Impulsion (Station 32 #1)(28)

The volunteer fire department had helped Wyatt some, too. That world was becoming addictive to him. It was something that all his close friends were into. In some ways, it was easy to forget, or at least act like he had forgotten, when he hung out at the fire hall. If he wasn’t learning about fires, he was learning fast comebacks, easy jokes. He was learning the brotherhood.

Months later, everyone assumed Wyatt was almost out of his rut, and they all backed off a little.

Easton knew better, so did Memphis. Memphis was older and did his best to talk some sense into Wyatt, make him smile, get him focused on what he needed to do to become a fireman since he was already taking the classes. Memphis went out of his way every day to get a pulse on Wyatt, to keep him moving in the right direction. He knew if he did that, then Easton would be straight. Those two seemed to get into whatever trouble together, and lately it had been Wyatt stirring it.

One night, Easton and Memphis went on a call with the volunteer. They expected for Wyatt to show up, knew he was close enough to do so. The second they were done, they rode like hell to the farm, looking for Wyatt. To their dismay, they found him loading a bag in the back of his truck.

“Where the hell are you going?” Memphis asked, pulling his shoulders back. He’d gotten used to Wyatt’s mood swings. He never knew if Wyatt was going to cut up with him and joke or slug him, so he was ready for anything.

“It’s her birthday tomorrow. If I drive all night, I’ll be there for it.”

“No way in hell. This truck is not going to make it that far,” Memphis said, giving Wyatt’s truck a once over. He would know; not only did he know the inside and out of every motor, he had worked on this truck. “Even if it did, it would cost you a fortune.”

“I’m not going to New York. Washington.”

“What the hell is in Washington?” Easton spat, already knowing he was getting in that truck with him.

“Ava read in some paper online somewhere about how Claire Tatum was going to have a charity event there, that it was going to celebrate her daughter’s birthday, too. It’s all supposed to support some bill or something, that’s why there was a press release. Guess they don’t expect us good ol’ boys to know how to read.”

“You’re not going alone,” Easton said. “Does your momma know?”

Wyatt got in his truck and turned the key, firing it to life. “Nope. If you’re going, you better get in.”

Both Memphis and Wyatt climbed in the truck. Memphis called his dad as soon as they left just ‘cause he and his dad were tight, more or less best friends. Clearly, Memphis’ dad, Lucas, had mercy on the boys—delayed his heads up to the other parents. Easton’s cell, along with Wyatt’s, didn’t start ringing until they were over three hundred miles away.

It was Wyatt’s dad that called. He was sure he was due for another long silent treatment from his mom when he came back. Hell, for all he knew he would be kicked out. Both Memphis and Wyatt said they doubted that, but if he was he could stay with them.

They spent the drive trying to get Wyatt to tell them what he expected out of this, what his plan was. He didn’t have one. He just had to see her. If she fell into his arms and asked him to take her away, he would; they were both eighteen at that point. That’s what he wanted to happen. What he needed to happen. He was terrified it wouldn’t. It had been months and not one word, not even a letter, not even a friend of a friend calling to tell him something.

They rolled into town midday and got a motel room. Wyatt took a shower, put on his nicest jeans, shirt. Loaned out clothes to Easton and Memphis, who were both counting their cash, plotting what they would have to do if Wyatt did in fact get arrested tonight. There was a good chance, no doubt.

The charity event was at the same hotel that Harley was supposed to be staying at. Even if Wyatt had brought a suit, he was sure that they still would not have let him in. In fact, security asked them to leave the lobby more than once.

But Wyatt, along with the others, had brought their southern charm. A few smiles to the nice waitress in the hotel bar got them in. They all stayed in the back booth, watching the guests move to and from the ballroom.

Easton spotted Harley first, but he didn’t tell Wyatt. Instead, he blocked his view, simply because Harley had an escort to this event, some guy that could not be much older than them, only way more polished—and he had ‘*’ written all over his face. He must have had a sense of humor, though, because he had said something and Harley gave him one of her real smiles.

“This is bad, man. That ass at the desk keeps looking over here like he’s afraid we’re gonna take a piss on one of those fancy columns. Let’s just bail,” Easton said, managing to give Memphis a nod in Harley’s direction without Wyatt seeing.

Easton knew Memphis had seen it when he heard him cuss under his breath and started to help Easton block Wyatt’s view.

“I didn’t drive all the way here to chicken out now. She’s here. We’re under the same roof.” Wyatt felt himself breathe as soon as he knew he was in the same ZIP code as her. He was a desperate man, haunted by the memories of her. She was in every single thought that passed his mind. He was sure he could smell her on wayward breezes when he was at home.

Each time he led out that mare, Stolen Heart, he’d remember how much Harley loved her, how it was the only horse beyond Danny Boy that he’d ever seen her really bond with. When he had to get hay from the loft, every time he’d laid her down in the hay flooded his mind; filling water for the horses made him remember each time he had pulled her into a stall and kissed her lips; at dinner, he saw the chair next to his that no one ever sat in. She was everywhere, a ghost that he had to bring back to life.