by Elle Maxwell
“I have some contacts here at the hospital, so if you need anything give me a call and I’ll try to help,” Shady says in parting.
“Maybe you can pull some strings and get them to discharge me?” I ask immediately, even more hopeful than I was for Wahlburgers. “I’m ready to get the hell out of here.”
Shady doesn’t have a chance to respond before Mackenzie is up and out of her chair. She points a finger at my face. “Graham Wyatt, you are not leaving that bed until a freaking army of doctors and surgeons clear you! You hear me?”
Damn, she’s hot when she goes all fiery redhead on me.
“Guess I’m not going anywhere,” I say to the doc, a little sheepishly. As much as I want to go home, I don’t want it enough to piss off my girl. Not when I just got her back.
* * *
Mackenzie
“You’re incorrigible,” I tell Graham as soon as Shady leaves. My voice is exasperated, but I’m holding back a smile. I’m so grateful that he’s awake and feeling well enough to be incorrigible.
“But you love me anyway.”
“I do.” I let the smile out now. It is simply not possible to love anyone more than I love this ridiculous man.
“Mmm, I like those words coming from your mouth. You wanna say them in a church sometime soon and make this thing official?”
I blink at him.
“I wasn’t kidding when I woke up. Marry me, babe.”
I won’t deny the little tingle of excitement that runs through me at his words and the utterly sincere expression on his face, but I hesitate.
“You know I want to marry you,” I start slowly, thinking, “but I don’t think now is the right time.”
“Why?” he asks. “You want to marry me, and I sure as fuck want to marry you. I don’t see a reason to wait.”
“We’ve been through a lot. I think we need some time to recover from all of this. Let’s settle in at the new house and live our lives. We don’t need to take on something as big as planning a wedding right now.”
“And I’m guessing if I say we can pop over to city hall and do this thing today you’ll still want to wait?”
He’s pouting now. I can tell, even though his mouth is more than a little obscured by the beard he still hasn’t trimmed.
I go over to the bed and carefully sit down on the mattress beside him. He’s got it propped up to a half-sitting position, so we’re nearly eye to eye now.
“The thing is, I want to plan a wedding,” I admit. “I want to wear an impractical, fluffy, overpriced white dress and have my dad walk me down an aisle that has you waiting at the end of it. I want to vow our love to each other in front of all our favorite people, and then have a giant party we’ll remember the rest of our lives. I want all of that with you. I just don’t want it right now.”
“So … how long are we talking?”
“Two years,” I blurt out. I’ll admit I made that up on the fly, but I suppose it seems reasonable. No need to rush, right?
Apparently, Graham doesn’t agree. No longer calm, he gapes at me with his jaw open and eyes wide. “Babe! You’re gonna make me wait two years?!”
“I don’t want to put a timeline on it. I don’t want us to be counting down the days. Let’s relax and have this time together, time to breathe—to wake up together in our bed and eat cereal in our pajamas and make love on the kitchen table whenever we want.” He’s grinning. I knew he’d like that. “Let’s just be young and in love.”
“Okay. We’ll do it your way for now.”
He kisses me long, slow, and deep. We keep kissing until the beeping of his heart monitor brings me back to my senses.
* * *
“Graham! I am not giving you a blow job in a hospital bed!”
He’s been campaigning for this all day.
“Please, babe? You’ve got to be horny too, having to see my sexy ass in this little hospital gown every day. We’ll sixty-nine it.”
I raise my eyebrows at him in a silent response he’ll be able to read loud and clear: not happening. It’s not that I don’t want to touch him and be with him that way again—but I won’t risk it. He went into cardiac arrest a few weeks ago—as in, his heart stopped and they had to bring him back to life! I can handle being horny for a while, but what I can’t handle is losing him. The doctors said to avoid strenuous activity for at least four weeks, so that’s what we’re going to do.
Plus … here?! Nurses and doctors walk in and out of this room all day long. There’s a window in the door, for goodness sake. Anyone could look in! Nope.
“Come on,” he almost whines. “I’m dying over here!”
“Well, maybe you should have considered that before you did something so stupid!”
“Am I ever going to live that down?” His petulant tone resembles that of an exasperated teenager.
“Nope. I will retell it to our children every night before bed as a cautionary tale.”
“Our children? You hiding a baby bump somewhere under those leggings?”
“No!” I pretend to swat at him with the back of one hand.
“Well, I can fix that … if you get over here and let me knock you up.”
“You’ve got a screw loose!” I’m swallowing back laughter.
“Nah, I passed that brain function test with flying colors, remember? Got a gold star and everything.”
“And how many techs did you have to flirt with to get that star?”
“Oh yeah, I forgot to mention … I hope you’re down for a threesome because I promised Raul in Radiology we’d all meet up once I get out of here.”
I laugh because I can’t help it. I’m so happy to be bickering with him again. When my bout of laughter fades, he’s grinning at me widely. I school my features and walk closer to the bed, preparing to use my stern voice. Because although we’re making light of it, this shit is no joke.
“I’m serious. If you ever even think about risking your life like that again, I swear I will kill you myself!”
He reaches out for my hands and I let him, stepping in all the way so my legs are pressed against the side of the bed. He looks up at me with soulful hazel eyes, keeping them locked on mine as he slowly kisses both of my hands.
“No, babe, I promise. That part of our story is over. I’m ready to move on and get started with the whole happy ending part.”
My heart swells with love.
“That’s really sweet, Y.” Then I add, “Please don’t ruin it by making a sex joke.”
“Aw, come on! I had a really good one …”
43. IN GOOD HANDS
2-ish years later...
THE BOSTON JOURNAL
“SUCCESSFUL WYATT CENTER A WORK OF HEART”
Local philanthropist Graham Wyatt realizes his dream of helping others as the Wyatt Community Center announces upcoming expansion.
BY MICHELLE ANDERSON, STAFF WRITER
Just six months after opening its doors, the Rose and Tyler Wyatt Community Center (aka “the Wyatt Center”) is expanding its reach. In addition to continuing their affordable residential drug rehabilitation and cutting-edge halfway house initiatives, the Wyatt Center has recently announced two new programs coming this spring that will focus on youth outreach and mental health.
The Wyatt Center’s grand opening six months ago sparked equal parts support and controversy from the Boston community. Unrelated to any existing hospitals or government-funded programs, the center and its colorful founder have both come under much scrutiny. So far, the nonprofit has held up under that scrutiny and appears to be slowly winning over skeptics. Multiple third-party experts in the fields of drug rehabilitation and societal reintegration have extolled the high quality of the facilities and innovative approach to patient care.
“It is on par with what the best hospitals and celebrity programs are doing right now,” wrote one researcher from Harvard.
Some in the community are still not convinced. Most local criticism has targeted social issues rather than treatment p
ractices, particularly the unique hiring philosophy. Taking nondiscrimination to a new level, the center accepts and even encourages convicted felons and recent parolees to apply for employment.
Since opening, the Wyatt Center has created more than forty new jobs, employing local people in positions ranging from therapists and nurses to facilities managers and kitchen staff. To date, some reports estimate that up to fifty percent of those employees have criminal records.
I had the pleasure to sit and talk with Graham Wyatt, the twenty-six-year-old millionaire who is the center’s sole founder and visionary as well as its primary investor. Public records show that the Westwood native singlehandedly funded the center’s development and construction with a personal investment of ten million dollars. Wyatt himself served time in prison for drug-related offenses committed following the tragic loss of both his parents when he was eighteen—a fact that has also fueled talk from local critics.
Wyatt was more than happy to explain the hiring policy.
“I made some really bad decisions during a hard time in my life that landed me in prison for five years, so I have firsthand knowledge of how good people can end up in situations that don’t reflect who they want to be. A lot of guys can’t get back on their feet because most employers won’t hire someone with a record. If they don’t turn back to crime to make a living, they get stuck in minimum wage jobs far below their skills. And that doesn’t sit right with me.”
His passion for his work came through with every word. The Wyatt Center—which he named after his parents Rose and Tyler—is clearly a personal project for him. Unpretentious and relaxed in dark jeans and a green sweater, Graham—he refused to let me call him Mr. Wyatt—sat on the edge of his seat as he talked animatedly.
“What it comes down to is that I believe everyone deserves a second chance, and that’s what we’re doing. If you’re the best person for the job, we hire you. Period. Then it’s up to you to prove yourself. We have a one-strike rule for violations, but I’m happy to say we haven’t needed to let anyone go since we opened.”
We then talked about the new mental health program that is part of their announced expansion plan. It is clear that mental health is one of the cornerstones of the Wyatt Center; both their rehab and halfway programs already include therapy. Graham spoke candidly about why this issue is so important to him and why he’s chosen to focus such a large portion of the Center’s resources to these services.
“I’ve personally struggled with depression—it was one of the things that led me to use drugs as a teen. I was spiraling after my parents died, and it was the therapy I received in prison that helped get my head on straight.”
The new mental health initiative will open up the psychological services currently available as part of the Center’s rehab and halfway house programs, making them available to everyone.
“It’s not only about the therapy services and pharmaceuticals,” Wyatt told me. “We also want to raise awareness and decrease the stigma associated with mental illness. At eighteen I didn’t know that was the kind of help I needed—and even if I had understood I was depressed, I honestly can’t say if I would have decided to get therapy on my own. I want to tell people that quarterbacks can be depressed too and that’s okay.”
Conversation then veered to a topic for which his passion is even more obvious and fervent.
“It just so happens that my fiancée—cross your fingers for me that’s what she is by the time you publish this … I’m asking her tomorrow! —is completing her Master’s in Psychology. She’s going to oversee the psychological services across all of our programs once she graduates in June and officially joins the team as our Head of Mental Health. I say ‘officially’ because Mackenzie Thatcher (soon to be Wyatt) has been a pivotal part of this project from minute one. I can say with complete certainty that the Wyatt Center would not exist without her—from all those nights she stayed up with me drafting incorporating documents and reading resumes to her unending support that kept me going when I had moments of ‘What was I thinking? I’m not qualified to do this!’”
Graham consistently deflected praise and shrugged off my references to his generosity in donating more than half his personal net worth to the Center. He adamantly asserted that he couldn’t have pulled this off alone and attributed the success to his team.
“I’m just here to look pretty,” he joked. “Griff O’Brien is the one who really makes things happen. He jumped right in and helped organize things from the early stages when I had a big dream, helping make it a reality.”
Griff O’Brien was unavailable for comment any of the times I called or popped in. When I mentioned this, Graham replied, “Ah, he doesn’t have time for this sort of thing. He’s keeping the place running!”
A quick online search revealed that O’Brien is not only an employee but also a close personal friend of Wyatt’s. Social media photos show Graham and Mackenzie spending holidays and vacations with Griff, his girlfriend Shaina, and their two kids. Graham is even coaching Griff’s eight-year-old daughter’s soccer team.
Deeper digging uncovered that O’Brien and Wyatt first met in prison, where they were briefly cellmates. O’Brien’s criminal record is far more extensive than Wyatt’s, though by all accounts he’s left that life behind. Everyone I encountered had glowing things to say of O’Brien, who is greatly respected around the center and responsible in large part for its day-to-day management.
After walking through the rehabilitation facilities and the single occupant apartments available for their halfway house residents, I was tempted to check myself in! The place looks like a high-end spa, not an affordable community program. Wyatt has truly spared no expense to make the Wyatt Center a welcoming place for people to come and improve their lives. It’s working, and the center has been astoundingly successful; within the first two months he and his team found themselves putting people on a waitlist, and they’ve already had to build on to the original facilities twice.
I personally don’t think I’ll ever be able to hear the phrase “passion project” again without picturing Graham Wyatt’s face. He talked to me for more than two hours about all the upcoming projects and initiatives he has in the works—including career counseling services and some community partnerships encouraging workplaces to open job opportunities to Wyatt Center “graduates,” a college scholarship program, and a youth sports league with subsidized fees and donated equipment. We talked for so long we had to order lunch (Graham insisted on paying).
I even got to briefly meet Mackenzie Thatcher—the center’s soon-to-be Head of Mental Health and, I’m sure, the future Mrs. Wyatt. I doubt any woman alive, or most men for that matter, could say no to Graham Wyatt. His unique charisma and endearing passion might also be the secret behind the astounding number of individual donations that have already been made to the Wyatt Center, enough to ensure its continued operation for years to come.
“I’m hoping we can do some good, help people who might not be able to get it otherwise,” Wyatt summarized.
He also admitted that he wants the center to do justice to his parents’ legacy. I think it’s safe to say the legacy of the late Mr. and Mrs. Wyatt is in very good hands with their son, who has put not only his money but his heart into their namesake project.
Considering the momentum it’s already achieved and more ambitious endeavors on the horizon, the Wyatt Center is well on its way to becoming a permanent local fixture. We’ll have to wait and see what it accomplishes over the next six months and the next six years. With such a devoted leader at its heart, the possibilities for the future are endless.
44. THE BDP
Graham
I need to write a “thank you” letter to the previous owners of our house for installing this massive free-standing Jacuzzi tub in the master bathroom. It’s been the setting for some damn good memories over the past couple of years, and we’re currently in the process of making another one.
This thing is the best wingman I’ve ever
had. When Mackenzie gets home from school or work and claims she’s too tired for sex, I can always talk her into a relaxing bath. Which inevitably leads to fooling around.
I present Exhibit A.
Our skin is slippery as our hands roam and tease. I move so I’m on top of her and begin to knead her boobs with both hands. Then I suck on one of her nipples but pull back and make a face when some of that fizzy bath shit gets on my tongue. She giggles and runs her fingers through my hair.
I shift my leg so her pussy presses flush to my thigh, hotter than the water around us. She grinds against me a little, and that’s it. I can’t wait anymore.
“Gotta have you, babe.”
She nods. I shift her back so she’s leaning along the wall of the tub then grab her legs and lift them until her ankles are on my shoulders. She bends into the position with ease, and for the millionth time, I bless the wonder that is yoga.
We both moan with my first push inside her. There’s something erotic about the warm bath water surrounding us as I move slowly in and out. Every now and then I get a little extra zing of sensation when some bubbles get in on the action.
