Then Came You (26 page)

Terrifying
.

He put on a condom and pushed into her with one hard thrust that almost sent her over yet again. So did the slow, purposeful, knowing thrusts designed to take her to the very edge. She already knew he could hold her off for as long as suited him, drawing out her pleasure until she was mindless for release. “Don't stop,” she begged. “Please, Wyatt, don't stop.”

“Never.”

Thank God, because this, with him. It was her air. It was her everything . . .

He broke from her lips, fisted his hands in her hair and locked his eyes on hers. She nearly came from the intensity of his expression, she was that close. He was, too, she realized, feeling him quiver against her with the effort it was taking to hold them both off. “Emily,” he said, that was it, just her name, and she clenched hard around him, going off like a bottle rocket. She took him right along with her, the sound of his release refueling hers.

When she opened her eyes, he hadn't budged, his weight still holding her pinned to the bed, his heart thundering against hers. She loved that, feeling him breathing hard, knowing he was completely wrecked and that she'd done it. One of her legs was bent, her foot on the mattress, the inside of her thigh still tight to his hip. Her other leg was still wrapped around him, as were her arms, her hands gliding along his sleek, sweat-dampened skin. As the rest of her senses slowly returned, she wished for him to lift his head, meet her gaze, and say one word.

Stay
.

His face was buried in her neck, his mouth brushing her skin softly. It felt sweet, and yet sexy. An affectionate just-had-an-earth-shattering-orgasm nuzzle.

“Was that good-bye?” she asked.

“I was thinking it was more of a ‘damn I'm glad you're not full of bullet holes,'” he said.

Or that . . .

His arms tightened on her, and she felt a surge of hope, but before that emotion could settle, he looked at the three boxes along the wall, boxes she'd packed with her stuff. “I guess it is a good-bye of sorts,” he said, and she stopped breathing.

Just stopped.

“You'll come visit,” he said. “Your sister's here.”

So are you
, she thought.

“And I get to L.A. occasionally,” he said. “And there's always vet conferences.”

Ouch. Yeah, this was good-bye.

His back to her now, he pulled on his clothes. “I need to get to Lilah's and see if she needs help treating the dogs.”

She let out the breath she'd been holding and sat up, pulling the sheet to her chin. Stupid to feel modest now, but she'd never felt more naked in her life.

Don't look back, she told herself. She wouldn't begrudge falling for him, or this place,
any
of it because she'd found herself here—not the person she'd thought she was supposed to be, but the woman she really was. And as it turned out, she was a lot more like her dad than she could have imagined.

And that was okay, too, because maybe, just maybe, she'd also learned to do what he'd always wanted for her—how to love without question, how to give her whole heart, no regrets.

But damn. Damn, it sucked.

Wyatt walked to her bedroom door, put his hand on the handle, and let out a long breath before facing her. “I really am happy for you,” he said with his usual blunt honesty. “Everyone should get what they want out of life, but especially you, Emily. You deserve that.”

He was gone before she found her voice. “You, too,” she whispered.

W
yatt strode into Sunshine Wellness Center from the back. AJ's office was empty so he moved past the physical therapy rooms to the gym.

AJ was flat on his back on a bench, pressing weights. When Wyatt kicked his foot, he jerked. The weights clunked when he racked them, and there was lots of swearing as he sat up and eyed Wyatt. “Men have died for less,” he said, and then frowned. “Damn, a dog die on you or something?”

“No.”

“A horse?” AJ asked.

“No. Jesus,” Wyatt said, and took the weight bench next to AJ.

“Something or someone died. It's all over your face.”

“Nothing died. No one died.” Wyatt shook his head and reached for the bar. “It's nothing.”

“Bullshit.” AJ stood and held Wyatt's bar down so that he couldn't lift. “You're not bench-pressing when you look like shit.” He paused. “This about your sister?”

Wyatt's eyes narrowed up at his oldest friend. “What about her?”

AJ chewed on the inside of his cheek for a moment, as if carefully considering his next words. “I'm thirsty. You thirsty?”

“No.”

“Good. Me too. Let's go.” He hauled Wyatt up and shoved him out the door ahead of him. They walked down the street to the only bar in town.

“Two shots,” AJ said to the bartender. “Whiskey.” He slid onto a stool and glanced at Wyatt's face. “Actually, make that four shots. And keep 'em coming.” He waited until the drinks arrived, lifted his, and knocked it against Wyatt's.

They tossed their drinks back.

“So,” AJ said. “You didn't kill any puppies today.”

“No.”

“And it's not about your sister.”

Wyatt gave him a long look. “Why do you keep asking about my sister?”

“No reason.” AJ reached for his second shot and waited until Wyatt did the same.

The shot went down a little smoother than the first, and Wyatt gestured for another.

The bartender brought four more shots.

“She's leaving,” Wyatt said, grabbing one.

“Darcy?”

“No.” Wyatt clicked his glass to AJ's and drank. “Emily,” he said, letting out a long breath. Finally. Finally he was feeling comfortably numb.

AJ blinked. “The pretty intern?”

Wyatt blew out a breath and picked up his fourth shot, gesturing to the bartender for still more. He wasn't sure how many it was going to take, but he figured he'd know when he got there.

“Man, I didn't realize,” AJ said, matching him shot for shot. “Just ask her to stay, why don't you? Chicks dig that.”

“No,” Wyatt said, and shook his head. His befuddled head. “It's her life, and this is what she wants. I'm happy for her.”

“Fuck that. Tell her to stay.”

Wyatt laughed mirthlessly. “Is that what you do, you tell your women what to do?”

“Yes.”

Wyatt pointed at him. “
That's
why you have no woman.”

AJ frowned. “Hey. Well, okay . . .” He was speaking a little slowly, like his tongue wasn't working. “Maybe that's true right
now
,” AJ said, “but this isn't about me. This is about you and your whole fucked-up family.”

“We're not fucked up.”

“
So
fucked up,” AJ said, weaving.

Or maybe that was Wyatt.

“Growing up,” AJ said, “you never had a choice or a say, like . . .
ever
, and now you won't tell a woman you love her and want her to stay because of it.”

“Bullshit.”

AJ raised a brow. “Which part?”

Wyatt wasn't exactly sure. He was fuzzy. Very fuzzy. “I won't take away her choices. She's gotta want to stay on her own. And she doesn't.”

“Cuz you didn't give her
any
choices,” AJ said. “That's as stupid as giving her too many.”

Somehow, in some way, that actually made some sort of twisted sense. Wyatt stared at the empty shot glasses lined up in front of him. “I should fix that.”

“Yeah.” AJ pulled a pen from behind the bar and shoved it and a napkin at Wyatt. “Write it down. In a letter. It'll sound less bossy.”

Way in the back of Wyatt's pickled brain he was well aware that he should actually
speak
to Emily and not write her a silly note, but he had to admit, it held some appeal. For one thing, it was hard to fuck up a note. He took the pen. Stared at the napkin. “Dear Emily,” he wrote.

“Good start,” AJ said, reading over his shoulder. “Keep going.”

Wyatt bent to the task. It took about ten napkins, and some unsolicited help from AJ, and the guy on the other side of AJ,
and
the bartender. And then suddenly Wyatt found himself staring at Darcy. “Hey,” he said. “What are you doing here?”

“Got a call that my shit-faced brother might need a ride home,” she said.

The bartender shrugged unapologetically.

Darcy glared at AJ. “I blame you.”

AJ, who'd been smiling and jovial all night, a happy drunk, was suddenly as somber as Wyatt had ever seen him as he stared at Darcy.

“This isn't my fault,” he said.

“It's always your fault.” Darcy slipped her arm in Wyatt's. “He's never like this.”

“Maybe it's you,” AJ said.

Darcy's mouth went grim. “No one can disappointment quite like you, AJ.”

“It's a talent,” he agreed.

Darcy turned to drag Wyatt out, and then paused. She met AJ's caustic gaze. “Come on, then. I'll drive your sorry ass home, too.”

“Gee, as appealing as that offer is, I think I'll pass.”

Darcy looked at the bartender, who nodded. He'd make sure AJ got a cab.

“Turn left here,” Wyatt said halfway home.

“Why?”

“Just do it.”

Darcy turned left. Wyatt gave her a few more directions to the route he had memorized. In three more minutes they were outside of Emily's place.

“Thought you'd already said good-bye,” Darcy said, engine still running as they both looked out the windshield at Emily's car, clearly loaded and ready to go first thing in the morning.

Wyatt didn't answer. He got out of the car and went to the driver's side of Emily's car. Not locked.

She'd become used to Sunshine, he thought with a smile. Whether she knew it or not . . . He set his note against the gearshift.

And then he walked away. No regrets, he told himself.

But for the first time in his life, it wasn't true.

*   *   *

Emily gave Sammy one last tin full of strawberries, feeling her throat tighten when he dove right in. Then she tried to hug Q-Tip good-bye, and got bit for her efforts.

Woodrow was in the car. She wasn't leaving him behind, she couldn't. She kissed Sara and Rayna good-bye. “I still can't believe you're going to stay,” Emily said.

Sara shrugged. “Sunshine grew on me.” She paused. “This is really stupid. You know that, right?”

“Says the woman who invented stubborn,” Rayna murmured beneath her breath.

Emily let out a short laugh. She and Sara had argued about this until they were blue in the face.

It was done. She'd agreed to go.

Sara rolled her eyes but wrapped an arm around Rayna's neck. “Straight people. They don't know how to communicate.”

“Yeah,” Rayna said softly, kissing Sara's jaw. “Because us lesbians do it so much better.”

Sara sighed and turned to her sister. “Be happy, Emily,” she said fiercely.

“I will.” But she didn't feel happy. She felt anxious, like she was leaving something behind.

You are.

Your heart.

“I mean it,” Sara said. “Promise me you'll be happy. You'll put it on your fucking calendar and do it.”

She would try to do the happy thing, but that hadn't worked out so well for her last time, had it?

*   *   *

One week later, Emily left work at the Beverly Hills clinic. She walked out with Woodrow and the other intern, the one who'd spent three whole days in Sunshine before coming back.

Turned out she had a vicious allergy to horses.

Emily had talked in great length with Dell about it. He'd told her to stay in Los Angeles, that they'd brought Olivia back from her maternity leave for now, that they'd work it out.

He'd told her all of this before she could say a word.

Not that she knew exactly which word she would say. She had a bunch of them. Such as . . . How was Wyatt? Did he miss her?

She missed him like she'd miss a damn limb.

I'm so sorry
, she'd nearly said.
Please take me back
 . . .

But Dell had been happy for her that she was getting what she'd wanted, and . . . he was in a hurry. When he'd disconnected, she'd stared at her phone forever.

Now she swallowed the lump in her throat, the one that felt a whole lot like homesickness. She got into her car and drove. Not to her place—which was a guesthouse in the hills, a lovely little private cottage. Instead she drove herself and Woodrow into the valley, to her dad's house.

When she let them both in, Woodrow went directly to the kitchen, to the bowl of cat food he'd already discovered was always there just begging to be poached.

Emily plopped down on the couch next to her dad. He was reading
Animal Wellness
and eating from a bag of baby carrots. He had a blind parakeet on one shoulder, a three-legged cat on his lap, and two geriatric dogs at his feet, all of them clueless to the real world.

“How was work?” he asked.

“Fine. You look like Dr. Doolittle.”

He looked up and narrowed his eyes on her. “Not fine.”

And not so clueless . . .

“How long is it going to take you to realize that L.A. isn't going to work out for you?” he asked, going back to his magazine.

“Tired of me already?”

“Never.”

Woodrow came into the living room still licking his chops and hopped up onto her dad's legs, upsetting the balance.

The parakeet squawked. The cat hissed.

And Emily would've sworn Woodrow smiled at the chaos. She knew he had to take his jollies where he could get them, as he wasn't allowed free reins at work the way he'd been at Belle Haven.

And no one had made him a badge or given him a hat.

Her dad tossed his magazine aside and hugged Woodrow. “Does he like carrots?”

“He likes everything but green veggies.”

“Smart dog.” He fed Woodrow a carrot, then looked at Emily. “Talk to me.”

She sighed and leaned her head back, staring up at the ceiling.

“Truth?”

“Yeah, let's start with that.”

“It's not that L.A. isn't going to work out,” she said. “It's more that I don't want this life anymore.” She let that sink in. “So what's wrong with me?”

“You want a list?” he asked.

She blew out a breath. “I've been here a week. I get a great stipend
and
a cute guesthouse to live in. It's a great practice. I've been given the keys to the kingdom, Dad. It's ‘the life' on my plan. I go to work and if there's no smog, I can see all of the city of Los Angeles, and yet all I can think about are the mountains.”

“I'm more of a desert man myself,” he said conversationally.

“Dad. I'm serious.”

“Me too.”

She turned her head and looked at him. “Two months ago this was all I ever wanted. It's everything . . .” She shook her head. “But it's not.”

He arched a brow. “Quite an admission, coming from you.”

“What does that mean?”

“Life isn't in the planning, baby. Life's in the living.”

She stared at him. “I can't believe you can say that to me with a straight face. With even a little bit of planning, you could've had everything you ever wanted. You have a degree from Tufts, for God's sake! You could've worked with the best of the best but you're here because . . . well, I don't know why exactly.”

“Don't you?”

“No! And then when you didn't put any money away and Mom got sick, you were wiped out with her medical bills and
couldn't
go anywhere.”

He looked around. “I like this place.”

“But Mom could've been the one living in the Malibu Hills—”

“And she still would've died,” he pointed out gently.

“Yes, but it could've been easier,” Emily said, throat thick, remembering those lean, awful years.

“Honey.” Her dad put his hand on hers. “You take great care of me. That's what you do, you take care of things. People. Animals. Whatever you can. I get that. You make a plan and you go for it, blinders on.”

“You're missing my point, Dad.”

“No, you're missing
my
point. I
am
living my dream. I've got two wonderful daughters, and I'm doing the work I love, and I married the love of my life. We had a great run.”