Waiting for Wyatt (Red Dirt #1) (19 page)

My confused thoughts cluttered all the rational ones right out of my head. The parking area only held my car. Glancing out across the pasture, the black Tahoe disappeared into a cloud of dust.

I could push him. I could march right inside his cave and push him into talking, but I wasn’t sure if that was the right course of action. This Willa had set him on fire. Maybe I should wait until it burned down into something not so angry. Leaving was a risk because I might return to only find the ashes with all my progress, blowing away in the summer air.

The questions and options were endless and not promising. Maybe he loved this girl and that’s why I was an impossible fantasy. Maybe there was truth to all those warnings and her
episodes
.

Willa’s cryptic comments raised a different set of questions that haunted my thoughts as I walked to my car. Pulling open the door, I saw a note lying in the front seat on the back of a Walmart receipt.

Emma,

I don’t know who you are. But the fact that you are here means Wyatt trusts you. I don’t know what he’s told you. I’m sure you have questions. If you want some answers, at least the ones I know, give me a call. 405-555-5309. If you want to wait for him to tell you, I understand too.

I’m not some psycho ex. I’m his sister. I doubt he’s ever mentioned his family. He’s got one of them too.

Willa

His sister? The shock hit me hard in the chest. All those times I’d worried that no one thought about him, Wyatt had kept a secret sister and a family. He had people but chose to live out here in complete misery. As the anger flickered in tiny bursts through my thoughts, I knew his isolation came from something much bigger than I’d realized.

Gripping the receipt in my hand, I slammed my car door and marched over to his trailer. The pain went through my knee in sharp stabs, but I ignored the irritating reminder. My fingers grasped the knob on the aluminum door, expecting it to be locked, but it turned loose in my hand.

Wyatt sat in the old chair that held the shape of his body. His eyes glowed back from the darkness of the trailer. Every light remained off and the thick curtains cut off all traces of the sun. I left the door open so I could monitor his reaction.

“Start talking.” I threw the slip of paper in his lap. Wyatt grasped the Walmart receipt tight as he skimmed the words and then crumpled it in his fist.

“Fine. Destroy it. But that doesn’t make any of this go away.” Except I’d forgotten to write down her phone number, but that little detail wasn’t relevant. “You need to talk to me, or I’m going to call Willa. I’ll let her tell me everything you are so desperately trying to avoid. Just tell me, Wyatt. Talk to me.”

That strange laugh came from deep in his throat as he shook his head. “You’re so naïve. It’s been right in front of you. I thought you would figure it out, but you never did.”

“Figure what out?”

“Dammit, Emma.” His hands gripped tight, making his knuckles turn white. “Fine.”

He kicked off his boot and yanked up his jeans leg. A three-inch scar ran down his skin right under his knee.

Just above his white sock, a black strap circled his entire leg with a little box attached to the side. I was confused, and then it all slammed into place.

Wyatt couldn’t go to the doctor. Wyatt couldn’t go to dinner. Wyatt couldn’t ride his motorcycle.
Wyatt couldn’t leave.

My eyes stayed locked on the ankle monitor as the puzzle pieces swirled around in my head. “How long have you been here like this?”

“Over two years.”

“You haven’t left here.
This place.
In over two years?”

“Yes,” he muttered. “And it’s only the beginning.”

“What happened?”

He watched me as the raw pain twisted through his face. Wyatt pulled his jeans leg down. “When a guy out in the middle of nowhere tells you that he has been in his own personal prison for the last two years—
that
should be your cue to leave.”

“Not until you tell me why. I’m tired of fighting you on this.” I sat down on the couch, feeling the scratchy fabric on my thighs. I crossed my arms in defiance. “Stop trying to push me away by being a jerk. Just spit it out. Rip the Band-Aid off.”

“How do you know I won’t lie and just sugarcoat it with a bunch of fake shit?” He was trying his best to scare me, but I was in too deep to run. I saw through his façade. He was afraid. He was terrified for me to see the broken pieces of his life.

“I know you don’t lie to me. You’re not that kind of person.”

“You don’t know what kind of person I am. Not really.”

“Then tell me.” Staring into those mocking green eyes, I dared him to give me his worst. “Who are you
really
, Wyatt Caulfield?”

He hesitated, letting out a deep breath. “Well, for starters, my last name is Carter. I stole Caulfield right out of
Catcher in the Rye
. If you tried to look me up, I’m sure you didn’t find a damn thing.”

The words came out with a cruel twist, causing my heart to falter and question everything I thought I’d known about this person. I was so sure, and then like a flash—I wasn’t. Wyatt
Carter
got up from the chair and kicked the door closed, sending us into darkness.

N
O ONE STARTS OUT THE
morning thinking,
I’m going to screw up everyone’s lives today
. Instead, they go about their day believing,
I’m so damn invincible, not even God himself can touch me
. But that’s the thing about believing you’re more powerful than God. At the end of the day, everyone is really just a product of their piss-poor choices and ultimately the consequences.

I don’t know when I’d become the guy who contemplated a bunch of theoretical shit. Maybe it was my freshman year when my advisor stuck my ass in that philosophy class—or maybe it was the night I learned the truth the hard way.

2 years, 6 months, 17 days ago

M
Y EYES LOCKED IN A
dead hold with my father. One whole hour. That’s all it took. “Are you coming down for dinner, Wyatt?”

Simple, harmless words, but laced with years of issues. Sometimes I wished he would just hit me. Break my nose. Knock out a few teeth. People had a way of understanding violence. It’s easy to explain:
my dad beats the shit out of me
.

But our disagreements were different. Oil and water and gasoline and fire. Words and resentment and control. That’s what it always came down to with him. He wanted me to say and do everything just like those he commanded at work.

I crossed my arms over my chest without saying a word. We held our spots, each of us frozen in our attempt to take a stand. My father expected me to follow him down the stairs like a puppy. But I wasn’t coming until I damn well felt like it.

My phone buzzed as Trevor Higgins sent another obnoxious text. Looking at the screen, I cringed at the words, describing my high school ex-girlfriend.

“Melissa Cox is here. I think her tits got bigger.”

My fingers gripped around the phone before tossing it on the bed. Taking another look up at my father, his jaw clenched in a tight hold. He knew who had sent the message without even reading it.

“I’ll be down in a minute,” I muttered.

I wanted him to leave me the hell alone tonight. I was exhausted from finals. Over the last three days, I’d slept a total of five hours and I couldn’t shake the uneasy feeling that still gripped my gut. I hoped my psychology professor took my end-of-semester term paper since I’d slipped it under his door late. My scholarship required me to keep a certain GPA, or I would find myself right back here in this shit-hole on a permanent basis.

“I’m warning you. Don’t pull one of your stunts and ruin dinner.”

“Yes, sir.” I struggled to tone down the sarcasm. He gave one last commanding glare before stepping around my suitcase and leaving my bedroom. Hearing his shoes on the stairs, I got up and slammed my door before falling down on the bed. My phone lit up again with another message from Trevor.

“Get your pussy ass over here. This is your fucking party.”

I didn’t want any damn homecoming party, but we both knew this had nothing to do with me. Not really. Back in the fifth grade, his mom had left with some guy who grew hemp on a commune in California. Mr. Higgins had never really gotten over that one. He slowly spiraled into a worthless father who spent all his time and money at the Indian casinos. I’m sure Trevor was all alone and my trip back for winter break was an excuse for some bender blowout at his house.