Wyatt-1(Lane Brothers, Book 1)(14)
“Good. Love ya, you ass.”
“Love you, too, psycho.”
We ring off with heavy hearts and I replace the phone with a curse, my eyes falling on the liquor cabinet and the sweet oblivion it promises. But my baby needs me more than I need to get shitfaced, so instead of taking what the liquor offers, I head upstairs to shower before bringing Ellie round for that breakfast she never ate.
Chapter Five
Ellie
I wake with a groan and the feeling in my head that reminds me of the flu and a hangover rolled into one. My nose is stuffy, my eyes burn, and my muscles are so tense that they hurt.
Nothing at all like the blissful feeling I woke with earlier this morning, and no guilty smile this time, either.
I’m confused for a second before it all comes rushing back to me. My escape, the elation of victory, running into the wall, Wyatt’s anger…and God help me, that snake.
My skin all but tries to crawl off my bones just thinking about it, so instead I open my eyes and focus on the here and now. I’m back in Wyatt’s comfy bed, safe and sound.
Why I should feel relief when I’m right back where I started is unbelievable, but I do.
“Baby girl.”
My head turns and I just barely stop a smile from forming when I see him kneeling beside the bed, his head bent close to mine.
“Hmm?”
He looks guilty and remorseful and I allow that to wash over me, pushing away the distrust and the urge to run again. I can’t say why seeing him this way should bug me, but it definitely does, enough that I have the insane urge to raise a hand and stroke it over his cheek in comfort.
Imagine, the hostage giving her kidnapper comfort!
That almost makes me giggle, and I feel my mouth twitch at that, as well as recalling the spectacle I made of myself with all that hollering. And the look on his face! Priceless.
He sees my mirth and his mouth drops open as his brow furrows.
“What the hell is so funny?”
“Nothing.”
It comes out as a squeak because I have the insane need to laugh and fear that laughing now will only piss him off. I don’t know how I know that he’d be angry at me making light of my episode; I just know that it’s true.
And doesn’t that just warm my cold dead heart and make me want to sigh and cuddle closer.
“Ellie,” he growls warningly.
“Fine. I just…you should have seen your face!”
That gets me laughing and the guy probably thinks I’m completely off my rocker. I sound hysterical and, quite frankly, I can’t see how I can be so amused right now, either.
Maybe because I have lost my marbles. I must have, because I feel so safe and protected right now that I’m not focused on anything at all but the expression of shock and bewilderment that I remember from earlier.
When my laughter dies he’s still frowning darkly, but I notice that he’s got my hand in his and he seems as bewildered as he is contrite.
“I’m so sorry for scaring you that way, baby. I didn’t—”
“Know that I have a deep abiding fear of snakes? Don’t sweat it, Wyatt, it’s not your fault.”
And it isn’t. He may be my captor, my prison warden, but if there’s one thing I learned at Bolton’s hands, it’s never to blame others for actions that aren’t theirs.
“But—”
“Okay. Let’s forget about that for a minute. I mean, please just drop it, because this stuff you jabbed in me is good but not that good that I won’t freak again,” I interrupt, taking a deep, steadying breath. “We need to seriously talk, and I’m hungry so why don’t you feed me, Mr. Warden. Then you can answer all the questions I have for you.”
He frowns.
“If you ask me why again…”
“You’ll what, huh? Start wailing on me? Somehow I doubt that. No, I’ll ask you anything I want and you’ll tell me what I want to know. That is if you want me to stop trying to run. I can’t function without knowing things. Like you said, I’m used to everything being exactly the same, and no, I didn’t just do that to myself to turn invisible. It’s what I needed to do to get through the day. If I can’t have my routine, I need something solid to keep me steady and you can give me that by talking. Deal?”
Wyatt looks at me oddly before smiling softly and shaking the hand I never bothered to pull from his.
“Deal.”
The walk downstairs to the kitchen is done on shaky legs with a lot of assistance from him, and I take the time to catalogue his body thoroughly.
If he’d been in that calendar I bought in college—the one with the shirtless soldiers who’d volunteered to pose for the calendar to raise money for vets and amputees—I so would have bought more than one.