and it’s drop-dead-incredible. I can’t even imagine what they have in store for you.”

He tilts his head, grazing his bottom lip with teeth. “So, we’re moving into the same hotel?”

Shivers. “Umm, yes, I guess so.”

His eyes stay locked on mine, increasing in heat. “Nice.”

I turn away, needing to fan myself. I gesture at the playing cards, hoping for a breather from the intensity in the room. “What’s going on here?”

Wyatt pulls the table closer. “They have me playing solitaire.” He rubs his thumb and index finger together. “I have numbness in my fingers, and also my brain is really foggy.”

I look at the cards. “And the game is supposed to help?”

He mumbles a laugh. “Yeah, but I suck at it.”

I ease into a laugh. “Practice makes perfect.”

“I guess.”

“And the glasses? I’ve been keeping up with you for years—on stage and behind the scenes—and I’ve never known you to wear glasses.”

“They’re new,” he says, picking up the pair and spinning it by the earpiece. “I have killer headaches and problems focusing. They’re supposed to help.”

“Oh, that’s good then. They look cute on you.”

He sets them back on the table and puffs a laugh. “Thanks.” He then sits back and gives me a hesitant look. “Umm. I don’t know how to ask you something.”

I flinch. “What?”

He rubs the back of his neck, looking down at the mattress. “What happened between us?”

“Nothing.”

He looks up with his eyebrows lifted. “But we’re not friends anymore?”

“We don’t have to talk about this,” I rush, waving my hands. “I’m just so happy to see you. The past two years don’t matter.”

He sits forward. “Two years? Have we not talked in two years?”

I fidget in place, clutching my elbows. “There’s an update here and there, but I wouldn’t call them conversations.”

He winces. “Don’t tell me I became a star and was too arrogant to keep in touch.”

“I’d never call you arrogant. You’re the sweetest.”

“Then, what happened?” He rubs the heel of his palm against his forehead.

“After my headaches weren’t so bad and I got my voice back, I started asking about you.

All these people I don’t know were visiting me.

None of them knew your name.” He leans forward, urgency in his eyes. “How could they not know you?”

“Well, they’re people who work for you, right?” I reason. “They probably don’t know your school friends.”

“But you’re not just a friend, you’re...” He swallows hard, sitting back. “Well, you were more than that.”

I rub the space on my chest over my heart. “It’s okay. I’ve never held it against you. Heck, I’m the one who told you to go on Talent Quest.”

Wyatt frowns, looking down as he kicks out his feet below the bed. “Why...” he stammers. “Why wouldn’t I keep in contact?”

My eyes water and I hurriedly blink them clear. “Don’t worry about it. You’re busy. I didn’t expect daily updates.”

“But I’ve thought about you everyday I’ve been in here.”

My heart palpitates with mixed emotions.

Wyatt winces. “We didn’t have a fight?”

“No. You just got busy.”

“That doesn’t make sense.”

“We texted after you left town,” I explain. “And the more successful you got, the more time came between your replies. I was fine with that. One day, the texts stopped. But that was okay. I kept watching your career. I just thought... maybe one day, I’d get another reply.”

“It doesn’t make sense that I was never going to reply.” Reflectively, he looks around our surroundings. “I don’t have my phone because the screen hurts my eyes and makes my headaches worse. But I wish I had it and could prove there were texts that were meant for you.”

“Don’t beat yourself up,” I whisper, letting the frown take me over. “I’m not in your league anymore.”

Wyatt looks up with surprise. “You’re always good enough for me. I’m the one who doesn’t deserve you.”

I smile, swaying under his gaze. “Not possible.”

“To me,” he whispers, “we spent yesterday in your treehouse.”

I bite into my lip and then whisper, “That was three years ago.”

“We haven’t seen each other in three years?”

I nod. “After the TV show, you were supposed to come home. But then you got all these opportunities, so I was going to visit you. But you got so busy, the visit kept getting pushed back. And that’s it.”

“That can’t be it.”

“Wyatt, I’m here now, and I couldn’t be happier. ”

“A bonk on the head had to give me sense, I guess.” He tilts his head. “I won Talent Quest?”

I giggle with pride. “Yes, you were so amazing.”

“A nurse asked me to sign a T-shirt with my face on it, and said she saw one of my concerts.” He shakes his head in disbelief. “I’ve played concerts?”

“You’re incredible on stage,” I gush. “You played a small list of shows after the season wrapped, and then you played a bigger tour for the second album.”

“I saw some of the titles on the back of her T-shirt. Did I write those songs?”

“I’ve read every tidbit of information about you. You have a partial writing credit on a few of the songs.”

“I should have you writing the songs,” he replies. “Are you still writing?”

I plant a hand over my thumping heart. “You remember that? Yes, I’m writing almost everyday.”

“I’d love to read what you’re working on,” he says with eagerness, and then shifts awkwardly. “Well, maybe you’ll have to read to me. I’m not so good at the reading part at the moment.”

He taps the space beside him, and with bashfulness, I sit up on the mattress next to him. “Is it your eyesight or the brain fog that’s tripping you up?”

He shrugs. “Bit of both. Just like the stutter, the headaches come and go.”

I rub his arm. “Then it means, eventually, they can go completely. Just a momentary setback from the accident.”

He crosses his fingers. “Hopefully.”

I gesture at the playing cards. “Did you want to get back to the game? Or we could play go fish?”