The Singles (56 page)

I hold back a sharp reply as I nod and close the doughnut box. “I’m ready.” As he heads to the front door, I grab my folder of paperwork from my desk and start to join him, but then I stop. I glance down at my ring finger, which has started to scab. There’s no point in me going to the DMV just to get another license that says
Kylie Martin
. “Hey, Lucas?” I call out.

“Yeah?”

“How long does it take to do a name change on your social security card? Is it right away?”

Even from the other room, I can hear him make a frustrated noise. “Google is your friend. Look it up yourself.” Even though he can’t see me, I glare daggers in his general direction, literally biting my tongue, as I sit behind the desk and open my laptop.

After a few minutes of research, I discover that getting a new social security card will take several days. Since I obviously can’t wait for a new license, I make myself a note, so I’ll remember to take care of the name change another day.
The sooner, the better.

***

I
nstead of using the parking garage, Lucas has left his car on the curb, and I lift an eyebrow as we walk down the steps toward the brand new Audi. This is the first time I’ve seen it. I didn’t even realize he had bought a new car.

“Sam get you a gift with your money?” I ask.

He narrows his hazel eyes into dangerous slits. “Kylie, I swear to God—”

I climb into my seat, cutting off his threat by slamming my door. As I wait for him to get inside the car, I turn toward the driver’s seat. He’s still glaring at me when he closes his door and presses his fingertip on the push start.

“Maybe this was a bad idea,” he growls, but I shake my head. The more I think about it, Lucas randomly picking me up is a very good thing.

“No, this talk has been a long time coming. I can’t believe I waited so long before saying something, but I am now.”

In typical Lucas fashion, he automatically gets defensive. “You want to talk about Wyatt then? Since we’re sharing our feelings.”

I press my lips into a thin line. Of course, I don’t want to talk about Wyatt. It hurts like hell to even think about that man, but I know it’s something that I’ll eventually have to acknowledge. Just because he lied to me doesn’t change the fact that I still love him. Just because I walked away from him doesn’t change the fact that I’ll have to see him again when I’m working.

“Ask away,” I tell my brother, squaring my shoulders.

He pulls the Audi into traffic. “Alright. What happened?”

“Why would you assume something did?”

He gives me a hard stare. “Because he called me and wanted to know if you were okay. Apparently, I’m the go-to guy on all things Kylie Wolfe.”

My chest tightens as I run my fingers through my hair nervously. “And?”

“I lied. I told him I saw you yesterday morning, and you were the happiest I’ve ever seen you.”

For what seems like an eternity, we sit in traffic, completely silent. Once I digest what Lucas has just told me, I clear my throat. “I’m not sure if I should say thank you or be irritated.”

“Irritated because I finally stepped in and tried to do something to stop you two from hurting each other?”

“Yeah, irritated that after eight years, you’re just now showing an interest in your kid sister’s personal life.”

“You don’t think I give a shit about what’s happening with you? You’re my sister. Don’t ever think for one second that I don’t love you, you got me?” When I nod, he adds, “I just want you to be happy.”

My throat constricts, and I clench my fists. “Thanks, Lucas.” My voice is hoarse, and he turns his head slightly, giving me a sad smile, as he touches my shoulder. “I love you, too,” I say.

Even though I want nothing more right now than to stay with him in the car and talk to him about Samantha, he pulls the Audi into the DMV lot, parking the car in the farthest spot from the entrance.

“Lucas,” I say before I get out. He cocks one of his thick eyebrows. “When I’m done in here, we’re going to talk about you.”

He doesn’t move or say anything, but he doesn’t have to. I know that I’ll be able to get something out of him even if it’s not the absolute truth.

***

S
ince I have all the documents I need to get a new license, the whole process from start to finish takes less than an hour, which is like a miracle for the DMV. My brother looks surprised when I slide into the Audi.

He tucks his phone back into his pocket. “Let me guess, you’re missing shit?” he demands. I shake my head and flip open my wallet to show him my new card. He moves his head from side to side incredulously as he starts the car. “And I can bet money when I have to come in and get my renewal, it’ll take me all day long.”

During the short drive back to my apartment, I think of several different ways to approach the subject of Sam with Lucas. It’s so ridiculously easy to ruin my brother’s mood that I want to approach it carefully.

Then, I look at him. I study the way his shoulders sag and how his hazel eyes just seem tired. And I realize that there’s no way in hell I can ruin his day any worse than he already has.

“We’re a fucked-up pair,” I say quietly after he parks near the curb.

He releases a strangled laugh. “Yeah, we are.” He leans his head back against his headrest, inhaling and exhaling deeply. “I wanted to make things work with her so fucking bad,” he says, referring to Sienna.

I nod. “You still can, but you’re going to have to let go of whatever it is Sam’s got on you. You know that, don’t you?”

“It’s not that fucking simple.”

“Then, let me help you. Tell me what she has on you, so we can figure it out together,” I plead. He shakes his head, refusing me. “I promise I’m not going to stop loving you.” When he doesn’t reply as he stares straight ahead through the windshield, my chest clenches. “Lucas, it’s not something that will make me stop loving you,” I say again, but this time, it sounds more like a question than a statement.

He’s quiet for much longer than necessary, and when he answers me, my heart aches so much more for him. “No, it’s not, but only because it’s not in you to stop loving someone.”

F
or the next week, Wyatt calls my cell phone twice a day, once in the afternoon and then again at night. He doesn’t leave messages, and he doesn’t send texts. I’m sure he knows that I’m purposely missing his calls every time I send him straight to voice mail. It’s so hard to do that to him because each time I hit the top button on my iPhone to ignore the call, it feels like a hole is being burned into my chest. 

Nine days after my return from Phoenix, my brother calls me a little after noon. “You busy?” Lucas asks the moment I pick up. He sounds out of breath, like he’s been lifting weights. Before I can answer him, he continues, “I got an email this morning about some sponsorship thing you signed me up for. Want to check into it for me?”

Lucas has been trying to keep me as busy as possible since I came home to L.A., and while I appreciate his concern, his hovering is starting to become slightly annoying. I save the letter that I’ve been writing to Sinjin. “I’m on it right now,” I say as I pull up his Gmail account.

“Call me after you figure it out, okay?”

After I promise that I will, he ends the call, and I scroll through his inbox in search of the email. I find it near the top of his message list, where he told me it would be, so I open it up and begin to read.

According to the email, the organization, which provides sports equipment to disadvantaged kids, has left a message for his assistant. Wrinkling my forehead, I bite the inside of my lip because I haven’t received any calls from them. I head to the kitchen and grab a bottle of water, and then I sit back down to do a little more research.

It’s not until I find a thread of old correspondence with the group from months ago that I realize I gave them the direct number to my apartment instead of my cell phone number. The only phone I keep in my place is located in my bedroom, and since I went the quirky novelty route when I purchased it, it’s corded. I sit on my bed with my laptop in front of me to take notes as I check the message.

Sure enough, there’s a voice mail from the organization that’s dated back to a week ago. I listen to it twice, typing down all the pertinent information I’ll need for Lucas to make a donation. I erase the message, and I’m about to hang up, but then the next voice mail automatically starts playing.

The voice on the line sends chills through my body. It’s Wyatt. For ten minutes, I find myself listening to messages he left for me while we were in New Orleans before he realized he was calling the wrong number. It isn’t until I reach the sixth voice mail that I feel as if my lungs have completely failed me.

“Do you ever pick up your goddamn phone, beautiful?” Wyatt asks in a low, sexy voice, and my breath catches painfully. “I need you to be there next week, Ky. I need to know that I’ll see you when I come to Nashville to start recording because this separation bullshit has been going on for too long. Look, I know that you’re pissed because of my last message, but I can’t help the past. I can’t change how fucked-up we’ve been to each other. I just want to make things right now.” There’s a muffled noise, and I hear Cal’s voice. Wyatt mutters something under his breath, and then he clears his throat. “Call me when you’re ready. And Kylie?  I love you, okay?”

It feels like butterflies are racing though my stomach as I wrap my fingers around the cord tightly, listening carefully as the automated voice speaks the time and date. He left the message the last week of January, a couple of weeks before he found me in New Orleans. My mouth goes dry, and I swallow several times.

Saving the voice mail, I start the next, which turns out to be a telemarketer. I go through two more spam calls before I find Wyatt’s other message.

“I fucked up. I’ve fucked up, and it’s something I don’t ever want to do again. I don’t want other women. I want
you
. It’s been that way for as long as I can remember, and it’s going to stay that way. We need to make a decision. We’re either together or apart, but no more of this bullshit that we’ve been doing to each other for the past few years. It’s destructive, and it’s time we stop pretending like we can just be friends with benefits or whatever the hell you’re calling it now.

“I love you, Kylie. You know I have a hard time saying that, but I do. Stop ignoring my calls, stop being so afraid of getting hurt, and let’s figure this out.”

The message ends there, and I feel numb as I listen to the date and time, learning that he left this particular voice mail back in December. I slide my laptop to the other side of my bed and carefully place the phone back on the receiver, as if it will break at the slightest harsh movement. I stare at the nightstand, at the phone. And I sit in silence like I’m waiting, like I’m expecting the phone to ring at any moment.

When nothing happens and the quietness continues, I close my eyes tightly. I can almost hear Wyatt’s voice in my head, telling me over and over again that he loves me.

“I love you, too,” I finally whisper.

***

W
yatt’s messages stay in the front of my mind for the next few days, and it’s nearly impossible for me to get much done besides writing Sinjin two more letters and going to the gym with Heidi once.

When my cell phone rings on Friday afternoon and my mom’s voice comes on the line, a wave of relief washes through my body. She’s got this way of making me feel better by just saying a couple of words, and I stretch out on my sofa as I talk to her.

“You sound tired,” she points out in a worried voice.

Even though she can’t see me, I shake my head. “Just a little stressed.”

After she reminds me that I need to take better care of myself, she changes the subject to my upcoming trip to Atlanta to see her and my dad. “Are you still planning to visit in a few weeks?”

“I’ll be there, driving you insane,” I promise. When she laughs, I imagine her grinning face and how she’s probably waving her hand, shaking my comment off.

“You could never do that, baby. Me and your dad just really...” She pauses for several seconds, and a sob hitches in my throat. The moment she opens her mouth to speak again, the concern has returned along with the firm voice she used on us when we were kids. “Alright, spill it now.”

And I do. Even though my mother is a youth pastor, I leave nothing out, telling her about everything from the cutting to all the years of constant drama with Wyatt and even about the messages I recently discovered. When I’m done, she’s quiet for a long time.

“Do you love him?” she asks. “Are you still in love with Wyatt McCrae?”

Lucas’s words from the day at the DMV come to mind, and I swallow hard because my brother was right. It is impossible for me to stop loving someone. “Of course I do. I’ll never stop.”

My mother makes a squeaking noise, like she’s worrying her lip between her teeth. I hear her say something to my dad, and then I hear the sound of a door closing. “Then, you need to tell him that. If you both love each other, you need to be committed. And if he’s not willing to do that...well, the least you can do is get everything off your chest.”

“I don’t even know if it could work,” I say.

I can practically hear her shaking her head when she responds to me. “You don’t know anything until you try. No relationship is perfect, and there won’t ever be one that is. You just have to figure out how to fix yours.”

“I’ll contact him.”

“You don’t sound so sure,” she says, so when I respond, my voice is firm and convincing.

“I’m going to go see him, Mom. Even if we can’t be together, you’re right. Not trying will hurt so much worse than talking to him and agreeing that it’s best we stay apart.”

She releases a sigh of relief. “Good, I’m so proud of you. I’ve got to hang up now—your dad and I have made plans this evening, but I love you. I’ve loved you and Lucas since the day you were born, been proud of you both since I first laid eyes on you, and nothing will ever change that.” Before we end the call, she clears her throat softly. “And Kylie? There’s so much we need to talk about in person when you come home.”