Page 129 of Wyatt

“No, I’m sorry, Ma.” He squeezed her hand. “I know…well, I stepped over a line with Coco and—”

“Son. You need to let that go. Yes, it was a life-altering decision, but you know, God is still in control. He didn’t take His eyes off you that day and say, ‘Ooh, whoops. Now Wyatt is off the rails.’ He’s been with you—and Coco—every step of the way, and now…now He’s brought you back together to face this. With each other. And with Him, if you’ll let Him.”

She leaned against the bed, facing him. “I’ve been sitting here for the past few hours trying to think what Orrin would say to you.”

“He’d be disappointed.”

“Oh, Wy. You don’t know your father at all. Sure, he would have been sad that you stole from you and Coco that connection that comes from the security of marriage, but in truth, he was always more interested in your heart than your actions. For out of the heart isbirthedyour actions.”

“I don’t know, Ma. He once told me that I needed to change my ways or change my name. And then he sent me away. So—”

“Is that what you think? That your father didn’t want you?”

He looked at Mikka.

“Your father sent you away because he believed in you. He knew you had potential to be great and he didn’t want to stand in your way.”

Wyatt shook his head.

“Oh, son. You are so like your father. Your passion, your big heart, your drive. Your father saw himself in you, and he didn’t want to keep you from your dreams. He was your biggest fan.”

His mouth tightened around the edges.

“Do you still have your father’s Bible?”

He glanced at her. And for some reason he didn’t want to admit it, but, “It’s in my duffel bag.”

A slow smile lit her face. “You carry it with you.”

He looked past her, toward the window, the lights of the skyline.

“You might consider reading it. Especially the inside cover.” Then she got up, gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I’m going down the hall to find a vending machine.”

He watched her leave through the reflection in the window. Sat for a moment, then reached down and dragged his duffel bag over.

The leather Bible was old, thin, and worn. An NIV version, the cover flimsy and tattered. He’d watched his father carry it to church with him for—well, as long as he could remember. In the mornings he was up before Wyatt, sitting in his leather chair by the soaring stone fireplace in the great room, light splashing upon the pages, his readers down on his nose.

Wyatt opened the first page.To Orrin from Dad. Matthew 10:39. Remember, that whoever finds their life will lose it, and whoever loses their life for the sake of the Lord will find it.

Wyatt turned the next page.

A prayer list.

And his name was at the top.

Not Reuben. Not Knox. Not Tate or Ford. Not even RJ, the princess. But Wyatt’s name, squeezed in at the top of the long list.

And next to his name, a verse. Matthew 3:17.

Wyatt turned to the gospel, found the verse, and his breath clogged in his chest.

“This is my Son, whom I love; with him I am well pleased.”

He had nothing. Read the verse again.

And again.

Jace barreled into his head.He wanted to give you what they didn’t have…a look at his heart.