A/N: I worked my butt off to finish chapter 14 last night so I could post today BECAUSE SKETCHINGWITCH POSTED ANOTHER PIECE OF ART BASED ON THIS FIC. She drew the elevator scene from chapter one, you guys! IT'S BEAUTIFUL! GO OVER TO TWITTER AND CHECK IT OUT IF YOU HAVEN'T! Omg. I love it so much.
Anywayyy, here's a nice mostly fluffy chapter as a THANK YOU TO FIONA OMG.
Happy reading!
Angellwings
Chapter Nine: Miss My Flight
"Maybe I oversleep and miss my flight.
My alarm went off at 6:05,
But I never heard it,
Accidentally on purpose.
Maybe I'll lay with you,
Just like this,
And give you one more goodbye kiss.
Sneak those three little words in,
Accidentally on purpose."
-"Accidentally On Purpose" by The Shires
They sleep in until mid-morning. They're both exhausted from overwhelming emotions and...exertion. Once they've woken up and eaten breakfast, Lucy rolls her still unopened suitcase from her bedroom and smiles apologetically at him.
"We should take this back to your place," she declares.
"We don't have to," he says as he places his hands on her hips and meets her eyes. "I don't mind staying here."
"No," Lucy says decisively. "We had a plan, and I bailed. We should go back to the plan. I want to make up for running away."
His hand comes up and caresses her cheek, pulling her eyes to his. "There's nothing to make up for, Luce. We talked about it. We know what we need to do going forward. I don't want you stressing yourself out over making anything up to me."
"I wouldn't be doing it for you," she says honestly. "I'd be doing it for me. I don't want to always push people away when they hurt me, and maybe it's silly but going back to your place would make me feel like I'm actually facing something. It's not a big action, but it feels like it is."
"For the record," he says with a soft grin. "Not silly. I get it. And if that's what you want then we'll do it."
"I'll pay for your gas," she insists.
He rolls his eyes at her, but there's no real malice in the action. "No, you won't."
"Wyatt, you wouldn't have had to drive all the way out here if it wasn't for me in the first place—"
"I made the decision to come out here all on my own, Professor. You didn't force my hand. I did exactly what I wanted to do. You're not paying for gas," he says firmly as he grabs his wallet and keys off of her kitchen counter.
He drops a kiss to the top of her head as he walks around her toward the front door. He opens it and waves her through expectantly. "After you, ma'am."
"This discussion isn't over," she tells him with a playful narrowed gaze.
"No discussion ever is with you," he says with a chuckle. "Why would this one be any different?"
Despite the bickering over gas, a road trip with Lucy Preston is nice. Her hand rests in his or on his thigh for the entire drive. He's surprised when, an hour into the trip, Lucy turns up the radio and bursts into song. Her voice is shockingly skilled. Not that he's an expert or anything. He can't carry a tune in a bucket, but she sounds just as good as Pat Benatar on the Eighties and Nineties station she insists on listening to. Occasionally, she leans across the console to swipe her fingers through his hair or kiss his cheek. The whole drive feels weirdly normal, as if they've done this several times before. He knows they haven't but then again this is Lucy so he's no longer surprised when new things seem habitual with her.
Pulling onto his street gives him an uneasy sense of deja vu. He can tell Lucy feels it too. As his hands tighten on the steering wheel, one of her hands rubs a comforting circle on the back of his shoulder. It's a welcome reminder that they aren't where they were less than twenty four hours ago. They're better. Stronger.
He pulls all the way into his garage and turns off the car. They share a small smile as the garage door closes behind them.
"We're already further than we were last night," Lucy assures him with a smirk.
"So far, so good," he agrees with a nod.
His hand finds her shoulder and gives it a gentle squeeze. The wince that she tries to cover by clearing her throat is so subtle that he almost misses it. Almost.
His eyes narrow. "Lucy…"
If she's still harboring some kind of resentment and trying to hide it from him already then—
"No, it's not what you think!" She cries. "I'm honestly fine. It's just an old bruise."
She takes his hand, removes it, and then slides the shoulder of her shirt down, just enough, to expose the large faded bruise. "It barely hurts anymore."
"Wha—When did that happen?" He asks as he tries to tamp down his protective outrage.
She bites her bottom lip and then meets his eyes hesitantly. "Okay, first, before I tell you...it was an accident. Not intentional. I want to make sure you know that and you know that I know that."
To his ears, it sounds like she's trying to convince him she understands but he definitely does not understand. What is she talking about?
His brow furrows in confusion. "Okay?"
"Do you remember last weekend?" She asks as she sucks in a nervous breath. "You—you woke up with a start. It was some sort of nightmare, I think."
He holds in a pained groan. "Yeah, I snapped at you afterward. God, I was such an ass to you that night. How did you put up with me?"
"Well, before that...you jumped out of bed and when you did you might have, just slightly…"
He has a feeling he's going to hate this. "Just say it."
"You shoved me away," she says on a rushed exhale. "Pushed me back into the headboard and the nightstand. You didn't realize what you were doing at the time, you just wanted out of the bed so don—"
"I shoved you?" He asks with horror. "Hard enough to bruise? Lucy, I—don't remember that. I remember standing beside the bed and seeing you looking up at me but I don't—holy shit." He turns in the driver's seat and cups either side of her face. He needs to address this now. He physically hurt Lucy? How could he do that? "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." His thumbs rub across her cheeks and he feels his eyes prickle with moisture. "I hadn't had that dream in so long and it just felt so real…"
She covers his hands with her own and shakes her head against his white knuckle grip. "I know. Wyatt, I know you didn't do it on purpose. It's okay. I was more worried about you. You looked lost and in pain. Believe me, I know you weren't yourself."
Her warm amber eyes land on his and the faith he finds in them nearly knocks him out. She trusts him not to hurt her. She has faith that he's as good as she is. But he's not. He's done things. Seen things. Would she still think that if she knew? That nightmare occasionally haunts him for a reason.
"Come inside," he says hoarsely. "I want to show you something."
He kisses her lips softly before he releases her face. He keeps his eyes on her as he gets her bag out of the trunk and then leads her into the house. For the time being he sets the bag down in his living room and steers her toward his home office. He never uses it. There's a desk and bookshelves but more often than not it's merely storage.
It's where he hides the things he doesn't want to remember. He motions for her to sit down at the empty desk before he turns to the shelf behind her and pulls down a solid, top-hinged folio from the very top of it. It's the size of a small iPad, but thinner, and a unique shade of blue. Inscribed in gold ink are the words "Medal of Honor - United States of America". He sets it down in front of her but can't bring himself to explain. Not right away.
Lucy gingerly lifts the top, and the springs do the rest of the work. The folio stiffly snaps open with a quiet smack against the desk. Inside sits a shiny medal on a blue ribbon, untouched since the day it was first placed around his neck. The glint of the gold star is set off by the black velvet behind it. He hears Lucy gasp. Of course, she knows what it is and what it means. Her fingers carefully trace the word "valor" above the star and then the shape of the eagle that holds the word in his talons.
She seems to be in awe of it, but he can barely look at it. He stands at attention behind her, as if waiting for a commanding officer he no longer has, until she turns with the folio clutched in her hands.
"Wyatt, I—how?" A bit of color has drained from her face and he knows she has no delusions about what sort of circumstances would have earned him that medal.
His posture deflates under her worried stare. He swallows thickly and then leans against the desk next to her. "My team was in Syria. We were pinned down. Surrounded on all sides, but we had important intel. It couldn't leave our hands. The enemy could not have it. We didn't know what it was exactly, just that it was above our pay grade and classified. One of us had to get it out."
The catch in his voice gives him away and causes Lucy's hand to find his knee.
"We drew straws. Me and my buddy, Zach. It came down to fucking straws. Guess who was the lucky bastard stuck with the intel?" Wyatt asks with a hollow laugh. "They stayed behind to keep the enemy distracted. They stayed behind so that I could get out." Her hand squeezes his knee to let him know she's still there. Still listening. "I left them, Lucy. I left them. None of them made it out. Just me. I...I abandoned my team. I left them there to die and the Army gave me a goddamn medal for it."
The medal is set aside and the wheels of the desk chair squeak as Lucy stands. She positions herself between his knees and he feels her hands land on his arms and then drift slowly up his biceps, his neck, and then stop on his jawline. His vision is blurred by the tears in his eyes, but no amount of water can hide the compassion in Lucy's molten chocolate gaze.
He feels so much about Syria. Resentment, anger, guilt — at the core of it all is an unjust sense of loss. In one operation the guys he trusted with his life were wiped out and he was left alone. There's the additional factor of the what-ifs. He hates the what-ifs. They plague him in his quiet moments. What if he stayed and it somehow made all the difference? If his staying would have saved even one man then it would have been worth it. He can never know the answer. It's an impossible question that he has to live with for the rest of his life.
But inexplicably Lucy's hands on his face quiet all of it. It's still there — just easier to manage.
"I'm sorry, Wyatt," she says with red eyes that match his own. "You're so brave. I know it doesn't feel that way. But you are."
He shakes his head in silent protest as the backs of her fingers trace over his cheeks. Tears land against her fingers and in the next moment she's wrapped her arms around his shoulders and pulled his head against her chest. She feels safe and solid, like an anchor in a stormy sea, and he can't stop his arms from winding around her in a constricting hold. Her soft lips press against his temple and stay there.
"That was the nightmare, wasn't it?" She asks in a whisper.
When he nods against her she holds him tighter and slips a hand into the short hair at the base of his neck.
"I love you, Wyatt Logan," she announces. The words sound assured and confident. They possess a fealty that he's never heard from any other person in his life. His already shallow breathing stalls briefly. "No matter where you are or who you're with, I'm here. I've got you. You're not alone."
How the hell did she know what he'd been thinking? His arms hold her steadfast as his appreciation and love for her intensifies. This woman. Why had he ever tried to shut her out? How had he doubted her? The answer came to him easily. He'd never really doubted her, but he'd kept himself from her because of his own selfish pride. Because of his fear of never being good enough. Because of his terror at the idea of being left behind. Because he could never live with himself if his past hurt her.
And here she is defying every fear that resides in his heart and tearing down every wall he's ever built. He has no idea how to tell her this, so instead he stays perfectly still and lets her hold him. The comfort it offers him is mind blowing. The peace she instills in him by simply being there shatters and then rebuilds his entire world.
When it rebuilds, it rebuilds around her.
She becomes his center. His grounding wire.
His everything.
He knows now that he will follow her wherever she goes, and if that means moving to Los Angeles then so be it. Because the safe space she's offering him so freely is everything he never knew he needed and he wants a chance to be that for her. He wants to offer her the same tranquility she's giving him now. He will do everything in his power to make that happen.
She deserves nothing less.
They order pizza because by the time they leave Wyatt's office it's too late for anything else to be delivered. But it goes cold in lieu of other activities. After all the emotions involved in his recollection of Syria, Lucy feels the need to add action to her words and prove to him that he isn't alone in every sense of the phrase.
But, after a couple of rounds, their stomachs are grumbling and there is no way to put off eating any more. While she is cleaning herself up and filching one of Wyatt's shirts he sneaks downstairs and reheats their pizza. When she comes out of his bathroom she finds him laying across the bed with a cheap plastic serving platter full of pizza. Still naked.
She laughs and crawls onto the bed next to him. Pizza with naked Wyatt is something she wants every day for the rest of her life. But how to make it happen?
Mason Industries is Wyatt's family and she hates to ask him to leave it, but how can she move here? Her mother is here and Jonas is here. The idea alone of running into them fills her chest with panic.
She catches him openly admiring her. Her heartbeat skitters wildly at the pure adoration in his bright blue eyes. The difference from just a few hours ago is remarkable. For now, the guilt and anguish are gone and another piece of the puzzle slides into place. At the thought of the puzzle that is Wyatt Logan, she realizes there's something else about last weekend that she hasn't told him. And she hates to bring it up but…
She also doesn't want to chicken out of ever telling him.
He must see her emotions shift in her eyes because he puts down his pizza and then reaches out to the floor for his boxers. Clearly, a serious discussion means clothes.
He clearly reads that on her face too because he winks at her as he puts them on. "No distractions from whatever it is you're about to tell me."
Once the boxers are gone and the pizza is moved to his bedside table he turns a curious gaze on her.
"What's on your mind, ma'am?"
"I...accidentally saw a text message last weekend from Jess," she says as she bites her bottom lip nervously. "I think it was about your dad?"
"Probably," he mutters darkly. "He was calling nonstop last weekend. When I didn't pick up my cell, he started calling Jess's house — which used to be our house. She called to give me a heads up and to see if I could get him to back off."
"Did you?" Lucy asks worriedly.
"Yeah. Give him what he wants and he goes away for a while," Wyatt says with a shrug. But she can tell he doesn't feel that shrug. It's a placeholder for whatever action he'd prefer to do but can't.
"What does he typically want?" She thinks she knows the answer. But she wants to be sure.
"Money," Wyatt states with a huff. "He blows it on booze and gambling. But it keeps him out of my hair, so…."
"You give in rather than start something," Lucy finishes with a nod. "I get that. But Wyatt...you're a self sufficient adult. What is he going to do if you say no? Nothing you have now belongs to him or involves him in any way. You built this life. Without his help. And from just the little I know, I can tell, you owe him nothing. Walking away from my mother was one of the hardest things I've ever done, but my life is mine. So, I took it back. It's not easy but...you can do that. You're braver than me. If I can do that then you can."
"It's stupid," he says quietly as he wraps his arms around her and pulls her into his chest. "But I keep hoping...that someday he might—"
"Change?" Lucy asks knowingly.
"Yeah," he admits with a hooded shameful eyes.
"That's not stupid."
"It feels stupid."
"It's not stupid, it's hopeful," she amends as she places a brief kiss to the corner of his mouth. "I am a firm believer that people can change. But only if they want to. And now I know, as a result of a lesson I very recently learned with my mother, if they do they'll come to you and they won't want anything in return. My mother, like your father, always wants something. It's not money. She doesn't need that. But it's always something. I hate the idea of running into her because of it. She knows how to hurt me and it takes every scrap of courage I have to tell her no."
"You always tell me you're not brave," he says with a conflicted sigh as he lets his forehead rest on hers. "But you're wrong. Maybe you're not a soldier. But that doesn't mean you're not brave. That doesn't mean you can't fight. You are brave. You are a fighter. You wouldn't have left San Francisco if you weren't."
She rolls her eyes and scoffs bitterly. "That wasn't bravery. That was cowardice."
"Is that what your mother told you?" He asks with a knowing critical glance.
She flinches at the truth in his question. "Yes," she replies weakly.
"Getting away from a life that was toxic for you was not cowardly. Cowardice would have been continuing on as you were knowing it was bad for you. You did something, Luce. You took action. You fought back. Picking up your whole life and making changes for yourself was courageous. You are brave. You just have to believe that for yourself."
"Easier said than done," she mumbles under her breath.
"You can do it," he says reassuringly. "You can do anything."
"I think you have too much faith in me, soldier."
"Not possible," he counters with honest eyes and a tender kiss to her forehead. "I don't think I could ever put too much faith or trust in you."
Disbelieving tears gather in the corners of her eyes. That might be the most wonderful thing anyone has ever said to her. For the first time in her life, his words leaving her feeling...deserving.
She feels like she might be—no, she feels like she is—enough. He's filled her up with trust and love and support. So much so that in this moment she feels like she's worthy of everything she has.
She feels valuable, useful, indispensable. She knows she could have felt this on her own. But it would have taken her so much longer to arrive there without him.
He makes her better. He believes she can do anything and so she feels like she can do anything.
Maybe...maybe with him by her side running into her mother wouldn't be so bad. Maybe she could come home.
If she's honest, Los Angeles has never felt like home. It's a place to exist, but it's never felt like hers. She misses Palo Alto. She misses the comfort and familiarity of it, and being with Wyatt is worth the risk of running into her past. Who cares about the past when he's her future?
She's not ready to say any of this out loud, though. She doesn't want to get his hopes up. So, she keeps it to herself to think more on later. For now, she's enjoying casually lounging around in his arms in nothing more than his borrowed shirt. Naked Wyatt is fun, yes, but cuddly Wyatt might be her favorite. He enjoys simply holding her as much as she enjoys being held. They're both house cats by nature.
They don't mind going out but they would much rather stay in. Which is exactly what they do.
Sunday is spent just as lazily as Saturday night. It's lovely not having to put on pants or step outside. They can hide in their bubble and selfishly keep each other all to themselves. They talk more than they've ever talked.
She learns that his father forced him to work on cars as a child and the image of him desperately trying to repair an engine with the tiny hands of a child puts a permanent crack in her heart. He tells her about his love of NASCAR and how it allowed him to love cars despite his father's cruelty. He even tells her about his time as a teenage drug runner. She's shocked, but also not surprised. It doesn't make sense to be both of those things at once, but she is. It just somehow seems so very typically Wyatt Logan. He confesses that his grandfather slapped the sense into him and demanded that Wyatt come and live with him during his last few years of high school. But not before he drove his father's old Chevy into a lake.
Once upon a time he was a troubled, lost kid who needed someone to love him. He found that in his grandfather and Jessica. Maybe he and Jessica weren't meant to be but Lucy can see clearly how his ex-wife helped him become the man he is today. Honorable, decent, truly good if not a bit hotheaded. She's grateful for that.
Grateful for him and his capacity for growth. He genuinely wants to be the best man that he can be. The best friend, the best soldier, the best employee, and the best boyfriend. Yes, he actually said that to her. He called himself her boyfriend.
While wearing the dorkiest, goofiest smile and probably looking as lovesick as she feels.
He has a past. He's made mistakes, some very recently. But he always learns from them. He rarely repeats them.
She loves him all the more for it.
In turn, she tells him about her mother and the amount of papers she had to rewrite at the last minute and all the second place trophies she had to throw away. She tells him that her mother was never satisfied with her class standing when she graduated from UCLA. Third simply wasn't as impressive as first. Without any hesitance she reveals the ways Jonas manipulated her and how her mother made excuses for him. Every vulnerable thought or fear she's ever had seems to pour out of her.
She's not afraid he'll think less of her for staying with someone who was obviously cheating on her. She's not afraid he'll judge her for letting her mother dictate her path. He doesn't judge her. He doesn't pity her. He listens and he sympathizes and offers encouragement where he can.
It's more than she could have ever hoped for in a partner.
He's more than she could have ever hoped for.
As the weekend comes to a close, she regretfully books a flight for nine on Monday morning. Wyatt can drop her off and still make it into the office on time that way. It seems like a solid plan. After all, a lot has happened this weekend and they both have things to think about, but….
She can honestly say that leaving is the last thing she wants right now. In fact, she's so bothered by the idea of going back to Los Angeles that she barely sleeps a wink.
She nestles into Wyatt. It's perfectly cozy, but sleep proves slippery. She dozes in and out of a half sleep due to her mind being preoccupied by the thought of a week without him. Now that she knows he loves her, she doesn't want to let him go - even temporarily. Finally, at five that morning she gives up and simply watches him sleep.
He is not having the same problem she is. He is resting fitfully. He puffs out perfect little breaths that barely move the hairs falling across his forehead. His lashes are so long that it's unfair. How can a man have lashes that full with the perfect natural curl? Women everywhere would kill for his lashes, including herself. She reaches out a hand and softly runs it along the stubble on his cheeks.
He's so beautiful and somehow he's hers. She still has a hard time believing this is all real. He leans into her touch and tucks her further into his chest, the way a child would snuggle a teddy bear. She bites down on her lip to keep a fond chuckle at bay. He may have a gruff exterior, but this soldier is all fluff on the inside. How did she get so lucky?
She lets out a muted wishful sigh. She hates that they live so far apart. It isn't fair. The weekends are never enough time. Especially this weekend. She's keenly aware of the time they lost when she flew back home. All in all, it couldn't have been more than 8 hours but it still made the weekend that much shorter.
And what is she going back to exactly? She only goes to her office to write. She has no appointments to keep. The semester doesn't start for another three weeks. She'll have to start working on lesson plans soon, but she has at least one more week before that stress begins to build. So, really that just leaves her empty apartment and her extremely social sister, who's never needed Lucy around to remain entertained. Why is she in such a rush to return to Los Angeles, again? Her laptop is here. It could be just as easy to write at Wyatt's place as it is her office. Writing is a mobile activity. She can do it anywhere.
So, where does that leave her?
With no reason to leave Wyatt, at least not this week.
Decision made, she manages to reach over Wyatt for her phone. (He only has one nightstand and it's on his side of the bed. It's irksome but she hasn't yet mentioned that to him.) She turns the phone away from him so as not to disturb him with the light and opens up her airline's app. She bites her bottom lip to keep from letting out a triumphant cheer when the "Change" option is lit up next to her flight. She simply has to pay the fare difference. God bless modern technology.
She changes her flight from this Monday to next and then changes her alarm. Wyatt doesn't have to be in the office until 9:30. Now that he doesn't have to shuttle her to the airport he can sleep later.
And as far as he'll ever know, she overslept her alarm, causing her to miss her flight.
Accidentally (read: on purpose.)
Oops?
It really is amazing how much easier it is to sleep now that she's decided to stay.
They have a whole week to look forward to and she cannot wait.
Soft sunlight hits Wyatt's face from the window next to the bed and causes him to rouse from a deep sleep. He won't lie. It's the most restful sleep he's had in years, and probably all because of his very winsome companion.
The same one whose face is pressed into his neck and whose hand rests over his heart. He wonders if she can feel his heart rate increase in her sleep because that's what it's doing. She's in one of his t-shirts, with the threadbare collar loosely slipping off her shoulder, and nothing else. It would be all too easy to roll her underneath him and give her a truly exceptional morning greeting.
But he resists the urge as he remembers, with a heart aching lurch, exactly what day it is.
He's never hated Monday more than he does right now. Today, she goes back to Los Angeles and when she does she'll be taking with her every piece of his battered heart. It's worth very little to the general population but for some indiscernible reason it means the world to her. How the fuck did he get so lucky?
The curtains move, from the barest breeze of his air conditioning and he blinks against the sunlight again. That's when he realizes something is off.
Lucy set her alarm for six. There is no way the sun would be this bright at six in the morning.
Shit.
He turns his head to glance at his alarm clock and can't catch the curse this time. They have 45 minutes until Lucy's flight is scheduled to take off. Her suitcase isn't even packed. There is no way they are making it to the airport in time.
As if sensing his panic, the alarm on Lucy's phone wails obnoxiously. He frantically cuts if off, nearly knocking her phone off the nightstand in the process. Smooth, Wyatt.
She stirs and hums contentedly against him. There is no preventing the upward turn of his lips. After the rocky start to the weekend, hearing her sound content eases any remaining fears.
"Morning," she mumbles.
"I've got bad news," he tells her with a wince.
Though, maybe not so bad. Considering it means he gets to keep her a little longer. Silver lining, right?
Her eyes barely open but he knows she's listening.
"You're gonna miss your flight."
The smirk she flashes him is drowsy but still mischievous as she replies with absolutely zero remorse. "Oops. I must've hit snooze one too many times. Oh well."
His squints down at her suspiciously. "Oh, well?" He asks. "That's it?"
She hides her face against his shoulder, but he can feel her grin pressed into his skin. "Guess I'll just have to stay a little longer. As in, maybe, the whole week."
He grins to match her and catches on immediately. She's trying to be sneaky. Waking up this late is no accident. Not with Lucy.
Not with this woman who always has a plan. She even has strategies for quick grocery store trips. She'll remind him before they get out of the car in a way that makes him feel like he should dig out his tactical gear.
No way she hits snooze more than once on any alarm. Ever.
"A whole week, huh?" He asks with a knowing half smirk. "I guess there's no other flight to catch between now and then? That was the only flight back to L.A. today?"
"Probably," she replies as her hand reaches up to scrub along his stubble. "Seems like I'm stuck with you for a while."
He chuckles quietly and runs a light touch up the curve of her spine. He marvels at the way it makes her entire body shudder before he speaks. "Okay, as much fun as this is, Professor, can we be serious?"
"I am serious," she answers as she turns her head to rest her chin on his shoulder. Her eyes are full of whiskey tinted sincerity. "I mean, what would you say if I...stayed? At least for this week?"
"You really want to stay?" He asks with a soft hopeful smile.
She nods and kisses his shoulder. "I really do. I have nothing to rush back to yet and in a few weeks that may not be the case. I feel like I should enjoy spending time with you while I still have a surplus of it. Besides, after this weekend I'm just not ready for a day without you yet. I don't want to say goodbye again."
"I'm not ready to say goodbye yet either," he agrees with a relieved exhale. "Nothing would make me happier than to have you sharing this house with me for a week. Nothing. So if that's what you want then you have my enthusiastic support."
"Good, cause about two hours ago I changed my flight to next Monday instead," she tells him with a bright laugh. "If you said no I would have camped out here anyway."
He laughs with her and shakes his head. "I knew it! So much for 'oops', you liar. You let me think we overslept!"
"I maintain that the oversleeping was done accidentally."
He rolls his eyes and pokes her naked side. "On purpose."
"Fine, we'll compromise," she says sagely. "Accidentally on purpose. Just like everything else with us."
He quirks a brow at her and snickers. "Right. Sure thing, ma'am. Would you like me to accidentally on purpose make you breakfast before I have to get ready for work?"
"If by breakfast you mean pancakes, then yes," Lucy says as she reaches over him for her phone. She steals a quick kiss as a thank you before sitting up and studying her notifications.
"Coming right up," he says as he stands and throws on a thin t-shirt and a pair of sweats.
He pauses at the door to watch her while she's wrapped in his sheets and scrolling through her phone. She looks like she belongs there — in his bed, his house, his heart. She belongs anywhere he is.
He gets to work on breakfast not long after that. As he's pouring more batter into the skillet, Lucy wanders in with the phone pressed to her ear. She sits at his kitchen table with laughing eyes and a shake of her head.
"Yes, you can drive my car, but no you can't shuttle around your 'paints and pints' class in the Volvo. I know your friends, Amy. I'll end up with wine and paint stains all over the seats." She rolls her eyes and tucks one long bare leg underneath her. He's so distracted by it that he almost forgets to flip the pancakes."Then buy your own car, you have the money. Well, I wouldn't have to be mean if you weren't a total spoiled brat. Uh huh. Okay." She stops suddenly and Wyatt feels her eyes watching him. "I'm not sure yet," she says.
When he turns to look at her he sees her cheeks bloom with color and her eyes widen.
"No, I am not telling him that! Because that's not exactly appropriate coming from me. No, I'm not handing him the phone. He's making breakfast. Leave him alone. Yeah, that's right. I'm a total stick in the mud because I won't let you embarrass me in front of my—" She cuts off her sentence and then meets his eyes with a small shy smile. "My boyfriend."
That bashful look she just gave him and the way she bit her lip to keep from grinning? Yeah, he likes that. He likes that a lot. He also likes the affection he saw in her eyes as the word "boyfriend" left her lips.
"Yes, I'll call you later," she promises. "Love you too, Ames."
"So," he asks with a knowing grin. "How's Amy?"
"Still a hot mess and occasionally mortifying," Lucy admits with a nervous chuckle.
"So, still essentially Amy?" He asks with a smirk as he plates their two stacks of pancakes and sets them on the table.
"Always essentially Amy," Lucy answers.
His phone vibrates in his sweatpants pocket, indicating a text, and he checks it as he opens the pantry for the syrup. His eyebrows shoot up as he reads Amy's name on his lock screen.
"Lock her down, Wyatt, because you will never meet another person as good and loving as she is. Trust me on this. Also, important note, break her heart and I will castrate you. Have a great day!"
"Uh," he says with a snorting laugh. "That embarrassing thing you told her you couldn't say?"
"Yeah?" Lucy asks as she gets up from the table and heads for his fridge.
"I'm pretty sure she just texted it to me."
Lucy halts with the butter dish in her hand and the fridge door wide open. "Oh, God. I'm so sorry."
He's still laughing as he brings the syrup to the table. "Honestly, I'm surprised she hasn't texted me this before now." He takes the butter dish from Lucy's hand and then pulls her away from the fridge. He guides her to sit back down, kissing the top of her head before he closes the refrigerator door. "And she's definitely not wrong. On all counts."
Lucy's blushing again as he sits down across from her. "Oh, well. Okay then."
He's taken maybe one bite of his pancakes when his phone rings from where it sits in between them. Jess's number and picture fill the screen and Wyatt can feel Lucy tense on the other side of the table. It's as if all movement stops.
He's tempted to decline the call. Not because he doesn't want Lucy to hear it but because he doesn't want to waste his time with her talking to someone else. He's not going to do that, though. He can tell this is a critical moment. Lucy needs to know he listens. Especially, to her.
He picks up on the second ring.
"Hey, Jess, what do you need?"
Lucy's shoulders relax and he hears her expel a tense breath.
He reaches across the table and takes her hand in his, threading their fingers together and squeezing her hand.
"Do you remember where we put the old hammock? Is it in your storage locker or mine?"
"I honestly have no idea," Wyatt replies with a scoff. "I don't even remember owning a hammock."
"Must be in mine then," Jess says thoughtfully before breezing past it. "Also, Emma's not coming into the office today."
Wyatt's eyes widen. Emma never misses a day at the office. "Oh? Anything wrong?"
"No," Jess says tersely. It sounds like she's speaking through a tense jaw. "She's just been in some sort of snit the last few days so I'm not letting her leave the house until she gets some goddamn sleep."
There's distant yelling in the background. Far enough away to be muffled but close enough to make out every word. ("Fuck you, I'm not tired.")
"I swear sometimes it's like living with a toddler. She's a picky eater who never sleeps only instead of throwing a tantrum she curses and flips me off."
Wyatt laughs and shakes his head. His stomach rumbles so he sets the phone down and puts it on speaker, withdrawing his hand from Lucy's. The pancakes are going to go cold if he doesn't start on them soon.
"Good luck with that," Wyatt says with a snort.
"Thanks," Jessica replies drolly. "Anyway, all that to say, I know you have an appointment with her to go over the new prototype or whatever, but she won't be making it. Which means, you have more time to say goodbye to the lovely Lucy. If you need it."
Lucy looks surprised at the mention of her name and by the fact that he switched to speakerphone. His eyes meet hers with a sly smirk. "Actually, she's still here, and will be all week."
"Seriously?" Jess asks in excitement. "Oh! You should bring her to Wednesday Poker! Does she play poker?"
"I don't know, Luce," Wyatt says with a pointed glance. "Do you play poker?"
"...you put me on speaker, didn't you?"
"You called during breakfast and I'm starving," he explains with a roll of his eyes before fixing Lucy with another meaningful look. "So, poker?"
She fumbles to speak, shocked to be pulled into the conversation.
"I—I play," she answers. "Not well, but I do play."
"None of us are particularly good at it," Jess assures her. "You won't be alone."
"Speak for yourself," Wyatt says with a cocky grin. "I regularly wipe the floor with all of you."
"Yes, and like the horrible braggart you are, you make sure we know it. You're such a good sport, Wy," Jess says sarcastically. "Anyway, it's at our house this week so, as a warning to you Lucy, bring a sweater. My girlfriend keeps this place at subzero temperatures."
Emma's distant voice floats over the line again. "Sub zero means below zero. The thermostat doesn't even go that fucking low, Jess."
"If it did you'd keep it there and give me hella awful frostbite," Jess retorts. "And stop being so literal. I was joking." There's a beat and then. "Someone tell me how I ended up dating a scientist?"
"Engineer," Wyatt corrects habitually.
"Same thing."
"Not really, no," Emma replies. She sounds closer now. "I'm staying home from work because of you, the least you can do is get off the phone and keep me company."
"Oh, so you're finally not pissed at me?" Jess asks.
Emma huffs before she answers. "I can be pissed at you and still want to make out with you. The two aren't mutually exclusive. In fact, they actually work really well together or have you forgotten about Cancun?"
Emma's tone softens to the point of practically purring causing Wyatt and Lucy to exchange wide eyed glances.
"Maybe we should let you go," Lucy says before biting back an amused grin. "You sound busy."
"Or like you're about to be," Wyatt says as he clears his throat with a smirk.
"I...um," Jess audibly gulps but then seems to find her words again. "Poker, Wednesday, our place. Bring a sweater. Bye!"
The call abruptly ends sending Lucy and himself into a fit of laughter.
"Oh my god," Lucy says through another peel of laughter. "What did we just overhear?"
"I'm pretty sure that was foreplay," Wyatt says with an awkward grimace.
Her laughter slowly fades away and her eyes meet his with heartfelt gratitude. "You didn't have to do that, you know? Put the call on speaker?"
"I know," he informs her with a nod. "But I wanted to. There's nothing that Jess and I talk about that you can't hear, Lucy. Not anymore. I trust you." He reaches for her hand again. "I promised you no more hiding therefore no more hiding. I heard you before. I'm not making the same mistakes twice." He squeezes her hand and a self deprecating smile overtakes his face. "Though, I can't promise I won't make new ones."
"If you do," Lucy says, clutching his hand tighter. "I'll be sure to tell you from here on out. No more keeping it to myself."
He brings the back of her hand to his lips before giving her a reassuring nod. "Glad to hear that, ma'am, because there's nothing that goes on in your beautiful big brain that I don't want to know about."
"Can I just say, that I really like that you chose the phrase 'beautiful big brain' instead of 'pretty little head'? Based on that alone, I can tell you're a real winner, Wyatt Logan."
"Hopefully you still think that at the end of the week," he replies with a bashful blush and a sardonic smirk.
"I will," Lucy says with certainty. "I have no doubt."