Love Song(128)

Chapter 52


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THE KNOCK ON THE DOOR startles me. My grandfather is still at his curling game, so I hop off the couch and go to answer the door. I’m frowning as I open it, already expecting to be annoyed with whoever decided to show up announced after eight, so I freeze when I find Wyatt standing on the porch.

Holding Hot Boi.

My mouth falls open in shock. I look from the toaster to his bruised knuckles, then lift my gaze to his. “What did you do?”

Wyatt shrugs. “He made it harder than it needed to be.”

Despite myself, laughter sputters out. “Oh my God. Come in.”

He enters the house but doesn’t move farther than the front entrance. He holds out Hot Boi, and I accept the toaster gratefully while sweeping my gaze over Wyatt. He looks good. So good. God, I missed every inch of that gorgeous face.

I’m relieved to see he’s free of bruises. As far as I can tell, all the damage is confined to his knuckles, which bodes well. I hope he punched Isaac in his stupid, toaster-stealing face.

“I can’t believe you fought him over a toaster.”

Wyatt’s mouth twitches in a ghost of a smile. “I mean, you’ve been fighting him all summer. My beef only lasted, like, four minutes.”

I feel like I should scold him, but I can’t muster up a rebuke. I’m too touched that he did this. And too distracted by how beautiful he looks.

“Anyway. That’s all I came for. Just wanted to drop it off.” He turns toward the door.

“Wait.”

The word flies out before I can stop it.

Wyatt’s gaze shifts back to me.

“Do you want to stay for a drink or something? I mean, it’s the least I can do after you fought my ex in my honor.”

He hesitates. Then his gaze softens, and he nods.

We walk to the kitchen, where I realize I have nothing to offer but red wine. Grandpa Tim doesn’t really drink, but he keeps a few bottles of merlot handy for guests.

“We’ve only got red,” I say.

“I’ll take a glass.”

I pour for both of us and pass him a wineglass. We stand on opposite ends of the counter. My gaze drops to his right hand again, his torn knuckles.

“You probably shouldn’t have done that,” I say ruefully. “Isaac holds a grudge.”

“I’d do it again.”

My hand trembles as I lift it to my lips. The heady flavor coats my tongue and slides down my throat, but it does nothing to relax me. The silence that falls over the kitchen is too tense and oppressive. It’s too thick with everything that happened the last time we saw each other. Heavy with everything we lost and crackling with everything I’m still aching for.

I missed him so much. My chest physically hurts from how much.

“How’s school going?” he finally asks.

I swallow. I guess we’re making small talk then.

“Terrible,” I confess. “I’m bored and frustrated. I have a meeting with my advisor this week to discuss my options.”

Wyatt’s brow furrows. “What options?”

“Graduating early. I might have the credits because of those two summer classes I took sophomore year. And if not, maybe I can finish out the year online instead of attending classes. I’m just so tired of being on campus.”

“What about your sorority?”

“I’ve basically checked out. I tried to officially resign, but Shaye—she’s our new president—refused to let me.” I roll my eyes. “She said it’s a bad look for Delta Pi. So I’m still a member and have to pay dues for the year, but they’re not making me participate in any sorority events.”

“That’s good, I guess.”

“Yeah.” I watch him over my glass. “How’s the album going?”

“We start recording next week. I’m nervous,” he admits.

“You’ll be great.”

Silence settles over the kitchen again. We drink to the sound of the refrigerator humming, and it drags on so long I have to avert my gaze.

He breaks first, his low, husky voice cutting through the tension.

“Nothing’s changed, freckles.”

I set down my glass because my hand is too unsteady. “What do you mean?”

“Nothing’s changed on my end. I still love you. I still want to be with you. I’m just waiting for you to say you want it too.”

My throat closes, so tight it ripples with pain. “It’s not that simple.”

“Yes, it is.” Frustration laces his words. “I loved you in Tahoe. And I love you now, here. All you have to do is…believe me.”

“I don’t know what I believe. I’m still such a fucking mess. My head is always spinning. My hormones are out of whack. I cry all the time. I can’t even tell if what I feel is real.”

Hurt fills his eyes. “You’re saying you don’t know if you love me?”

A helpless feeling twists my stomach. I lay both hands flat on the counter, needing to ground myself. “I’m saying I’m on an emotional roller coaster, and until I feel like myself again, I can’t be sure of what I want. And I can’t give you any answers.”

His features go taut for a moment, but then he swallows, relaxing his jaw. Slowly, he bridges the distance between us.