Battered Hearts 3: Crossing the line (20 page)

“Are you hungry, darlin’?” Terry asked in concern. “I can have Hal make you something when he comes in. That fella can cook like you wouldn’t believe.”

Tabitha smiled. The romantic in her enjoyed the unabashed adoration that sounded in Terry’s voice when he said Hal’s name. “No, I’m good. Thank you.”

“You sure?”

“Mmm,” she hummed in agreement. She
was
hungry, but she was
more
tired. “I’m just gonna take a quick nap.”

She pulled the sheets up higher around her and snuggled against his pillow. Terry stayed in the room with her, sitting in a chair in the corner as Tabitha closed her eyes, but she couldn’t fall asleep. She kept thinking about what happened in the bathroom the day before.

How was she ever going to be able to live in that house and feel safe? But she didn’t want to turn to Wyatt’s father either. Her mama would be so upset, and there was a bizarre side of Tabitha that needed to protect her mother. Lord knew she wasn’t capable of protecting herself.

And her mama was getting better. She had a job now.

If Tabitha could just find a way to endure her brother and his friends long enough, her mother would stop drinking, and everything would be okay. She wanted to believe it. Maybe if she had, she could have found some peace in her dreams, but she was awake instead.

She was still fighting the battle for rest when Wyatt came to the room.

“Get out, Conner.” Terry’s voice was low and defensive. “I already said you ain’t welcome.”

Tabitha blinked and rolled over, looking to the open bedroom door. Wyatt was leaning against the frame, holding onto the top of it with both hands as he stared down at her. His wide shoulders and impressive height filled up the whole doorway. Sometimes her mind had a hard time accepting this was the same boy who used to give her cookies every morning on the benches outside the school.

His blond hair was disheveled, his light eyes even more startling when they were rimmed with dark circles. He looked so stressed out and tired, it hurt Tabitha’s heart to see it.

“Do you wanna lay down with me?” she whispered.

Terry grunted. “Tab—”

“No, it’s good,” she interrupted him. “He’s sorry ’bout Hal. I know he is. Tell him, Wy.”

Sometimes Wyatt said dumb things, but his heart was always in the right place. She knew her hero. He wouldn’t do anything to hurt someone with no reason. He’d never tell the other guys on the football team about Terry and Hal, just like he never told his father about her family. She trusted Wyatt completely.

“I
am
sorry,” Wyatt said softly as his gaze darted from Tabitha to Terry in the chair behind her. “I won’t say anything, Dower. I promise.”

Tabitha held up the blanket to him, and Wyatt pushed away from the door. He toed off his sneakers at the edge of the bed and then crawled under the sheets with her. Tabitha took a shuddering breath when he wrapped those big strong arms around her, nearly smothering her with his weight, but it was okay.

For that moment, everything was right with Tabitha’s world.

Wyatt ran one socked foot up her calf and leaned over to press a kiss against the bandage that hid the cut on her forehead.

“Are you okay?” he asked in a low, concerned voice against her ear.

She smiled. “I am now.”

He squeezed her tighter and then buried his face in the curve of her neck. “I love you.”

She reached for his hand in response, feeling his rough palm against her smooth one when she intertwined their fingers.

“I was so scared.” His voice cracked in emotion.

She blinked to fight the tears. “I’m sorry.”

“No, don’t be sorry. It was my fault.” He pressed his lips against her neck. “I just wanna keep you here forever. In my arms. Safe.”

“I want that too.”

“I’m gonna fix it for you, okay?”

If she wasn’t quite so tired, she might have asked him what he meant by that, but instead all she did was whisper “Okay,” and started drifting off to sleep instead.

Somewhere in the back of her mind, she felt the tension leave Wyatt’s body with her soft agreement.

Neither of them heard Terry leave.

Chapter Sixteen

It took Wyatt three full days to find Vaughn and Brett alone.

In any other circumstance, the wait would’ve been good for them, but instead it just let the fury build to the point that Wyatt’s entire being was wound up and desperate for a fight. Now he was well rested and antsy as he leaned against the side of the old trailer Clay used to call home and watched Vaughn sell drugs to Jason Wiltkins, who’d dropped out of school last year.

“Wait till Wiltkins leaves,” Clay whispered in his ear. “We wanted them alone. That was the plan.”

Wyatt grunted. He wasn’t sure he could just keep standing there after waiting this long.

“Wyatt—”

Wyatt shoved Clay’s hand off his shoulder, realizing he’d taken a determined step forward. Having his best friend along wasn’t part of
Wyatt’s plan
, but Clay was so damn hardheaded Wyatt finally gave up the fight. Tabitha was Clay’s friend too. He could understand Clay wanting to take a piece out of Vaughn and Brett, but the situation wasn’t ideal.

“I wanna do it,” Wyatt whispered furiously. “You lemme do this, Clay. You can’t afford to get in trouble. No one will take you in if you wind up in jail.”

“Fine.”

Wyatt turned back, arching an eyebrow at Clay in surprise. “Really?”

Clay nodded, his dark gaze studying Wyatt intently. “I’m just here to play backup.”

Satisfied, he jumped out from behind the trailer, ignoring Clay growling out a furious “Fuck” when Wyatt slipped past his grasp.

When he burst out from behind the weeds, all three boys turned in his direction.

“What the hell are you trying to give me?” Jason Wiltkins dropped the bag of weed like it was on fire. He backed up, holding up his hands. “I swear, Conner—”

Brett and Vaughn didn’t say anything. They took off running into the field behind the trailer park. Wyatt let them go and took a second to swoop up the bag of weed at Jason’s feet, because there was nothing but wide-open space in that field, and he knew he could catch them. He didn’t spend every afternoon running drills with the football team for nothing.

Brett and Vaughn both smoked cigarettes like chimneys.

They had no chance.

Wyatt wore his best sneakers and had forgone jeans for shorts on purpose. He flew across that field, feeling the wind in his hair and the blood pumping in his ears. He caught Brett first, which worked out perfect.

He wrapped a hand around Brett’s arm and jerked him back. It was sheer adrenaline that allowed Wyatt to hold Brett on his feet when the momentum of them both stopping so suddenly would have sent him crashing into the dirt.

Knowing he still had Vaughn to catch, Wyatt made it simple. He slammed his fist into Brett’s face hard enough to feel his nose break under his knuckles that he’d taped up before he and Clay left home.

Brett went limp instantly, his dead weight nearly dragging Wyatt down.

He dropped him instead and left him there. Then he went after Vaughn, who was at the edge of the field, almost to the road, but there was absolutely no way Wyatt was going to let him slip through his fingers after he’d spent three days waiting to get him.

He jumped at him, throwing his shoulder into the tackle. Vaughn shouted in pain when he ended up buried in the weeds with all of Wyatt’s weight on him.

“I didn’t fuck her!” he screamed as Wyatt wrestled him, fighting to get him on his back. “I swear, Conner, I didn’t—”

Wyatt threw the bag of pot at Vaughn’s face as he held him down. “You know what that is, Davis.”

Vaughn fought him harder, struggling to get up.

“That’s my fucking insurance,” Wyatt whispered in a low, deadly voice as he leaned down and got in face. “I ain’t gonna say anything ’bout you dealing drugs to my dad, and you ain’t gonna say anything ’bout what I’m gonna to do to you for hurting my girl.”

Vaughn broke one arm out of Wyatt’s tight hold, swinging at him, but Wyatt swatted the blow like it was an annoying fly buzzing near his face. Vaughn’s face contorted into a look of sheer fear as he shouted with a shaking bravado, “Get off me, you faggot!”

Wyatt suddenly didn’t like that word. Not when Terry and Hal had done so much for Tabitha. That put them on the short list of people Wyatt would gladly break the law for. He punched Vaughn before he could say it again, watching with satisfaction when his nose popped like a grapefruit hitting the pavement from the top of a tall building.

Blood covered Vaughn’s face. It covered Wyatt’s fist, but he didn’t see any of it because suddenly he remembered how fragile and scared Tabitha was the morning after Vaughn attacked her. The second time he punched Vaughn, he did it for Tabitha, and he did it twice as hard.

Then he was letting three days of agony flow out through his fist, hitting Vaughn anywhere he could. He kneed him in the groin, just because. He was about to get up and start kicking him until the bastard stopped breathing, but something stopped him. A big and mean something, with a lot more velocity than Brett or Vaughn could manage.

Wyatt blinked up at Clay when he found himself flat in the grass underneath his best friend.

“He’s out!” Clay shouted, his face flushed red from running. “He’s totally fucking out. He can’t even feel this shit!”

Wyatt kicked Vaughn in the ribs rather than listen.

Clay punched him, a hard right hook that had white spots dancing in Wyatt’s vision when Clay’s fist connected with his cheek. It didn’t help that Clay had taped his knuckles too. Wyatt just glared at him as he blinked past the pain. If Clay thought that was going to stop him, his best friend didn’t know him as well as he thought he did.

Wyatt kicked Vaughn again, wishing he’d worn his cleats instead. He threw all his leg weight into the attack, kicking him with both feet as Clay struggled to pin him down.

“I said stop, Wyatt!” Clay shouted again. “You’re gonna fucking kill him! You wanna end up in jail for murder, you stupid motherfucker?”

Wyatt raised his leg, fighting to look past Clay’s bulk. He nailed Vaughn’s face when he saw he had the right angle. He did it once more because it felt too good not to.

“Run, Wiltkins! Get someone.”

Wyatt stopped kicking Vaughn and turned his head, seeing Brett had gotten to his feet. He was holding a hand to his nose that was bleeding profusely. His words were garbled, but he was up and moving. Wyatt narrowed his eyes.

He’d forgotten about Brett.

He punched Clay, catching him off guard, and then struggled to get out from under him. Clay grabbed his ankle when he scrambled to his feet. Wyatt kicked him to break free, catching him hard enough in the face to have Clay grunting in pain.

He took off after Brett again, who screamed, “Fuck!” and turned back to the trailer park.

Brett tripped before he could get far. The first punch Wyatt delivered had obviously messed with his equilibrium. When Wyatt got to him, he kicked him in the ribs before he could get back to his feet.

Wyatt’s breathing was labored as the blood still pounded in his ears. He thought about all the years Tabitha spent hiding from this asshole who was supposed to protect her instead of hurt her. He brought his foot down on his face, dead center, just stomped him into the dirt, feeling bones cracking under his shoe.

He might have stomped on him until he killed him if he didn’t get tackled a second time, and this one hit him with such force he couldn’t help but whisper a choked “Ouch” when he found himself blinking up at Clay again.

His head had hit a rock under the weight of two hundred and ten pounds of raw determination to save Wyatt from himself. He continued to blink at Clay, seeing stars again. “There are rocks in this field, asshole. My head.”

“Oh shit.” Clay sat up over him, his dark eyes narrowed in concern. “Lemme see.”

Wyatt rolled to the side under him. Showing off the back of his head.

“Motherfucker,” Clay groaned.

“Did you get me?” Wyatt moved to touch the injury.

“Don’t fucking touch it.” Clay swatted his hand away. “You got Vaughn’s blood all over you. He could be shooting up for all you know.”

“What?” Wyatt fought to make sense of everything past the crash of adrenaline from fighting and the throb of pain in his head.

“Come on, get up. We need to get lost.” Clay got to his feet and then leaned down to help Wyatt up. “Don’t touch your head.”

“Is it bad?”

“It ain’t great.”

“Shit.” Wyatt turned to glare at Clay. “You were supposed to be my backup. How come I got another concussion thanks to you?”

Clay leaned in and gave him a look. “I
was
your backup. They’re both still breathing, ain’t they?”

Wyatt turned to look at Vaughn prone and unmoving on the field. Then he glanced back to Brett, lying there bleeding, with his nose crushed in and his eyes closed. “Someone should call my dad now,” he mumbled.

“Are you fucking crazy? You’re in some serious shit, Wyatt,” Clay said incredulously. “We need to go.
Right now
.”

Clay grasped his arm and jerked him forward to prove his point. Wyatt followed him, resisting the urge to touch the back of his head. The two of them walked past Jason Wiltkins, who was standing there shell-shocked at the edge of the trailer park.

“Your pot’s back there,” Clay said to him and then let go of Wyatt to take a threatening step toward the smaller teenager. “And here’s what’s gonna go down, Wiltkins. You’re gonna give us a ten-minute head start. Then you’re gonna call for an ambulance, say you found them like that, and you don’t know nothing ‘bout what went on in this field. When the sheriff starts grilling you for answers, you’re gonna look in his face, remember what my buddy Wyatt is capable of, and know
I
was the one to stop him. You think he’s scary when he’s mad, you ain’t seen nothing yet. I will bury you personally if you rat him out, and that ain’t a lie.”

Jason’s eyes were wide and horrified. “I believe you.”

“I sure hope so,” Clay said menacingly. “’Cause I don’t feel like digging a shallow grave for a worthless asshole like you.”