Wrecked (Love Edy Book Three) Read online

  As Geoffrey smoothed the white fabric of Wyatt’s shirt down onto his torso, Wyatt made a legitimate attempt to bury the voice of his therapist and failed.

  “Edy’s not a prize to be won, Wyatt. Not by you or any other man.”

  Dr. Tomkins had clearly never met Hassan Pradhan.

  “Sir, I’d like to mention that delicate topic your grandfather has insisted we discuss,” Geoffrey said.

  “Why?” Wyatt turned to the vanity and scowled. He’d only ever seen one on TV before. They struck him as gaudy and ostentatious, the sort of thing that came with Barbie dolls and a bench, all in miniature.

  “I thought it prudent, sir, that we—”

  “Why are we discussing this?” Wyatt cut in. “Can’t we just say we did? Let’s say that I consider myself chastised for… whatever and that I won’t do it again.” He suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.

  “But it isn’t a matter of chastisement, it’s—”

  Wyatt yanked at the knot of his tie. Who wore a tie to a meal? And not just a meal, but every meal? They had stupid on autopilot around there.

  “Your grandfather likes things a certain way,” Geoffrey began apologetically.

  Wyatt stared at the man. Then took off.

  He shot out before he borrowed one of his father’s many crass phrases—and there really were so many. As he thundered down the cascading, double helix staircase, Wyatt remembered the time he told his third-grade teacher to ‘eat hair pie’ and got sent to the principal’s office. He’d overheard his dad use that expression about his ‘annoying bitch’ of a teacher after she’d called yet again about Wyatt exhibiting concerning behavior. How was he supposed to know that she was actually a lesbian or that ‘eat hair pie’ meant, er, that? But he’d turn around and tell Geoffrey to eat hair pie in a second if he kept on about how his grandfather preferred things.

  Despite the rush, Geoffrey managed to maneuver past Wyatt with a slip that would have made Hassan proud.

  “Mr. Wyatt Green,” he announced once they’d reached the intimate quarters of his grandfather’s second dining room. This was where most meals took place, unless, of course, he was entertaining.

  Geoffrey stepped aside with a sweep of his arm and a polished table of deep, elegant wood came into view. Wyatt’s grandfather sat in his customary seat on one end, Sandra, the Boston cousin who had been Ms. Popularity, sat in the next, while Lottie filled the third place.

  Chapter Three

  “It’s hot,” Edy complained.

  “Of course it’s hot. We’re damned near licking the equator.” Hassan wiped the pooled sweat from his brow and hefted her bag along with his own, which he had insisted on carrying, so that her petite frame wouldn’t topple over what with the other two bags she had to carry. He had no idea where all their possessions would go. He worried that both of them had brought entirely too much as they trailed through the airport parking lot in a precarious parade processional leading to some hidden rental car. By the time they found it, Hassan’s dad, Ali, had uttered a string of obscenities and drenched his dress shirt in sweat. Hassan, not much better than his dad, asked whose bright idea it was to rent a mid-sized vehicle. This led to a bout of hissed accusations—first his father at him, then Edy at Hassan for ridiculing his dad’s efforts, then her dad, Nathan, at her as he warned her to stay out of it, then Edy at Nathan as she countered that he’d never cared before which Pradhan arguments she involved herself in. All this was before they’d even climbed into the ruby red Ford Focus.

  Hassan was beginning to think that he should have peeled off with Rebecca and Cam, who had disappeared as fast as they could once the plane landed.

  Somehow, Nathan ended up behind the wheel of the Focus, which was unfortunate as he drove like a tortoise in molasses going uphill.

  As they rode, Nathan chattered on excitedly about the anticipation of seeing the state capital, a few classic examples of plantation architecture, and soaking up history, of course.

  “Any takers for just such an adventure?” he said.

  It took a moment for the question to register with Hassan. Not for the first time, the gravity of his earlier deception with Edy took root and buried deep. Any time they traveled, Nathan and Ali had a slew of plans—they were best friends and practically indivisible. They had so many of the same interests, with history being high in a gruesomely long list. Nathan having to ask for company on an excursion that had Hassan’s dad all over it painted the grim reality of how one relationship could affect others. A butterfly effect, he supposed. So, how would Hassan play this? How would he fix what he had broken? He knew that, as adults, they were responsible for hashing out their own problems. Hell, that responsibility extended up to and included the insane amount of money his family owed the Bathlars. Still, he was Hassan and Hassan felt an immense sense of duty towards his parents, his girl, and his friends. There was no escaping it. So, he mulled over solutions.

  As the wheels rolled on the interstate and Ali’s jaw clenched so tight his son could see it from the back seat, Hassan gave his father’s seat a quick jab. Then another when that didn’t work. What was keeping his mouth shut?

  “I have plans to see the Rural Life Museum on the campus of LSU,” he finally said. “Perhaps, if you are interested in…”

  “Of course,” Nathan said eagerly. Maybe too eagerly.

  Ali gave a curt nod. “Yes, then. We can make arrangements.”

  It wasn’t until Hassan exhaled and cast a glance over at Edy that he took notice of just how much their dads’ relationship affected him. A small part of him, immature though it had been, died with the realization that anything could come between those two men. Strife could take anyone and everyone from him. No one was promised. Nothing was sacred. Maybe unconditional love was a fairy tale. Maybe he’d been a fool to never think otherwise.

  ***

  Wyatt saw and yet didn’t see the tall, pale waif of a girl with the thin, smallish smile. But his heart, lungs, and nervous system insisted she was there, just the same.

  “Ms. Lottie Davis,” Geoffrey announced apologetically.

  Wyatt darted a look his way. He barely had time to process the monumental way in which his personal assistant had understated the presence of their guest. Truly, was the man that clueless? That thick?

  “Wyatt,” Lottie said and rose from her seat.

  That voice. That dulcet, whispering, hesitant voice. It stabbed at his heart still. As did that quietly expectant way she always looked at him, as if he was worth so much more than—

  Wyatt’s gaze snapped to the wall. He didn’t need this shit. He didn’t need this girl in his life at this moment or any other. She wasn’t even there. After all, there was no one who would willingly put that girl in his presence. Lottie was miles away. Lottie was—

  “Sit,” his grandfather said. “Now.” One wrinkled, liver-spotted hand clenched the table as his gaze dragged to Wyatt’s place setting. Across from Lottie.

  Jesus Christ.

  He walked with stiff knees, crossing the small space with the shuffle of the wounded. As he did so, Wyatt thought back to his grandfather’s odd visit to the hospital after he’d been shot. How he’d presented him with the opportunity to unsully himself as if he’d actually cared for him. Days of living with the old man had taught Wyatt better.

  Sandra met Wyatt’s gaze and held it with steel magnetism and a serrated edge, dragging him with will-power until he lowered himself in his seat. Her eyes held a world’s worth of warning: gray granite reminding him that he could show no weakness at this moment.

  They said nothing, that bizarre family of three, unless the clearing of mucus from his grandfather’s throat could be counted as a something. Wyatt tore his gaze from Sandra’s with desperation and concentrated on the table instead. Every bit of him shook so that he didn’t trust himself with a knife or fork. A minute or a million might have passed and in them Wyatt swallowed a thousand times.

  “Duck pâté,” Dandridge, the head butler, announced a
nd placed a compact square in front of Wyatt. It looked like cat food drizzled in Thousand Island dressing. His stomach did a lurch at the thought. Or maybe it was from Lottie being so close for the first time in four years. Sweat pricked his forehead; bitter chalk coated his tongue.

  If only he could figure out what Lottie wanted. What she was doing here.

  Sandra cleared her throat. In times of infinite stress, she could be counted on to break the silence. Even if it was better for her to shut up.

  “So,” Sandra said, “this is some reunion, huh? I don’t know who’s sweating more, Lottie, you or Wyatt. Maybe Granddad should've sprung for two treatment slots in Maui.”

  Wyatt groaned and pressed a dampened hand to his face, to his temple. Lottie knocked over her wine and the collective table jumped. Never mind that the old man looked grim enough to disinherit all his grandchildren that day.

  Both Dandridge and Geoffrey sprang to action, mopping up the spill with dinner napkins. Meanwhile, their grandfather glared at the spot as if it pulsed and rotted, a living source of foul stenches. Wyatt searched for the ability to breathe.

  “Everything alright, Lottie?” Sandra said.

  “Stop,” Wyatt said, because he knew she didn’t mean it. “Just don't.”

  He looked up to find the two girls staring at each other, Lottie with her sweet, anime eyes and innocence, Sandra with her wolf’s grin.

  Soon, they were back to the pâté, three newly minted adults and the old man.

  “This is delicious,” their grandfather announced. “There is a fineness to it worth noting.”

  Wyatt glanced at three plates, each ornately prepared. Each untouched.

  “It is,” Wyatt agreed, for the sake of something to say.

  Sandra rolled her eyes.

  They moved to the larger dining room for the second course and remained there through a succession of largely untouched plates of food that would have lasted Wyatt and his father a week, maybe more. They had prime rib for the main fare, and poked at in silence, with Wyatt mortally aware of the shallow in and out of Lottie’s breathing. Of the way she dragged her knife through the meat. Of the fullness of her cheeks as she ate little chunks, always like a chipmunk hoarding its walnuts.

  They were so much younger before. He’d only been in the eighth grade. What had he thought he was doing? What could he have meant to do? Wyatt hoped that he would never feel that out of control again.

  “He plays games,” Sandra said to him, saddling up as they moved into the drawing room. Airy and old world-feeling, the high-arching ceiling and warm, natural tones made that section of the mansion seem both intimate and forbidding.

  When their grandfather retired, Wyatt lit a cigarette. Sandra, who had her arms folded tight enough to snap, furrowed her brows. “I don't know if you noticed, but Granddad loves games. Every so often, he strikes a match to see what will ignite.”

  Wyatt didn’t need to be told she meant him and Lottie.

  Standing far and away from both Sandra and Wyatt, Lottie feigned interest in a glass case with Olmec figurines. Their grandfather wasn’t adventurous like the Phelps: he dealt directly in the art trade so he never actually went anywhere to collect.

  She looked through the art instead of at it. She was fidgety, nervous, wired, alive.

  “Why is she here?” Sandra asked.

  Wyatt blinked at the hostility in her voice. It occurred to him for the first time that she—Sandra—was standing on the wrong side of the room, with the wrong cousin.

  “Why do you care?” he said.

  “Because she’s up to something,” Sandra said.

  He gave her a long look. “And you aren’t.” Not a question.

  Sandra flashed him a wounded look. Sandra. Wounded?

  Lottie wandered over. “I can’t stand it,” she admitted. “Someone talk to me.”

  Wyatt finally took a drag on his cigarette. Once, this girl would have never had to ask him that. No, he’d thought that he could upend the very tendrils of society and love his cousin though it repulsed most. Now, only a few years later, he thought it much safer to smoke his cigarette. How telling.

  “Why would you come here?” Sandra demanded.

  “Sandra—” Wyatt began, but she swatted an arm at him much like when they were kids and he didn’t immediately do what she had said. Sandra hated dissent.

  Lottie stared at them with orbs bright as a child’s. “I thought…” She looked at Wyatt for help.

  Sandra sucked her teeth in disgust. “Wyatt, I’m warning you. If you let—”

  “Go,” Wyatt said to Sandra. He had no idea why she was being so hard on Lottie. After all, he had attacked her, or so everyone thought. “Leave us alone,” he said.

  For the first time, Sandra’s eyes widened in alarm. “Wyatt—”

  “Will you fucking go? Unless you think I’m going to attack her, then by all means stay.”

  He had never been good at standing up to Sandra’s fury, so when her ice blue gaze shot him a look of absolute ferocity, he looked away.

  “Please, San,” he said, quieter still.

  Sandra shook her head. “I’m sorry, Wyatt. But we’ll all just stand here in silence before I leave the two of you alone.”

  And that’s exactly what they did.

  Chapter Four

  They checked in at the Hilton Baton Rouge, three rooms between Edy, Hassan, and their dads, then had dinner downstairs after a little prodding and secret coordinating on both their ends. For some reason, Edy could scarcely contain her excitement at the notion of the four of them having dinner together—a staple reminiscent of her entire life that had evaporated overnight.

  So, after bellhops and showers, she practically ran ahead of their group, so eager was she to sit down with her dad, her boyfriend, and his dad. It took Hassan snatching her hand as they stepped off the elevator to slow her down.

  “Take it easy. This isn’t an engagement party. We’re not off the hook yet,” he said.

  Edy knew that she looked at him strangely, but couldn’t help it. Engagement party? What an odd thing to say.

  “Race you there,” she told him instead, though she had on flip-flops. And because he was Hassan he shot forward like a car, unable to help it, never caring to help it. Edy clop-clopped behind him like an idiot, so slow that he pivoted past the check-in desk, weaved past guests and retrieved her like a package, his arm a familiar loop around her midsection. Edy couldn’t help the cackle of laughter as they careened in search of food.

  “Hassan! Really!” Ali hissed from somewhere behind them. And how could she have forgotten about him? He’d been sheepish about their ease with touching each other long before this relationship. What would he think now that his worst fears had been realized, now that Hassan and Edy were together?

  Hassan, like the absolute idiot he could be sometimes, turned around while still holding Edy. For some bizarre reason, it made her laugh harder, reminding her of the time they’d rode a Twirl ‘N’ Hurl ride at Universal Studios and Ali had begun yelling, which made Hassan laugh, which made Edy laugh, before Ali promptly threw up.

  “Hey, you’re that new freshman for LSU, aren’t you? Hassan Pradhan?” Though the gentleman before them was dolled up in a standard suit and tie, there was no mistaking the buried bayou where he dragged out his speech or dropped the ‘n’ off Pradhan. There was also no mistaking the light of excitement and certainty in his eyes.

  Hassan practically dropped Edy. Good thing she was a dancer with impeccable balance and could catch herself. But she could forgive him. This was, after all, the first time he’d been referred to as a college freshman, and not just any college freshman but one belonging to the SEC. She would give him a minute to get his bearings.

  Edy looked up in surprise to find not just Ali behind Hassan, but her father, silent but distinctly interested. He never looked up from the conversation as Hassan and his newfound fan briefly discussed his coming to Baton Rouge, how impressed the man had been with the YouTube video
s he’d found of Hassan, and how desperately LSU needed a solid, consistent running back.

  “I’ll never know how you do it, but I saw you coming down the hall and couldn’t believe my luck,” the man said.

  Hassan shrugged, bashful like. “I’m a student of the game. I owe just about everything to this man right here. He taught me. I hope he keeps teaching me.” Instead of simply placing a hand on Nathan’s back, Hassan actually pushed Edy’s dad forward a step or two.

  Edy’s father sputtered, then blushed. She’d never seen anything like it in her life.

  “Well, sir, Louisiana thanks you,” the man said and thrust his hand at her dad with a grin.

  “I’m going to find us a table,” Ali suggested.

  “Oh,” the man said, disappointed. “I don’t want to hold you.” But he looked hopeful, even as he said it.

  “No, you two stay. Edy?” Ali said, surprising her.

  She followed him down the hall as they went in the direction of the hotel’s lounge. No doubt the restaurant would be attached to that. Patiently, she waited for him to say whatever was on his mind.

  “I watched you two coming down the hall,” Ali said, “running and silly, just like you’ve done. And when he picked you up, I was horrified for propriety’s sake. But then, I realized something.”

  Edy’s breath caught. She wouldn’t hope. She wouldn’t dare to hope.

  “Look at my son. He is smart, handsome, admired. There is no Indian boy better known than him in America. Not one. But what is this worth if he hates himself and the choices he makes? I would not have him self-hate for me.”

  Edy whipped on him wide-eyed. She had yet to figure out how to breathe. “What are you saying to me, Ali?” She said it in a tiny voice.

  “That I love my son. That I love you, too.”

  Her vision had begun to swim. How badly had she needed those words? What would she have done for them?