I hear the faint click, and I know that I’ve lost him. I know that whatever it is my brother’s gotten himself involved with has only gotten worse since he and Sienna took off for Atlanta.
And I feel like I’m dying inside.
For several minutes, I sit silently on the bed, inhaling the faint, masculine scent Wyatt left behind. I know what I have to do. I know that I have to call Sienna to check on her, but I also know that I’m not going to like what I hear.
By the time I work up the nerve to call her, I’m crying.
“Please tell me he didn’t?” More than ever before, I want to be wrong. I want her to tell me that she’s still with Lucas, and he hasn’t kicked her out. But, I’m not wrong.
Her voice sounds like she’s a million miles away as she answers me, “Why does it matter?”
It matters because I wanted my brother to take care of her—for him to be happy. It matters because I was the one who convinced her to go along with him. I was the one who told her that taking Lucas up on his offer was all worth it.
But judging by the way Sienna sounds today, that was the only thing I was wrong about.
“He’s letting her control him,” I explain. “I checked his—” I pause and take a deep breath, squeezing my eyes tight in hopes that it will keep me from picturing Samantha’s f**ked-up sneer. “He sent her a wire this morning for two hundred and fifty grand, and then I called him.”
There’s more silence on Sienna’s end of the line. I climb out of the bed, barely feeling the thick carpet beneath my feet as I pace the short width of the hotel room. I try not to imagine what he said to her before he made her leave him. I try not to think about what she must think of me right now for convincing her to go.
But, it’s impossible for me not to.
Finally, the sound of nothing but heavy breathing does me in, and I lean against the dresser, gripping the edges of the wood. “She’s got something on him, Sienna. I’ve got no f**king clue what it is, but she threatened him. She doesn’t want him happy. She’s—”
Sienna makes a soft noise, a sound of acknowledgement. “Kylie, I’ll call you back.”
“Let me talk to him. Let me figure out what she’s screwing him over for, and I can fix—.”
Then I realize that she’s ended the conversation, and I’m making promises to myself. Even though I want to, I don’t call her back because right now, it won’t help either of us. Hearing my voice again will only make her hurt more. So, I call the source behind all of her pain.
I’m not surprised that the call goes directly to voicemail. I start to leave a message—more than anything I want to let Lucas know exactly how I feel about him at this very moment—but then I realize the hypocrisy of it all. I’m just as screwed up as my brother for what’s been going on with Wyatt for so many years. I end the call, clenching the iPhone as tightly as possible to resist the urge to hurl it up against something.
As I ease down onto the edge of the bed with my face buried in my hands, I’m not sure if I’m crying more for Sienna and my brother or for myself and Wyatt McCrae.
***
For the remainder of the day, I put on the most believable facade possible. Heidi and I explore Albuquerque—this is her first visit here—and she ropes me into doing everything from shopping to trying to get past the ID verification at a casino she read good reviews about.
It doesn’t work, and we’re turned away.
As we take a taxi back to our hotel to get dressed for tonight’s show, she finally brings up Lucas. I tiptoe around the topic for several questions until she asks, “So, I’m guessing you got everything worked out for him.”
I tighten my hands into fists in my lap, giving Heidi a nod. “Wrapped up neatly and tied with a bow.” An incredibly sad and frayed bow that will break into a million pieces at any moment.
“Thank God. I’d feel like shit if Finn messed something up for Lucas.”
A tiny smile crosses my lips. “Finn would feel like shit if he screwed with Lucas.” Saying that only makes my thoughts ping back to Samantha. My brother is hotheaded and moody and commanding. He’s the first to start a fight and the last to say sorry.
So why the f**k is he pouring his money into Samantha’s hands the moment she snaps her claws?
After the taxi driver drops us off at the hotel, I attempt to think about anything but Sam and Lucas and Sienna. Of course, the moment Wyatt comes back to the room, striding across the floor with his hands pushed deep into his pockets, he blows that to hell.
He stands behind me as I apply my makeup in the bathroom mirror. “Something’s wrong, Ky.” The alarm is back in his voice, the same panic that was present back in New Orleans on the night Shiner Bock ransacked my room.
I look up, glancing at his reflection and mine. “Had a fight with Lucas.”
“He say something f**ked up to you?” he demands, leaning his long, muscular body up against the doorframe.
I shake my head. Regardless of how angry I am with my brother, there’s only but so much of his personal life that I want to put out there, especially to Wyatt. “He hurt Sienna.”
Wyatt mouths her name a couple times before recognition dawns in his blue eyes. “And she came after you for that?”
“No. That’s just it. She didn’t say anything.” I carefully apply my lipstick, an electric blue I found at Sephora that matches the blue in my hair, before I turn to face him. His gaze slides up my body, from the blue patent stilettos, to the leather-looking leggings, and finally to the black, asymmetrical top that brings out every positive aspect of my figure. His eyes are appreciative, hungry, and I dip my gaze to the tile floor. “Don’t look at me like that when I’m angry.”