Wyatt

by Susan May Warren

  A chuckle made Wyatt look up.

  Jace was grinning at him.

  Wyatt frowned.

  “Of course he does.”

  Huh?

  “Nothing like becoming a father to scare a man right onto his knees.” Jace grabbed a high top chair and scooted it over, climbing on to rest his arms on the back. “I remember when Addy was born. I could hardly breathe around her. She was so small, so…perfect. I so didn’t deserve her. I had no idea how to be a father either. Mostly, because I didn’t really have one.”

  Oh great. Now Wyatt was going to get a sermon.

  “I mean, I had a biological father, but he wasn’t around. But that didn’t stop me from wishing that…well, in my mind, I dreamed he’d show up, see me play, and realize how wrong he’d been leaving my mom and me.” He paused, was looking at his hands. “It wasn’t until I held Addy that I realized how terrifying being a father is. I looked at Addy in my big hands and all I could think was that I’d used these hands to hurt people.”

  Wyatt frowned at him.

  “We were pretty poor—me and Mom. Hockey was a way to freedom. But if you remember, I was pretty good with my fists.”

  “You were an enforcer—it was your job.”

  “Yep. But what you might not know is that I ended someone’s career. Boo Tanner. I hit him so hard his helmet came off when he hit the ice. Brain damage. Lived the rest of his life in a wheelchair.”

  Wyatt had heard he’d killed him, but looking at Jace’s expression, this was just as terrible.

  “After a while, I got it in my head that I was some kind of monster, and I was pretty jaded. Nobody wants to make a living hurting other people.”

  Change your name or change your ways. His father’s words huddled in his head, and for a second, he saw his father’s face, ashamed as he hauled his son up from the core of a brawl.

  Ashamed—or horrified?

  Even worried? Huh. Wyatt had never thought about that possibility.

  “But most of all, I just wanted to prove to the coaches that I had what it took to be a Blue Ox. And I wanted to prove to my father, if he was out there watching, that I didn’t need him. That I was just fine without him.”

  He looked at Wyatt now. “But see…I did need a father. And it wasn’t until Eden pointed out that I had a heavenly Father who loved me—who I didn’t need to prove anything to—that I started to realize that God had actually made me the person I was in order to rescue me and my mom from our lives. He was my good, good Father.”

  “I had a father, Coach.”

  “If I remember correctly, your father had just died when you showed up at the Blue Ox arena.”

  Wyatt stared at the ceiling. Silence pulsed between them. “My father didn’t care about hockey. He only came to one game my entire life. I don’t think he wanted me to play hockey at all.”

  Jace had suddenly decided to clam up.

  Fine. “You know, when he died, he’d already left something for everyone else? He’d written it down, like he might be expecting to die or something.” Wyatt slid off the table. His hips had warmed, the swelling down. “He left Reuben his Pulaski—it’s this fire ax he used to have when he was a hotshot. And Knox got his class ring. Tate got his badge from when he was a range cop, and Ford got his letter jacket. You know what I got?” Wyatt slid his feet into his flip-flops. “His Bible. Yep. A worn-out Bible. Because while everyone got a piece of his life, he just couldn’t stop telling me that I wasn’t good enough. That he had to fix me.”

  “So that’s where it comes from.”

  “What?”

  “You’re not trying to prove to your father you’re a good enough hockey player. You’re trying to prove you’re a good enough son.”

  “What? I was a great son.”

  “I am sure you were, Wyatt. You’re definitely a great player. You do everything we ask. You show up for events, smile for the press, and even play when you’re in pain. And why? Because you want to be noticed.”

  “Whatever.” Wyatt moved to pick up his water bottle.

  Jace got off the chair. “I’ll bet you thought that if you were just better, he’d show up, right?”

  “Get away from me.” Wyatt pushed past him, but Jace put his hand on his shoulder.

  “If you were just good enough, he’d pay attention to you, like he did your brothers. You’d be one of the Marshall boys—”

  Wyatt shoved his hand away, started for the door, then turned. “I’m the one in the paper. I make four times what my brothers make. I walk into a room and every woman there—okay, not every one, but a number of them—know my name. I’m not sitting on the bench—”

  “And if you were?”

  Jace slammed into him, bumping him against a table.

  Wyatt bit back a howl, rounded on him, and before he could stop himself, he sent his fist flying at Jace.

  Jace dodged it.

  Wyatt pulled back, breathing hard. “What are you trying to do?”

  “Nothing will be enough for you, Wyatt. Because you’ll never prove to your dead father that you were enough for him.”

  Wyatt glared at him.

  “But you are enough to your heavenly Father.”

  Wyatt pressed his hand against his aching hip.

  “You will never stop enough pucks. You will never have enough stats. You will never land on enough covers. Never. Because the problem isn’t up here.” He pointed at Wyatt’s head. “It’s in here.” He poked now at Wyatt’s chest. “You need to hear the same thing my wife said to me. You will not be free of the striving until you hear the voice of your true Father telling you that you are loved. You are delighted in. You are enough, Wyatt.”

  Wyatt looked away, his chest burning where Jace had poked it.

  “It’s not because of anything you do, but because of who He is. He decided it. And when we get free of the idea that we have to do something to be enough for God to love us, that’s when we are truly free. But that striving only traps us. You’re enough, and you’re loved because God says so. Nothing else.”

  Wyatt had stopped shivering.

  “And that’s why it is freaking you out to be a father. Because you already love this kid and you know you will fail him.”

  Wyatt’s mouth tightened.

  “Being a father and playing hockey aren’t mutually exclusive. But it will cost you something. And your dad knew that, because it cost him you. Maybe that’s why he gave you his Bible, Wyatt. Because your other brothers knew him—they lived with him. They knew his life, his words. Knew that he loved them, even when he failed them. But you didn’t. You moved away, and…well, my guess is that he wanted to give you what they didn’t have…a look at his heart. The man inside. The man who failed, but still loved you.”

  Jace stepped away from him. “Frankly, kid, I think you got the best inheritance of all.”

  Wyatt’s jaw tightened.

  “Get out of here and go see your son. I’m starting Kalen tomorrow anyway, so don’t show up for the game.”

  “Coach—”

  “It’s not permanent. But I’m not playing you again until you get your hips looked at.” He gave Wyatt’s shoulder a slap. “That’s only because I want you around for the Stanley Cup, Guns. You’re my number one.” Jace headed for the door. “But you better be glad you didn’t connect with that fist.”

  Wyatt watched him go, then hobbled out after him. He found his bag and changed his clothes, Jace’s words like a burr in his chest.

  The man who failed, but still loved you.

  Wyatt grabbed his duffel bag and walked down the tunnel toward the glass doors. The bus was still loading, and he pushed through, then stood outside, debating.

  Coco deserved better.

  Mikka deserved better.

  And that’s why it is freaking you out to be a father.

  Overhead, the setting sun had started to bruise the sky, setting the horizon aflame to the west.

  Because you already love this kid and you know you will fail
him.

  He did already love Mikka. It was like a switch flipped on, and seeing him had felt so…overwhelming. And holding him in his arms…yeah, a completeness there, as if…

  As if he was in the zone.

  He pulled out his cell phone and opened his Uber app. The phone vibrated in his hand and RJ’s number lit up the screen. “Hey, sis—”

  “Wyatt. Please tell me you have the jump drive.”

  Oh. Right. “Yeah, I got it. I made sure I kept it with me.”

  “Can you please bring it to the Fairmont Hotel, downtown? Tate’s here with Glo…and Senator Jackson wants to talk to us.” She drew in a breath. “She says she can help me if she has proof.”

  “I got this, RJ. I’m on my way.”

  And then—he didn’t care if the proposal wasn’t perfect—he was going to track down Coco and beg her to marry him.

  Finally.

  It just didn’t matter that Wyatt wasn’t coming back.

  Didn’t. Matter.

  Coco was strong, smart, and she’d lived this long without him.

  She didn’t need him.

  Really.

  Coco lay on the bed with Mikka, his tiny body tucked against hers. He’d woken after the procedure’s novocaine wore off and felt well enough to go down the hall to the play area. Now, four hours later, he’d eaten dinner and had fallen asleep watching something on the television.

  Coco had wasted way too much of that time watching the doorway, calling herself a fool.

  Gerri had fetched her dinner from the cafeteria, as well as picked up a puzzle for Mikka in the gift shop, teaching him how to put it together, even learning a few Russian words.

  Gigi. She practically glowed every time he called her that.

  Coco would have been so happy she could burst if it weren’t for the unbroken shadows down the hallway.

  Now, Gerri sat in the recliner, under a blanket, asleep, and Coco was trying to grapple with the hard truth.

  Despite Gerri’s words, she was in this alone.

  She should keep reminding herself that deep inside her soul, she’d expected this.

  Well, not this. Not her life imploding around her, but she’d gotten so used to Wyatt not really wanting her…

  Oh, Coco. I love you.

  She closed her eyes against the burn. No. He’d wanted her.

  He just hadn’t wanted them.

  Except…I’m crazy about him, Cookie.

  Oh, she didn’t know what to think. Just…he wasn’t here. And the longer the hours stretched out, the clearer the fact was that he wasn’t coming back.

  Wyatt loves you enough to do something crazy like go to Russia to find you. I have no doubt that he will come back, his heart in his hands.

  Frankly, she didn’t blame him. After all, she’d been so overwhelmed with Mikka she allowed her father to talk her into sending him to an orphanage. She didn’t deserve Mikka.

  He stirred in her arms, made a noise, and she bent, kissed his cheek. He smelled of the cotton sheets, the antiseptic on his skin. A bittersweet, sort of sickly smell that she should probably get used to.

  What if he had leukemia?

  What if she wasn’t a match?

  What if Mikka was taken from her?

  She didn’t want to think about the what-ifs. She closed her eyes, her throat thick. Only three days ago she’d actually contemplated disappearing. Leaving him behind. In fact, if she hadn’t been on the run, if she hadn’t gotten shot, she might not have seen Mikka for another month, when she came for his birthday. And who knew how sick he would have been by then?

  The thought stilled her. In a strange way, maybe God had saved her son because of the chaos of her father’s near assassination.

  Gerri stirred in the chair, and Coco heard her voice. You don’t have to fix this, Coco. You don’t have to run anymore. You don’t have to figure out how to keep yourself and Mikka safe. You don’t have to do anything but let Jesus care for you.

  She hadn’t let anyone care for her for so long, she wasn’t sure, exactly, what that looked like. Being weak only got her into trouble.

  She’d been weak when she met Wyatt. He made her feel wanted and safe. In fact, her broken, empty heart had always led her into Wyatt’s arms.

  When you are weak, He is strong. Because to Him, you belong.

  She tightened her arm around Mikka. Closed her eyes. Because despite Gerri’s words, she knew the truth.

  She’d blown it with God. She’d had her chance—He’d given her a fresh start with the Marshall family, and she’d taken their trust and…

  Coco, are you sure? My parents…they’re going to be home soon—

  Shh. It’s okay. Yes, I’m sure.

  She closed her eyes against the memory and the fact that she’d been the one to suggest they stay home. She’d been the one who dragged him upstairs.

  Hadn’t let him tell her no.

  Wyatt wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for her.

  Not that Mikka was a mess. He’s absolutely a treasure. Yes, yes he was.

  That is how God feels about you too, Coco.

  She actually looked over at Gerri to see if she’d spoken. But the woman slept like she’d gotten up with the cows.

  You are My treasure, Coco.

  She drew her breath in, sitting up.

  Looked for Wyatt, that deep voice. But the hallway was quiet.

  Jet lag, maybe. She disentangled herself from Mikka and slid off the bed, walked over to the window. She pressed her hand against the dark pane. Outside, the skyline of Seattle glittered, a thousand yellow and green lights pressing against the magenta folds of heaven. The Space Needle spired above it all, the saucer on top lit with an eerie neon green. And over it all, a perfect moon hung, spotlighting the city.

  You need a deeper truth. I know God brought you into our family because we needed you. But you also needed to know that you were safe. That you weren’t alone. And that you had a home.

  The words had awakened a longing inside her that she had long tamped down. Belonging. Safety. If she were honest, she’d been jealous of the way the Marshall family seemed to almost take that for granted. Now, she couldn’t help but feel that she was right back where she had been five years ago. Standing on the outside of all that safety and belonging, not sure how to enter in.

  You still have that home, honey.

  Yeah, well, not if she brought danger to their doorstep.

  She wished she still had her phone. She’d left it in Russia, too freaked out by the idea of Gustov using it to follow her. RJ and York hadn’t returned after their crazy exit, chasing after Wyatt.

  She pressed her hand against her stomach. Please, let them be okay. She hadn’t thought about the fact that Gustov might be in Seattle.

  She could send RJ an email to make sure they were safe.

  “You okay, honey?”

  She turned to Gerri’s soft voice. Nodded. “I think I’m going to find an internet café.”

  “I saw one down by the coffee shop,” Gerri said. She glanced at Mikka. “Don’t worry about him. I’ll be here.”

  Coco kissed Mikka, grabbed her wallet from her backpack, and headed down the hallway to the elevators. The lights were dimmed, a quietness over the otherwise brightly colored hallway. Ocean creatures—whales, dolphins, clown fish—were painted on the walls, swimming with a blue current.

  Maybe when Mikka was better, she could take him out to the Seattle Aquarium. She’d visited once with her mother before she’d gotten sick.

  Her mother’s leukemia had taken her so quickly, Coco had barely said goodbye.

  No what-ifs. Mikka was going to be fine.

  She pressed the elevator button and got in. The door closed and she shook away the distant but never absent sense of claustrophobia. Just a remnant of the terror of being locked in a dark bathroom, but sometimes it rose to haunt her.

  The first floor lobby was empty. The tile floor was decorated with yet more sea animals, and art deco creatures hung from the c
eiling, casting eerie shadows across the quiet, darkened floor. Lights shone in the waiting area, but she skirted it and headed toward the café. It was still open, the scent of coffee reaching out to give her a tug.

  Maybe. But she spied the office area and headed into an alcove with a couple monitors and a pay printer.

  She pulled out the rolling chair and moved the mouse, the familiarity of the screen a sort of blanket against her frayed nerves.

  Maybe she’d send a note to her father too.

  She accessed the internet and logged into her email program and sent RJ a quick note. Where are you? I’m worried.

  Then, yes, she sent a note to her father.

  Then, because she didn’t quite want to leave, she opened up her cloud storage.

  The files from Gustov were still there—so he hadn’t yet been able to hack in. She hesitated a moment, then opened the spam folder of dating emails.

  So strange. A man like Gustov enrolled in a dating site. She opened a new tab on her browser and accessed the site, MyAmore.com.

  The website opened to a dozen pictures of happy couples and a sign-up page, followed by a questionnaire. She didn’t even want to imagine what he might have filled out.

  She opened the folder. Seventeen total emails. She opened one.

  * * *

  Dear Morpheus. I’d love to meet. Foley Square. April 4, 9 am.

  KeiferLuv24

  * * *

  She clicked on the email and opened the inspector to examine the server information. A quick search of the ISP led her to New York City, but she’d have to dig further to find an address.