Until Tomorrow: A Flirting With Trouble Novel (18 page)

“I pushed you, Carson, by making suggestions. By telling you what I thought. By sharing my opinion. I didn’t go behind your back to meet with people I don’t even know just to push my own agenda.”

I swallow hard.

“That isn’t what I was trying to do.”

“Well, it’s what you did.”

For a long moment, we stare at each other. In Wyatt’s eyes, I see two men—the kind and gentle man recovering from tragedy and the slightly harder but musically gifted prodigy he was before his accident. I don’t think he realizes that he can be both. I don’t think he knows that I love both parts of him equally.

“Wyatt?”

We both turn to see Jillian holding a cup of coffee and leaning up against a nearby armchair. Sighing, I stand up. I’ve clearly fucked this up far beyond anything like recognition. I might as well cut my losses, especially since losses seem to be all I have.

“Don’t worry about your last payment,” I say to Wyatt as I shove my hands in my pockets. “Consider your tutoring complete. If you need assistance with your last projects, you should call Dr. Evans. I think he’d really enjoy talking to you.”

“Carson, wait.” Wyatt wheels forward a few feet but I hold up a hand.

“It’s better this way. Whatever part of your past you decide to go back to . . .” I trail off, glancing up at Jillian, then back at him, “I hope you’ll take advantage of all of your opportunities.. You’re too talented not to.”

Before he can protest, I slide past him and stride toward the door.

I make it all the way to the front desk before I break into a run.

I make it all the way to my car before I let myself fall to pieces.

***

Crying is for pussies.

This is my new mantra.

I give myself a week and a half to wallow, and then I force myself to get the fuck up out of bed. Only Rainey knew the details of what had happened and she knew the best thing for me was to give me a wide berth while I tried not to drown in my own bullshit emotions.

This right here is why I don’t fall in love. It’s easier and far less painful.

Wyatt has tried to call twice—once he left a message asking me to call back. The second time he waited a beat without saying anything, then sighed and hung up.

For all I care, he can take that sigh and shove it right up his fucking ass.

Which is total bullshit. I want him to call. I want to call him. I want him here in my bed with me and begging me to never leave him. And I hate that I’ve become that kind of chick.

So, instead, I’m rallying. I called Dr. Benson and I’m doing a meet-and-greet at the Sun Valley Therapeutic Facility tomorrow with the director of the program who is, apparently, really excited to meet me and start working together. Apparently my advisor really talked me up to him. I also called Dr. Bruno and set up weekly appointments for the next two months, starting with an hour-long session tomorrow afternoon.

I need to move forward. I know that Wyatt inspired me to do that, to move in a direction that allows me to focus on my strengths, not my weaknesses, but I refuse to believe that he is the only reason—the only inspiration—behind my progress.

I’m looking over the Sun Valley website when Rainey pops her head in my room.

“Yo, bitch. Get dressed. We’re going out.”

I start to groan and shake my head but she makes the universal “shut up” signal with her hand.

“I don’t want to hear it. You are not laying around in your own filth for one more minute.”

“Filth?” I ask, indignantly. She nods.

“Yeah. Go put on something hot. We’re going to hit up that club we checked out last spring with Cyn.”

I stare at her. “Seriously? It’s a sex club, Rainey.”

She crosses her arms, swishing her blond curls over one shoulder.

“Um, I’m sorry, but last time I checked, you were the one who called it a fetish club.”

I roll my eyes. “Please. You know I said that shit so Cyn wouldn’t freak out.”

She snorts. “Fair enough. But that doesn’t get you off the hook.”

I close my eyes and lean back in my chair. The last thing in the world that I feel like doing is going out tonight. I mean, literally, the last thing I feel like doing. What I feel like doing is curling up in a ball and crying while I watch romantic comedy bullshit.

But I refuse to fall victim to that. Because, like I said, crying is for pussies.

So instead, I look back at my roommate and sigh.

“Give me an hour.”

“Names?”

I eye the doorman at Cave. The last time we were here, it was a different guy—a little more of a Freddie Mercury glam rocker than this Magic Mike wannabe. Still, he’s hot enough to distract me. More than anything, I just want to be distracted.

But I’d forgotten the deal with Cave—you have to be recommended for the guest list. Now, standing in my lace-up stiletto boots and purple corset–style tank, I have a sinking feeling that I actually got all dressed up for nothing. But Rainey just grins and hands the doorman a small square card. He glances down, looks up at us both, then waves us through the curtained entryway.

“What the fuck was that?” I ask her when we’ve made it through the thick swaths of fabric. She shrugs.

“Remember how Smith knows the guy who owns this place?”

I’d forgotten that, actually, but I nod. Sometimes I forget that it was an impromptu night at Cave where Smith and Cyn actually met for the first time.

“Well, he gave me a handful of these little owner admission cards that he has—I didn’t know if we’d ever use them again, but I’m sure as shit glad I have them now.”

“Welcome to Cave, ladies.”

A mostly naked woman painted green and wearing leaf-style pasties sort of bows at us from her position at the top of the stairs. I remember her from last time and I’ve got absolutely no patience for her required welcome speech.

“We know the deal, Ivy,” I say, striding past her and heading down the stairs. The bar, surrounded by blue lighting and several dozen people, has never looked more inviting. I don’t even care what I drink anymore—I just want it in my system as soon as possible.

“Can I get a Grey Goose and tonic, extra lime?” I ask the bartender, a feminine man wearing heavy eyeliner and long pink eyelashes. I glance back at Rainey, then hold up two fingers. “Actually, make that two, chief.”

As the bartender plunks down two vodka tonics in front of us, Rainey snatches them both up, loops an arm through the crook of mine, and practically drags me away from the bar.

I knock back the majority of my drink.

“Come on. Let’s go check out this band and dance our fucking asses off.”

She grins. “You read my mind.”

Whatever band is coming on hasn’t started their set yet—instead, there’s a DJ spinning some kind of techno-meets-Taylor-Swift track and a few hundred bodies undulating in various states of undress. It turns out that tonight was a fund-raiser where people wore lingerie and boxers for a cause I’m not entirely sure I understand. Regardless, Rainey and I are skimpily clad enough that we blend right in with the rest of the flannel pajama bottoms and lacey camisoles.

We weave through the crowd until we reach an area between the stage and the DJ booth. It doesn’t take long for a sexy guy with a six-pack and slicked back dark hair to start to grind up against Rainey, who reciprocates in turn. She lifts up her arms and pushes her ass back against the guy, who’s wearing an open robe and tight blue boxer briefs. Behind me, I feel an arm snake around my waist.

“I don’t think we were properly introduced,” a voice growls in my ear.

I turn to see an Adonis standing behind me. He’s exactly the kind of guy that used to be my weakness. Hot. Fun. Down for anything with a girl he just met.

“Do I know you?” I ask, brow raised.

He pins me with a sexy grin. Perfect white teeth—of course.

“Listen, I know you don’t know me, but I’d love to dance with you.”

He reaches out then and brushes a tendril of hair from my forehead. The intimate gesture is so familiar—so close to something Wyatt would do—that I can almost feel the tears begin to well up in my eyes. I force them back just in time to see Rainey, who is stomping toward me.

“What the hell are you doing here?” she practically growls.

Adonis narrows his eyes and he actually looks sort of pissed this time.

“Rainey, I don’t know why you hate me so damn much, but I came here to have a good time tonight. My friends are running late and I don’t really want to sit at the bar looking like a jackass. I just want to dance and you said no, so I’m asking your roommate. Is that really so wrong?”

I glance back and forth between the two of them, completely confused. Finally she looks at me and rolls her eyes.

“Carson, this is Owen, my new boss. Owen, Carson—my roommate. And she’s totally in love and completely unavailable. So, stop trying to molest her on the dance floor.

I have to admit, I’m mildly entertained at the conflict in Rainey’s expression.

“It’s nice to meet you, Owen,” I say, smiling up at him. “And Rainey’s right—I’m totally a smitten kitten. But we can still dance, if you’re interested.”

A weird, choked noise comes from deep in Rainey’s throat.

“Fine, I’ll dance with you,” she mutters to Owen. “I’m not subjecting Carson to having to dance with a stranger.”

I shrug at her. “It’s okay—I don’t mind.”

But as I say the words, something in me realizes that Rainey doesn’t want me to dance with Owen—that she isn’t doing me a favor as much as she’s preventing me from grinding up against her hot new boss.

I can’t contain the smirk that’s beginning to spread across my face.

“You can dance with . . .” Rainey trails off, looking for her former partner, but he seems to have taken up with a chick in a white teddy and angel wings. I just shrug and wave a hand at her.

“I’m good.”

“You sure?”

Her concerned expression suddenly morphs into something I can’t quite understand—a mix of glee combined with something like nerves. I blink at her.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing . . .” she trails off, then leans in and hugs me tight. “I love you. So much. Now turn around. The band is coming on stage.”

Frowning, I turn to see four guys beginning to scale the stairs. Like the rest of the crowd, they’re dressed in various forms of pajama pants—ripped plaid flannel and baggy blue cotton—along with combat-style boots. They’re all shirtless and well-built, but it’s hard to see much more in the club lighting. At least until they reach the stage. And that’s when I stop breathing.

“And now,” the DJ announces over the microphone, “in their first reunion performance in almost a year, please welcome . . . MORTAL ENEMY.”

The crowd begins to roar with yelling and applause, but I just stand still, frozen in one place. I can see no one or nothing but Wyatt. He’s walking. He looks tall and confident as he strides to the drum kit, holding his sticks in one hand and shoving a hand back through his hair with the other. I can see past his façade, past his bluster, to the nerves lying beneath his skin. I’m not sure I’ve ever known anyone as well as I know this man.

I look over at Rainey, who is watching me closely. She whispers something to Owen, then leans in closer to me.

“Are you mad?” she asks in my ear. I blink at her, then shake my head.

There’s a squeal of an amplifier, then the loud wail of an electric guitar. I hear Wyatt’s sticks slap together four times and then the entire room—the lights, the crowd, the instruments—all practically explode. It’s like every one of my senses is on overload or plugged in to its own amplifier. As Bentz plucks the bass, Wyatt bends over the drum set and sets a steady, pulsing rhythm that, I swear, I can feel between my legs.

The lead singer isn’t the same hack from a few weeks ago, but it takes me a second to recognize him as Moses, Wyatt’s bouncer friend from The Factory. He’s got a raspy growl as he begins to sing and all I can do is stare, riveted, at the stage, as Wyatt becomes a working part of the group he left so many months ago.

I’m both elated and broken by it.

Elated at the sight, at the pure joy on his face, at the reality of the whole situation.

But broken by the truth—that he did this without me in his life. That maybe I needed to leave it in order for it to happen at all.

For their entire set, I’m standing mostly stock-still, unable to move as I watch the band play. I feel transported through time, back to a day and place when I was both myself and not myself. Back when drugs were as important as oxygen. Back when I’d take someone home at the mere shadow of interest on their faces. Back to the first time I’d seen Wyatt, and had known I wanted him.

But if someone touched me right now—and that someone weren’t Wyatt Sands—I think I’d probably put him in a headlock. Or kick him in the junk.

Around me, people dance and cheer and clap. The amount of action and life around me feels completely vital and completely foreign.

“Alright, Cave Dwellers,” Moses growls into the mike. “As you know, it’s been a while since Mortal Enemy played together, because of a tragedy that fell upon us. The loss of Zeb Porter was a tragedy that echoed throughout our band and our community. That same accident stole our drummer, Wyatt Sands, from us for months. But Wyatt is back now and we’re all playing in honor of Zeb’s memory tonight.”

Moses glances back at Wyatt, who nods, then turns back to the microphone.

“Is there a Carson Tucker in the audience tonight?”

Oh. Fuck.

I open my mouth, but no sound comes out. I feel Rainey next to me, squealing and tugging on my arm, then forces me forward and closer to the stage.

“She’s right here!” Rainey yells, waving her arms. Moses shades his eyes with one hand. When his gaze lands on me, he grins.

“Carson, we’ve dedicated this show to Zeb, but this song? This one’s for you.”

The spotlights fade out and redirect on Wyatt as he begins to play. The bass and guitar fade into the song, blending seamlessly. It’s a song I’ve never heard before, but as Moses begins to sing, I know it’s a song I’ll never forget.

The hardest moments came before you

Somehow you’ve managed to break me apart.

Now that I’ve learned the taste of your skin

I know you’ve left a scar on my heart.

The parts of my body that refused to move

Now can’t stop beating at the sound of your voice.

The parts of my world that refused to grow

Now know that they don’t have a choice.

You’ve made me grow, you’ve helped me move,

My body’s healed because of you.

I need you close, I need you here,

I love who you are and what you do.

I don’t even feel the tears as they begin to fall. It isn’t until they hit my chest that I realize they’re there at all. Wyatt ends the song with a soft touch of the cymbal and I can feel eyes from both the crowd and the stage all focusing on me. The only eyes I see, though, are Wyatt’s. I can’t tell what he’s thinking—from this distance, they’re too dark to know. But my body propels itself to one side of the room and over to where the stage stairs meet the dance floor.

I hear Moses saying something about future shows—one at The Factory next week and several more throughout Baltimore—but all I see, all I can focus on, is Wyatt. Seeing him stand up and move away from his kit toward the stairs feels as miraculous as the first time I saw him walk at all.

As he comes toward the stairs though, I can tell that the set has taken a lot out of him. He’s trembling as he reaches for the makeshift bannister. That slight hint of vulnerability is all it takes.

I fly up the stairs and throw myself into his arms.

I can hear the people around the stage whoop and catcall. Wyatt stumbles back a bit, but I plant my feet to help him stabilize. He chuckles in my ear as he wraps his arms around my waist.

“Does that mean I’m forgiven?”

I lean back to meet his gaze.

“I think that depends on a few things.”

He cocks a brow. “Like what?

“Like, what happened with your wife?”

“You mean ex-wife?” He reaches out to cup my chin with one warm hand. “She signed the papers, baby. I don’t have a wife.”

“And what about everything else?” I press. “You’re up here playing and it’s amazing—but what about school? What about the future.”

“You are my future, Carson. But, if you’re talking about Hopkins . . .” He sighs, then swallows. “I called Dr. Evans this morning and told him I’d like to officially transfer to JHU.”

He slides his hands up to my shoulders and steadies me as he stares deep into my eyes.

“I needed you, Carson. I need you. You were the push I needed. You were the drive behind all of the good that’s reentered my life. I can’t even thank you for that, but I can spend the rest of my life trying.”

He takes a deep breath, then exhales all at once.

“My life doesn’t work without you in it—that’s what the song was about.”

I bite my lip almost shyly. “Did you write it?”

He nods. “It was part of the narrative I wrote for Dr. Evans—the one about my life-changing experience.”

He cups my cheek with one hand.

“It was you, Carson. You are my life-changing experience. And I will love you yesterday and today and tomorrow. I will love you until there are no more tomorrows left.”

I choke back a sob as I push up on my toes to press my mouth to his.

“I love you, Wyatt. I love you so damn much.”

He captures my mouth with his, then deepens the kiss. His lips and tongue devour me in ways that only he can.

“Thank you,” he murmurs against me lips. I pull back, brow furrowed.

“For what?”

He cocks a half grin and shrugs. “For this moment. For every moment before and every moment after.”

I tilt my head and smile up at him.

“Here’s to tomorrow, Wyatt Sands. And every moment after that.”