of mind.
Or was he intrigued by this single woman raising two girls on her own? He understood the sacrifice, worry and all-consuming joy of rearing a child. Knew that being a parent was a tough road. Admired her for attempting it on her own.
After engaging in conversation with people he hadn’t seen in a while, his shoulders had started to ache with tension. His chest had grown tighter still when his parents had joined him before he stepped outside.
“Wyatt, I’m so happy to see you,” his mother had said, hugging him. When he returned the gesture, she squeezed him again before drawing back, her gaze filled with concern. “You’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Mother.”
“You’re eating? Sleeping?’
His father chuckled. “Liz, the boy looks healthy to me.”
“Don’t pretend you aren’t worried, Bryce. You’ve spent just as many hours wondering how Wyatt is doing as I have.”
“Both of you can stop worrying,” Wyatt said, trying to infuse humor into his tone. “I’m eating. Working.”
“But not sleeping?” his mother asked.
He sighed. “Mom, let it go.”
“I’m your mother. I never let go.”
Questioning his welfare was part of the dynamic he’d intentionally walked away from. What was wrong with him? They only wanted to help. Be a part of his life. They missed Jamie too. Still, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t respond to them. His father laid a hand on his wife’s shoulder. “Don’t push,” he said quietly.
His mother’s eyes filled with tears. What a rotten son he’d become. She stepped closer to his father as Wyatt began to withdraw.
“Can we at least meet for dinner sometime? If I promise not to interfere?”
“Sure. I’ll call you.”
“Promise?”
He forced a grin for his mother’s sake. “I promise.” Guilt and sorrow tugged at him. He hoped someday he would be capable of spending more than a few minutes with his folks, but right now he needed fresh air.
Leaving behind the party chatter, he strode to the far end of the pool area, opened the gate to step onto the lush expanse of grass spreading from the side of the hotel down to the beach. The sweet scent of blooming honeysuckle filled the air. The soft glow from tiered garden lights bordered the neatly manicured foliage surrounding the building. The dim lighting allowed a better view of the moon shining over the calm waters of the Gulf of Mexico. He hadn’t realized how on edge he was until the soothing sound of waves lapping against the sand relaxed him in slow degrees.
Heels tapping against the stone path drew his attention from the water. He turned, surprised and pleased to see Jenna walking his way. Pleased indeed.
She held out a bottle. “You left this behind.”
“Thanks, but I don’t want it.”
She lifted a quizzical brow.
Did he really need to explain himself? Probably. A stubborn part of him wanted to tell her to leave him alone, but the tired part of him wanted to talk to someone. Talk to her. So he started, haltingly at first.
“When my son died, I thought it would be easy to get lost in a bottle. You know, just forget.” He shoved his hands in his pants pockets and shrugged in an attempt to make light of the situation. “Funny thing is, I don’t really like to drink. So it never helped me not remember Jamie.”
“That was your son’s name? Jamie?”
“Yes.” Emotion clogged his throat. “You’d think after two years I could say my son’s name without getting choked up, but apparently not.”
“You miss him.”
“Every day with every breath.”
In the garden’s soft light, he saw Jenna’s rapid blinking. Was she fighting back tears? See, she got it.
“He was a great kid,” Wyatt went on. “Full of life. Loved adventure.”
“So Jamie wouldn’t want you to drown your sorrows in a bottle.”
“Probably not any more than your friend would want you to.”
“Carrie,” she said just above a whisper. “My friend’s name.”
As if by silent agreement, they strolled farther away from the building. Away from the music and numerous voices, heading toward a large magnolia tree with a bench positioned beneath. Pink luminous blooms dotted the limbs in the dark night. Wyatt bent over to pick up a fallen flower and handed it to her.
Their fingers brushed in the exchange. He lingered, enjoying the touch of her smooth skin. It had been a long time since he’d touched anyone. At Jenna’s shiver, he let his hand drop.
They took a seat on the cool wrought-iron bench, leaving a wide space between them.
“Most people don’t want to talk about Jamie,” he said. “They find it awkward or think I’m not ready.”
Jenna tilted her head and regarded him. “Do you think you’re ready?”
“Sometimes it feels good to say his name. But other times...” he took a deep breath.
“I know what you mean. I find I have to walk a fine line with the twins. Sometimes we all have a good laugh over a shared memory, but other times the memories make us cry.”
“I guess it’s all part of the grieving process.”
An uneasy silence lapsed again. Jenna broke it first. “So instead of becoming a drinker, you decided to become a brooding, sullen loner?”
He opened his mouth to argue but Jenna held up her hand. “It’s not my opinion. I’m only repeating what I’ve heard.”
Was that what people thought of him? Sullen? Brooding? Okay, the brooding loner part was probably true. “Fair enough.”
Was this what he’d let his life become? A ghost walker during the day. Going through the motions of his job without any effort. Cutting ties with family and friends. Shoot, Jenna and the girls were the only people to visit him in weeks.
Not a very flattering picture, if he did say so himself.
He was so mired in his thoughts that Jenna startled him when she spoke again. “I have to say, I’m surprised you showed up tonight.”
“So am I. After the promise of food, I had to come.” He grinned. “I tasted your masterpiece and I gotta say, you did the mac and cheese crowd proud. And this is coming from a mac and cheese connoisseur.”
“I’m glad you liked it.” She frowned. “But to be honest, meeting all these people is a bit overwhelming. I’m not usually comfortable in big crowds.”
“Something
