“Yes, please and thank you, Mommy.”
She smiled at him in the rearview mirror and pulled into the line for the takeout intercom and placed their order.
“Can I have my pop?” Brady asked, as she set their order on the passenger seat.
Kayla drove away from the window and swung her car into a parking spot. “Yes, but only if you promise not to spill. You have a tendency to fall asleep while in the car, which leads to sticky disasters.”
“I promise.”
She fixed their sodas, took a drink of hers and handed Brady his Sprite. “If you start to nod off, put your drink between your leg and the side of your booster seat.”
He took the plastic cup from her, and she patted his knee before heading home. A large dumpster and a couple of white Haney & Sons vans were parked in front of the building. Wyatt might be working in her apartment right now. Kayla took a left at the corner, heading to the parking lot in back. His pickup truck was in its assigned spot, and anticipation quickened her pulse. She missed him—blushes, hoodie and all.
Grabbing the bag, she climbed out and set it on top of the car, so she could help Brady from his seat. With their supper in hand, she and Brady made their way into the building and up the stairs. Rock music poured into the hall from her apartment, and her door was open a crack. The ceiling in the outer hallway had been cut away, exposing the charred beams, and the plaster on her outside wall had been stripped down to the framing.
“Who’s there?” Brady asked, pressing himself close to her side.
“I’m not sure, but Wyatt’s family is fixing our apartment for us.”
“Is he here?” Brady lit up. “Will Wyatt read to me tonight?”
And didn’t that send a wrench to the gut. If Wyatt was avoiding her, there wouldn’t be any more comic book readings. He’d said they could be friends, but if the tables were turned, she wasn’t so sure she could switch gears so easily. “I guess we’ll see, won’t we?” She opened the door wider and Brady darted through ahead of her.
Sam and another guy were cleaning up debris in the dining area. The entire ceiling had been torn out, and they had positioned beams like pillars against the exposed joists. Sam glanced at her and smiled.
“Hey, Kayla. We’ll be out of your way in a few minutes. This is Thomas. He’ll be working with me here.” Sam tipped his head in the direction of the man sweeping debris from the canvas covering the floor. “Tom, this is Kayla and her son, Brady.”
“Hey,” Tom said with a nod. “Do you need me for anything else, Sam?” he asked as he emptied a dustpan into a five-gallon plastic bucket.
“Nope. See you tomorrow.”
“Nice to meet you,” Kayla said as Tom grabbed his things and headed for the door. “Sam is Wyatt’s brother,” she told Brady, giving his hand a reassuring squeeze.
“Oh.” Brady pressed up against her side again. “Where’s Wyatt?”
He’d stolen the question right out of her mouth. The force of her disappointment at not finding him in her apartment took her by surprise. She wasn’t supposed to miss him this much.
“He’s either in the basement installing the circuit-breaker boxes, or he’s on the third floor. Since Haney & Sons is rewiring the entire building, he and his crew are starting with the apartment above yours, and working their way down.” Sam studied the support beams. “We’re going to replace the burned crossbeams here tomorrow, and once Wyatt has rewired your dining room and kitchen, we’ll be back to put in the new ceiling.”
“Great.” Kayla laid a hand on her son’s head. “Let’s have a picnic in the living room. I’m starving.” She nudged Brady toward the coffee table. “Sorry to eat in front of you.”
“No problem,” Sam said, turning off the Blu-ray speaker sitting on the living room floor. “All right if I leave a few tools here since we’ll be back tomorrow?”
“That’s fine by me. Did Floyd give you an earful when he let you in?” She opened Brady’s Happy Meal and unwrapped his burger for him. Sweat trickled down her temples. Her place was stifling.
“Uh, no.” Sam chuckled. “The caretaker left an envelope full of master keys taped to the outside of Wyatt’s door with Asshole written across the front.” His gaze shot to Brady. “Oh, sorry.”
“It’s OK. He’s heard the word before.” She cast him a wry look. “Floyd is blaming Wyatt for a lot of stuff that isn’t his fault. I tried to set our caretaker straight on a few things, but he wasn’t real receptive.”
His gaze intensified. “Thanks for defending my little brother. He’s a good guy, you know. You won’t find anyone nicer.”
Heat rushed to her face, and she focused on setting out her meal, which was barely lukewarm now. “I know.”
“I need ketchup, please,” Brady said around a mouthful.
Kayla shot up. “I’m on it.”
Sam trailed her to the dining area. “Is that a picture of your late husband on the living room wall?”
“Yes.” She’d hung it up mostly for Brady’s sake. He’d had a father, albeit not the best father, but she didn’t want him to forget.
“How long has it been since he passed?” Sam picked up his power saw and wrapped the cord around the base before adding it to the pile of equipment in the corner.
“It’s been about two years.” No shyness where Sam was concerned. Disconcerted, Kayla grabbed the ketchup from the fridge and a small plate from the cabinet. Had Wyatt told Sam about her miserable past? She squirted ketchup onto the plate and brought it to her son.
Sam followed her into the living room. “I’m sorry. I don’t know how I’d survive if I lost Haley. Did Wyatt tell you we lost our parents when we were kids?”
“He did.” Where was he going with this? “Losing your parents must have been devastating.”
“It was, and I’m sure losing your husband devastated you too.” His blue eyes filled with sympathy. “It can’t be easy for you, losing your life partner and being on your own with Brady.”
She averted her gaze and swallowed against the tightness in her throat. Wyatt had kept his word. He hadn’t told his brother her marriage hadn’t been the stuff of fairy tales. “Brady and I are doing fine. We’re a team. Right, buddy?”
Brady’s head bobbed, and he shoved a fry in his mouth. “Is Wyatt gonna come see us tonight?”
“I don’t think so.” She smoothed back the damp bangs from his forehead. “He’s pretty busy.”
“Do you draw comic books too?” Brady asked Sam.
“No, but I coach hockey. Are you interested in learning how to play the game?”
“I don’t know.” Brady’s attention went back to the toy he’d found in his Happy Meal.
“Like me, he’s never seen a hockey game,” she told Sam.
“We’ll have to do something about that. I’ll have Wyatt bring you and Brady to watch my team during one of our practice sessions sometime. The younger kids start developing their skills, the better.”
“I . . . sure.” She bit her lip for a second. “That would be fun.”
“Look, I get you’re not ready to date and all—”
“Wyatt told you that?” Her brow shot up.
“The subject came up over lunch on Tuesday because we asked.” He shrugged. “Just because you’re not ready to date doesn’t mean you and Wyatt can’t be friends and hang out now and then. No pressure.”
She nodded, and her insides knotted. She followed him to the door.
“See you tomorrow,” he said as he left.
“Say hello to Haley for me.” Kayla shut the door behind him and went back to the couch. She plopped down next to her son and stared at her food, which she hadn’t touched and no longer wanted. Her rejection had to have hurt Wyatt. Hell, she was hurting, and she’d been the one doing the rejecting, not the other way around. She groaned, closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the couch.
“What’s wrong, Mommy?”
“Nothing, buddy. I’m just tired.” Tired, and I might just be an idiot.<
br />
Chapter Eight
Wyatt’s ringing phone woke him. He never slept in on Saturdays, but this morning was supposed to be the exception, because he’d had trouble falling asleep last night. He wasn’t ready to get up. Grabbing his phone from the nightstand, he hit accept and brought it to his ear. “Hello,” he croaked out through a yawn.
“Are you still in bed?” Sam asked. “You sound sleepy.”
“I am, and you woke me. Thanks a bunch.” Wyatt glanced at his clock. “What do you want?”
“For you to be less cranky.” Sam grunted. “Jerry, Frank and I decided we’d head to the Men’s Wearhouse this afternoon to pick out our suits for the wedding. Are you available?”
“I guess.” Of course he was available. He had no social life to speak of, and the only woman he wanted badly enough to attempt overcoming his shyness had made it clear she didn’t want to date him. He pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes. “What time?”
“Jerry needs to be picked up, so we’re meeting at Uncle Dan’s at one. We’ll take my SUV from there.”
Wyatt pushed himself up to sitting and swung his feet to the floor. “All right. I’ll see you there.”
“You OK?”
“Yeah. I stayed up late working on a new idea for a comic book and planned to sleep in this morning. I’m fine, just not awake yet.” In his latest Elec Tric installment, his poor superhero has his heart broken by the Mysterious Ms. M. Go figure.
“All right. See you later,” Sam said before ending the call.
Flopping back on his bed, Wyatt stared at the ceiling. It was already nine. By now, Kayla and Brady had left for their Saturday trip to the laundromat, saving him from the painful temptation to stare longingly at her from his window. He still hadn’t switched gears from wanting to friendship. How to do that eluded him.
He rubbed his face with both hands. “Coffee. Things always look better after I’ve had coffee.” He got up and padded down the hall, making a pit stop at the bathroom before ending up in the kitchen. He set up the coffee maker, pushed the button to start it and yawned again. By the time he took a quick shower, coffee would be ready.
Showered, dressed and with a fresh mug of high-octane wake-me juice, Wyatt returned to his studio to look over the work he’d done the night before. He glanced at the shelf where he’d set the portrait of Kayla and her son, and his heart tripped.
He hadn’t framed the portrait yet. Maybe he never would. He could give it to her as is, and she could do with it whatever she wanted. He swallowed against the rising tide of disappointment and rejection. No, that wasn’t fair. She hadn’t rejected him; she’d rejected the idea of dating. After hearing her story, he couldn’t blame her. Still stung, though.
Sipping his coffee, he moved to sit at his drawing table and opened his sketchbook to the preliminary sketches and notes he’d made, intending to tweak and edit before beginning the actual panels. He tried to concentrate, he really did, but his gaze kept drifting back to the damned portrait. By the time he finished his coffee, he’d given up on the notion of getting anything done with the new stuff. Some days were like that. He’d used all his inspiration last night. “Screw it.”
He abandoned any hope of making progress and strode for the door, grabbing his keys on the way. Might as well make the frame this morning, and tomorrow he’d take the portrait to a frame shop for glass and matting. He’d give it to her, and they’d go back to being nothing but acquaintances who lived in the same building. Unfortunately, there were no internal shutoff valves for desire or longing. He climbed into his truck and set out for his grandfather’s workshop.
Ten minutes later, Wyatt parked and made his way to the gate leading into the backyard. He found his grandmother weeding the raised flower beds growing along the length of the privacy fence. “Hi, Gram.”
“Wyatt. What a lovely surprise. What brings you here this morning?” She straightened.
“I have a project I want to work on in Grandpa’s workshop.”
“Ah. I was just going to get some lemonade. Would you like some?”
“Sure. I’ll come with you.”
Grandma Maggie took off her gardening gloves and patted his cheek. “Did you get things straightened out with your young lady?”
“Yes.” He huffed out a breath. “No . . . argh. I don’t know.” He stuffed his hands into his hoodie pockets and matched his stride to his gram’s. “Do you have a few minutes? Maybe you can shed some light on a few things for me.”
“Of course.”
He followed her through the sliding doors into the kitchen. “Kayla doesn’t want to date me, Gram. She says she’s not ready.” Wyatt went for glasses while his grandmother got the pitcher of lemonade out of the fridge. He brought her up to speed on everything that had happened, including the part where Kayla told him he was her kryptonite. He even admitted that they’d shared a couple of kisses before she informed him she wouldn’t date him.
He and Gram settled at the table. “She told me something and asked me to keep it to myself.” He shrugged. “Unfortunately, that’s the part I need to talk about the most. If I tell you, then I’m breaking my word to her, but . . .”
“I am the soul of discretion. Besides, who would I tell?”
“Grandpa Joe?”
“I wouldn’t tell him, but even if I did, whatever I said would go in one ear and right out the other.” She snapped her fingers. “Lickety-split.”
Wyatt sucked in a breath. “Kayla got pregnant her senior year of high school, and she and her boyfriend were pressured by their parents into marrying, which turned out to be hellish for her. The guy was an immature, selfish ass who made her life miserable and ignored his son. He joined the army right after their wedding.” His jaw tightened. “He wasn’t faithful to Kayla. The last letter she got from him, he told her he’d met someone and fallen in love. He planned to divorce her when his tour of duty was up.”
His heart ached just thinking about how she must have suffered through the whole ordeal. “She says she went through five years of hell, and she feels like she missed out on a lot of stuff. She’s determined to get back those missing years, but I don’t see how that’s possible. You can’t go back. The years between high school and now . . . it’s all just life, and we’re all just living it the best we can. Kayla doesn’t realize she grew up just like the rest of us, probably faster. As far as the years between our teens and early twenties being somehow better or more fun, I don’t think that’s true for a majority. Not for me, anyway.”
“Hmm.” Grandma Maggie nodded slowly. “That poor girl. She’s been hurt badly, and she’s still grieving.”
“But, Gram . . . she and her husband didn’t get along. He was mean to her. Why would she grieve for him?”
“Miserable or not, he was a big part of her life, not to mention the father of her child. Things didn’t go the way they should have between them, and that is cause enough for grief.” Gram patted his arm. “Oh, she’s grieving all right, but it’s more complicated because her sadness is also for herself and what she perceives as her lost adolescence. She’s protecting herself, Wyatt. She’s reacting from a place of pain. It could be she’s afraid if she lets you into her heart, she’ll be hurt again.”
He was the one more likely to be hurt. He already hurt, and they’d only gone out once. “OK. She’s hurt, and she doesn’t want to date.” Me, anyway. Saying it brought a hollow ache to his chest. “You and Grandpa Joe always taught us to be respectful when it comes to stuff like this. So”—he pushed his hoodie back and raked his fingers through his hair—“should I just let it be? Should I leave her alone and forget about her and Brady?”
“That’s up to you. She did say she wants to be friends. If you don’t feel you can handle friendship, then you need to take care of yourself. Walk away. On the other hand . . .” She tapped her glass and arched an eyebrow.
“There’s an ‘other hand’?”
“Always. If you’re there for her—as a good friend, mind�
��her feelings might change. She’s viewing you and the situation from a perspective tainted by her unhappy past. Her husband wasn’t there for her, and he certainly wasn’t her friend. As she gets to know you better, she’ll see you for who you are: a compassionate, reliable man who respects and values her for who she is. Become indispensible to her. She’s bound to come around.”
“Then again, she might not.”
“She’d be crazy not to. If you really care for this girl, my advice is to be the best friend she’s ever had. You know what your grandfather says: Haney men can fix anything.”
He chuffed out a laugh. “Yeah, I’ve heard that a time or two.” He gulped down the rest of his lemonade and rose from the table. “Speaking of Gramps, where is he this morning?”
“He’s learning how to golf.”
“Really?” He cracked a grin. “Why?”
“You know how your grandfather loves to go to garage sales, looking for tools and other crap we don’t need. He found a complete set of brand new golf clubs being sold for next to nothing.” She chuckled. “That man can’t pass up a deal. He decided on the spot he needs a new hobby and more exercise, so he bought them. Your grandfather joined the Town & Country Club on Marshall Avenue. The great deal he got on those clubs ended up being quite expensive.” Gram’s eyes took on a dreamy look. “But that’s my Joe for you. He’ll save a penny only to spend a dollar.”
His throat closed so tight he couldn’t breathe. He wanted to be somebody’s Wyatt. Correction. He wanted to be Kayla’s Wyatt. He leaned down and kissed Grandma Maggie’s cheek. “Love you, Gram,” he croaked. “Thanks for listening.”
“Anytime, sweetie. Your grandfather and I are very proud of the man you’ve become, you know. You remind me so much of your father. He was shy too. Such a sweet boy.”
Wyatt wasn’t sure whether she was referring to him or to his father as being sweet. Either way, the lump in his throat grew larger. “Gotta go make a picture frame. I have to be at Uncle Dan’s at one,” he said, putting his glass in the sink.
Whatever You Need (The Haneys Book 2) Page 12
