The message ends there, and I don’t even have to listen to the date and time to know that he left it in December. I feel numb, and I set my laptop to the side and stare at the phone long after I hang up.
“I love you, too,” I finally whisper.
***
Wyatt’s messages stay in the front of my mind for the next few days, and it’s nearly impossible for me to get much done besides write Sinjin two more letters and go to the gym with Heidi once. When my cell phone rings on Friday afternoon and my mom’s voice comes onto the line, a wave of relief washes through my body. She’s got this way of making me feel better by just saying a couple of words, and I stretch out on my sofa as I talk to her.
“You sound tired,” she points out in a worried voice, and even though she can’t see me, I shake my head.
“Just a little stressed.”
After she reminds me that I need to take better care of myself, she changes the subject to my upcoming trip to Atlanta to see her and my dad. “Are you still planning to visit in a few weeks?”
“I’ll be there driving you insane,” I promise and she laughs. I imagine her grinning face and how she’s probably waving her hand, shaking my comment off.
“You could never do that, baby. Me and your dad just really—” She pauses for several seconds when a sob hitches in my throat. The moment she opens her mouth to speak again, the concern has returned along with the firm voice she used on us when we were kids. “Alright, spill it now.”
And I do. Even though my mother is a youth pastor, I leave nothing out, telling her about everything from the cutting to all of the years of constant drama with Wyatt and even about the messages I recently discovered. When I’m done, she’s quiet for a long time.
“Do you love him?” she asks. “Are you still in love with Wyatt McCrae?”
Lucas’s words from the day at the DMV come to mind, and I swallow hard because my brother was right. It is impossible for me to stop loving someone. “Of course I do. I’ll never stop.”
My mother makes a squeaking noise, like she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. I hear her say something to my dad and then the sound of a door closing. “Then you need to tell him that. If you and him love each other, you need to be committed. And if he’s not willing to do that . . . well, the least you can do is get everything off your chest.”
“I don’t even know if it could work,” I say.
I can practically hear her shaking her head when she responds to me. “You don’t know anything until you try. No relationship is perfect, and there won’t ever be one that is. You just have to figure out how to fix yours.” When I promise that I’ll contact Wyatt, she tells me how much she loves me. Before we end the call, she clears her throat softly, “And Kylie? There’s so much we need to talk about in person when you come home.”
I’ve given her a lot to think about, and I know by the time I go to Atlanta we’ll have hours of conversation ahead of us. There might be tears and maybe even some angry words, but I nod my head, welcoming it. “I know, Mom. I love you, too.”
For the next twenty-four hours, I think on my mom’s words quite a bit, and by the next evening, I know that I’m ready to face Wyatt. I don’t want to lose my nerve, so I don’t call him to let him know I’m on my way as I make the drive to his West Hollywood bungalow. His car, a fully restored classic Chevelle is parked in his driveway, and I pull my blue Yaris right behind it.
Taking a deep breath, I walk up to his front door. I ring the bell and then clench my fists by my side as I wait for him to answer. When he pulls the door open a moment later, he’s speaking to someone over his shoulder, but his words are cut off the second he lays his intense blue eyes on me.
Slowly, I take in the sight of him. He’s barefoot, wearing nothing but a pair of gym shorts. My gaze traces over the bluebird tattoo on his chest. It’s healing fast, and I feel a sharp pang in my ribcage. “Hey, I hope you don’t mind me—”
“God, no. Never. Come in.” He’s hesitant to touch me at first, so I smile and step into his foyer. He stares at me for a long time until a noise from the hallway makes him turn his gaze away. “Be right there,” he calls out over his shoulder.
“You’re busy,” I say, suddenly feeling stupid. “I can come back. I can—”
But the other person here in the house with him hears me and cuts me off by saying my name loudly. “Kylie?” It’s Brenna’s voice, and I lift my head just as she comes rushing from the hallway. She runs into me hard, knocking the air out of my lungs.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
“Jesus, kid, you’re getting tall,” I say. I close my arms around the girl clinging to my waist and hold her close. “Next year you’ll be my height.”
Pulling away from me, she makes a face, and I screw my own into a dramatic pout. We both hold the looks for a long time before she gives up and laughter bubbles from her chest. I’m too nervous to laugh, so I manage a little smile as I tuck a lock of her dark blonde hair behind her ear.
“You’re just fun-sized.” She glances over at Wyatt, who hasn’t moved since she came sprinting into the foyer. “You said Kylie was gone on vacation, Dad.”
He lifts his shoulders slightly, and his eyes search my face, waiting for me to have some type of reaction towards him. “Guess she came back early.”
Brenna beams up at me. “Did you have fun?”
I fold my arms across my stomach, holding myself together. “It was . . .” I search for the right word, but it doesn’t come to me. I lift my eyes, finally meeting Wyatt’s deep gaze head-on. “I’m glad to be home.”