Page 100 of Indescribable
“Just talk,” he says, holding his hands up. “I promise.”
“Just a second,” I tell him. “Stay there. I’m going to get some shoes on, then I’ll be out.”
I rush to my bedroom and throw on clothes appropriate to be outside in, text Brock what’s going on, then call Dale. No answer so I leave a voice message.
“Dale, it’s Naomi. Just wanted you to know that Wyatt’s here wanting to talk. He seems okay, but after last time, I thought I’d better let you know in case… well, I don’t know. Anyway, he’s here.”
I hang up, wishing I hadn’t left that message. If I were a parent, I wouldn’t want to receive a message like that. I sounded a little scared and accusatory, but then again, who could blame me? Last time he landed on my doorstep the cops became involved.
By the time I make it out to the porch, I’m a bundle of nerves.
Stepping outside into the cool morning air doesn’t help.
But seeing Brock’s pickup pull up and park along the street does.
He’s here to make sure I’m safe. I’m his to protect once again.
Brock rolls down his window, his eyes never leaving mine as I take a seat on one of the patio chairs, coffee cup in hand, and Wyatt sitting opposite me.
“He’shere?”
Even though his tone is full of snark, I don’t take the bait. “Yes.”
He rolls his eyes and mutters, “Figures.”
“Why are you here, Wyatt?”
He sends a glare at Brock and shakes his head. “How long has that been going on?”
“Seriously?” I snap. “Wyatt. Answer the question. Why are you here on my front porch at eight-thirty in the morning?”
“Answer my question first.” He has the guts to demand.
Standing up, I start toward the door. “I’m done.”
“No!” he shouts, standing up and grabbing my arm. When I yank it away from him, he raises his hands in surrender and sits back down. “Sorry. I just… that kills, you know?”
“I don’t know why it would.” That’s not true, because I know why it bothers him. But he lost the right for it to bother him a long time ago.
He rolls his eyes in annoyance. “Whatever. I came to apologize,” he grumbles.
Healmostsounds sincere.
“For?” I prompt.
“Are you going to make me say it?” he grits out.
“I am. You showed up here high on cocaine, aggressive and angry at me. Demanded to be let inside, called me a whore, and then, when I thought things couldn’t get worse, I found drugs that you stashed in my house, Wyatt. Drugs. What were you thinking? Better yet, howcouldyou?”
He hangs his head but I’m not falling for his show of guilt. He’s exhibited remorse for his actions before, only to reveal his true self later.
He doesn’t even give me an answer, either. He simply shrugs.
“Do you have any idea what you put me through? And I’m not just talking about last week, either. You destroyed my confidence, made me feel unwanted during a time in our lives where I was vulnerable anyway, you made me feel broken inside, Wyatt. You demanded I stop being friends with people who I considered not just friends, but family, also. All because your ego couldn’t stand the thought of me having others in my life besides you. And the worst part is Iletyou. I believed in the sanctity of marriage and if there was something bothering you and I could fix it, I wanted to do that. So I did. I cut people out of my life –”
He interrupts me by spitting out, “Brock, you mean. You cut Brock out of your life, but you didn’t really, did you?”
“Yes. Brock. My best friend.”