I Barely Knew I had Skin Before I Met You (2/4)
Garcia raised red, ravaged eyes to them both. He held the arms of his chair in a white-knuckled grip, the rest of his body so stiff and strained he would probably shatter like warped glass if either she or Wyatt touched him. Lucy knew —no, she felt it burning in her stomach—how badly he wanted to run. To cry in front of her, to know that Wyatt had witnessed any of it, well, he would view it as a show of weakness. Stupid man.
Lucy sat in a chair, motioning for Wyatt to do the same. Who knew how long they'd be there? She met Garcia's gaze directly, determined not to shy away from his pain. If only grief were an alternative fuel; between the three of them they still carried enough to power a small city.
Garcia pressed a hand to his chest, just over his heart. His eyes closed, and he swallowed, throat working. "It's my daughter's birthday, Wyatt," he said. His eyes were still closed, as if he couldn't stand to look at them when he said the words. "She would be ten years old today," he said, voice rough, two stones rubbing against each other.
They sat suspended in crystalline silence for a breath, then two. Then: "I'm sorry. I know...I know that doesn't change anything." Wyatt straightened in his chair. "It doesn't get easier, does it? To lose your kid…" He shook his head, at a loss for words.
Garcia opened his eyes, his gaze narrow, sharp as bladed steel, and twice as likely to draw blood. "I didn't 'lose' her. She wasn't simply misplaced, like a favorite but replaceable trinket. Here today, gone tomorrow, but no matter because I can go buy another one."
"I know that." Wyatt sighed and rubbed his temples, and Lucy patted his back in sympathy. Their lover possessed an unfortunate knack for taking their words and twisting them into tangled skeins they found nearly impossible to unwind. "Geez, come on, Flynn. You know I didn't mean it like that, and—"
Garcia's brow furrowed, then smoothed out again. "I know what you meant," he said, his tone strident as he interrupted Wyatt. "And I appreciate the sentiment," he added, softer this time.
Would you look at that? Maybe she could teach an old dog new tricks, after all.
"Do you really?" Wyatt said, nose wrinkling, and Lucy stifled a laugh at the skepticism threaded through his voice.
"I do."
"Well, you didn't let me finish what I was saying."
"I...apologize." Garcia inclined his head. "I have been told I am not always the world's most attentive listener."
"Really?" The one-word question was delivered in a tone as dry as the Sahara.
Garcia's mouth curled at the edges, and he waved carelessly, motioning for Wyatt to continue.
"Jessica and I, we didn't have kids." Wyatt smiled, but it was a smile that held no mirth, only a deep sadness. Lucy reached out and stroked his hair, keeping the pressure feather light; he accepted her attempt at comfort without comment, leaning into her touch. "Always thought there'd be more time for that someday."
"Ah, the folly of youth." Garcia's lips mirrored Wyatt's, forming an equally joyless smile. His voice sounded sympathetic, though, free of all mockery.
Wyatt shrugged, nodded once, and cocked his head to the side, almost as if he was listening to something she and Garcia couldn't hear. He blinked, then seemed to return from wherever he'd gone for those few seconds. Jessica.
Lucy felt a dull throb of jealousy before she silently scolded herself for the uncharitable emotion. She knew all too well that she couldn't compete with the siren call of history and memory. Wherever Wyatt had gone for those moments, she reminded herself, he was here now, with her and Garcia.
"Yeah, something like that." His eyebrows drew together, and he scratched his chin, his expression thoughtful as he contemplated Flynn.
Lucy watched and waited.
She didn't have to wait long. Garcia steepled his long fingers, staring back at Wyatt without blinking. "Whatever you're thinking, Logan, just say it."
Wyatt pulled up his foot, propping his ankle on his other leg. "Sometimes you act like you hold a monopoly on suffering. Sure, my kid wasn't killed, but I know what it's like to lose someone." He paused, tipping his head toward her. "So does Lucy."
She nodded. "I do." Fingering the locket around her neck, she struggled to picture her sister's easy smile. With each passing day, that became more and more difficult. That hurt her more than she ever mentioned to Wyatt or Garcia, the guilt suffocating in its intensity.
Wyatt pointed in Garcia's direction."Your wife and daughter were taken from you." He tapped a thumb to his own chest. "My wife was murdered." His hand clasped her shoulder, fingers warm and steady, like the man himself. "Lucy's sister never existed; the man she thought was her father died; her biological father's a Rittenhouse crony, and so's her mother." Wyatt's hand moved off her shoulder, and Lucy shivered, suddenly cold and exhausted. "You're not the only one who's lost someone."
"You think I'm not aware of that?" Garcia flashed Wyatt an incredulous look.
"I think it's easy to get caught up in your own pain and forget you're not alone."
"Believe me, this is not a competition to see who has suffered the most." Garcia cleared his throat. "Since Iris and Lorena were killed… Since I tried to bring them back… The things I've done..." He shook his head, frustration limning every line and angle carved in his elegant frame. "Sometimes I feel like there's nothing in here but a black hole that has swallowed everything ." Flynn's jaw clenched. "Do you understand?" He leaned forward and thumped his chest with an open palm. His wedding ring swung out from beneath his shirt, gleaming a dull gold in the dim light of the kitchen. "Everything good and kind and worthy; everything that makes a human, human. I don't want it to swallow you." He regarded each of them in turn, his gaze imploring. "Either of you. You deserve better. You can have better. I—" His eyes closed as he covered his face. "I don't know if I have anything left to give anyone. To give you and Lucy." The words were muffled by his hands but still discernible.
"You still don't get it, do you?"
Garcia's only reply was a sharp shake of his head, and Lucy discovered that yes, there were still parts of her heart left to break.
"Don't hide from me." Wyatt's chair screeched against the floor, the sound jarring, as he shoved it closer to Flynn. He tugged Flynn's hands away from his face, curling his fingers around his wrists, where Lucy knew his pulse thrummed. "You. Me. Us. This. It...works. And we need you." He looked at Lucy for just a moment; she nodded, once, feeling her eyes go misty. His fingers shifted to Garcia's face, cradling his cheeks with both palms, while Lucy stood and settled her hands on both their shoulders. " I need you," Wyatt continued, echoing the words Lucy had said to him at the Alamo so long ago. "I need you ," he repeated, without a trace of hesitation in his voice.
Garcia captured one of Wyatt's hands in his own and traced the lines in his palm with an unsteady fingertip. "There's blood on my hands," he said, eyes and voice holding a bone-deep weariness. "There's not enough water in the world to wash it away."
With his free hand, Wyatt pulled Lucy onto his lap. With his other hand, he linked fingers with Garcia's. "I know. And I still want you. I still choose you. We all have blood on our hands. I'm tired of it, too. I've killed when those were my orders—when someone told me it was the right thing to do—and I've killed when I knew it was the wrong thing to do. I just don't want to do it anymore. But what's left for me? I'm still alive." He smoothed a hand over Lucy's thigh. "Am I just supposed to crawl into some hole for the next 30-40 years? I know I can't make up for the lives I've taken. But I have choices; we all do. I can still choose to try to do some good in the world. So can you. That's up to you, though. You can choose to run, Flynn. So you don't have to care; so you don't have to lose anything or anyone else; so you don't have to try do something good or right. You have to choose. Not me. Not Lucy."
Having said his piece, Wyatt released Garcia's hand and slouched back in his chair with his eyes closed and Lucy curled against his chest. Minutes rolled by in silence, and Lucy began to think maybe Wyatt had done the unthinkable and rendered Garcia Flynn speechless for the first time in his life. Lulled by the quiet and the steady heat of Wyatt's body, she started to doze off, her body finally surrendering to a drugging combination of fatigue and emotional upheaval.
"I'm impressed," Garcia said, snapping Lucy out of the warm, sleepy haze she'd succumbed to. "That was quite a speech, pretty boy."
"I may be pretty"— here he paused, opened his eyes, and bit his lip with a knowing look—"but my mouth is good for more than sucking your dick."
Garcia dissolved into a coughing fit.
"Wyatt!" No question she was wide awake now.
Garcia sniffed. "There's no need to be crude."
"That's not what you said last night," Wyatt muttered, scrubbing at his hair until it stood up in five different directions..
"Behave," Lucy said, giving him her sternest look and digging her fingers into his midsection, right where experience told her he was super ticklish.
He batted her hands away, wriggling in his seat. "Why? We all know you like it better when I don't."
Flynn and Wyatt exchanged smug looks, suddenly co-conspirators allied against her. Garcia groaned, then winked at her. God, she couldn't take it when his eyes twinkled like that. "Lucy, you walked right into that one."
Unable to dredge up an appropriately scathing comeback from the depths of her tired brain, Lucy settled for sticking her tongue at them both. Her men laughed, the sounds mingling sweetly, and a feeling of lightness swelled in Lucy until she was helpless to do anything but join in. And with that, much of the tension bled out of the room.
Flynn sipped his chamomile tea, mouth curling in distaste.
"It's probably cold now. I could make a fresh cup," Lucy offered.
"No, thank you, Lucy." He set the mug back on the table, tapping his fingers against it.
"How 'bout something stronger, Luce?" Wyatt wagged his eyebrows suggestively, grinning.
"You've got to be kidding me." Lucy groaned. "Wyatt, the sun isn't even up yet."
Wyatt's grin widened, and he nudged her with his shoulder. "It's shining somewhere."
She couldn't argue with that, so she didn't.
Lucy nudged Garcia with her foot. "What kind of cake did Iris like?" She leaned back against Wyatt, letting him run his fingers through her hair again and again while she melted into a puddle of goo in his lap.
Garcia snagged her ankle, pulling it into his lap. When he pressed both his thumbs deep into the bottom of her foot, she sighed at the impromptu foot massage. "She didn't like cake." The corners of Garcia's mouth tilted up, just a little, in the ghost of a smile, and Lucy waited patiently for him to say more. "I think it was something about the texture."
"Oh. OK. So what treat did she usually have on her birthday?"
"Chocolate chip cookies," he replied, and his eyes were full of remembrance.
"Mmmm. I love chocolate chip cookies." Wyatt licked his lips. "Your daughter had good taste."
"Yes, I suppose she did. She loved chocolate chip cookies. More than anything, she loved 'helping' her mother in the kitchen, Lorena always said…" His voice trailed off, and Lucy wondered if he'd continue. "...She always said it took her twice as long to cook anything with Iris' help." He sighed and looked away. "They would make chocolate chip cookies together on her birthday."
"Then it's settled," Lucy said, yawning and standing up. "We're making chocolate chip cookies."
"Right now?"
"Yes, right now, Wyatt." She tried to inject her voice with energy. "Seize the day,"
"It's almost 5:00 in the morning. Can't we seize the day after we go back to bed for a few hours?
"Come on. Don't you want chocolate chip cookies for breakfast?"
Garcia watched them silently, hands folded loosely over his stomach.
Lucy grabbed Wyatt's hands and tried pulling him out of his chair. He didn't budge. Clearly her methods of persuasion needed work. She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. "Please. It'll be fun." She leaned in and whispered in his ear. "It'll be good for Garcia."
Heaving an enormous sigh, Wyatt got up and scratched his chest. "OK. Fine. Just let me put on a shirt first,"
"Leave the shirt off."
Hands on his hips, legs akimbo, Wyatt said, "I'll have you know I'm more than just a piece of meat, ma'am."
With her arms wrapped around his waist, Lucy kissed Wyatt's shoulder. "Just who are you trying to convince?"
Wyatt gave a long-suffering sigh as he was sandwiched between both Lucy and Garcia in a hug.