Impulsion: A Station 32 Fire Men Novel (12 page)

Wyatt was screaming her name, and Harley was crying hysterically, even stopped walking because her legs would not carry her. Garrison hesitated at her side. In truth, he had never seen any emotion come from his daughter, not even as a child. Harley never asked for anything, never fought for anything. The closest she had come to either was the presentation she had made to purchase Danny Boy in the first place.

Before he could even consider another avenue that would save both
families face, Claire Tatum charged up the stairs, grabbed Harley, and dragged her to the waiting town car.

Wyatt had overpowered his father, made it to the barn aisle, but Beckett caught up to him, and he along with Truman and Johnnie, the farm hand, tackled Wyatt. Wyatt made it past them with nothing but pure rage and desperation. It wasn’t enough, though; the town car was long gone, the rig was pulling away. He ran as fast as he could down the driveway, seeing Harley’s hand
flash against the window of the car in the distance.

He only stopped to catch his breath. His chest was ripping apart, his very being was shredded. There was no air.

He glanced over his shoulder to see his mother staring at the last sight of the rig, the pain in her eyes, before she turned and drove her golf cart off into a distant field. She was too strong to show any emotion in front of anyone, but Wyatt knew she was going somewhere so she could cry.

Wyatt’s father made it to his side. Wyatt was expecting to get punched or cussed, one of the two, but all Beckett said was, “Get on up to your room, son.”

Wyatt went. His first notion was to pack a bag, pull the cash he had tucked away in his mattress together, but as he was doing that Truman came in and started packing up his clothes.

“They took your truck keys. You need to calm down and get your head right. Momma’s sure you’re gonna end up in jail if you don’t.”

“What are you doing?”

“Moving back into the house. She said you were going to be bad company for a while, thinks you might slug me for the hell of it.” Truman dared to edge a smile. “You wouldn’t do that, now would you?”

Wyatt didn’t offer an answer.

“You and her? For real? Those tight asses were not just making a mountain out of a molehill, were they?”

“Shut your mouth, or I
will
slug you.”

Truman left minutes later, not daring to utter a
nother word.

Wyatt collapsed on the couch in the living room. His eyes burning, his body burning. A million ideas were running through his mind. He just needed Harley to call him to tell him she was all right
. If she did that, he could make it through the next breath, find a clear head to make a plan.

Hours later, after the sun had retreated and darkness settled across the land, the apartment door opened. Wyatt was expecting his mother or even his father to lay into him, but it was Easton with a brown paper bag under his arm. He walked over to the chair next to the couch and collapsed, pulled out a long neck and handed it to Wyatt.

“I’m in enough shit without stealing beers from Dad’s fridge.”

Wyatt walked the line when Harley was in town, usually a few weeks before she was due to arrive as well, but when she wasn’t he and Easton got into enough trouble. They would take off to see a band in a nearby town, skip a class now and again just because school was too constricting to them. All small stuff here and there. So this was almost normal, except it was a good two weeks early.

“Who do you think gave them to me?” Easton said, popping his top and taking a long swig.

Wyatt shot him a disbelieving glance.

“He took my keys, though. Hell, he took the keys to everything, even the tractor. You wouldn’t try and drive a tractor to New York, now would you?” Easton said with a sly grin.

Wyatt popped the top on his long neck and took a long drink. He would, but of course he would have thought to drive it to the bus station first, maybe the airport.

“I guess he read you right then,” Easton said under his breath. “What the hell happened?”

“I’m sure you know more than I do.”

Wyatt was still trying to figure out why her parents were here. He had heard his mother cussing about trainers they wanted her to meet here and there, but normally before any visit Garrison Tatum made to the barn Camille tightened the reins on everyone, the barn that was always held to professional standards was polished a bit more. He could only assume it was a surprise to all of them.

“Nothing beyond it took three of them to hold you back, and you still got away from them,” Easton said with a smirk. “Did they catch you together?”

Wyatt just held his stare.

“Like, together
together
?” Easton pressed, sitting forward a bit, halfway wondering how Wyatt was still alive. He had heard stories about Harley’s mother, met her father.

“No, but it was pretty obvious what we had been up to.”

“Is that why Truman is convinced you’re going to be thrown in jail?”

“That’s bullshit. I’m not eighteen. Even if I was, she’s close enough.”

“Not when you have big-time lawyers.”

Wyatt cursed under his breath.

“Just slow your roll, let this die down. We’ll figure it out one way or the other,” Easton swore.

The next few weeks were hard. No one really said much. Wyatt did his regular rides, worked on his father’s side of the barn. His mother didn’t say a word to him, didn’t even really look him in the eye.

He knew he’d hurt her, in more ways than one. Camille never said it, but Wyatt knew that Harley was one of her favorite students, that she saw herself in her. And everyone knew that Camille was in love with Danny Boy. He carried a lot of sentimental value for her, took her back to when she was Wyatt’s age, when she had a horse from that same line, with the same stubborn tendencies.

All of that hurt her, but in some way he knew what hurt her most was that he had kept this deal from her. He was close with his dad, but he and his mom, they were tight. Wyatt regretted it in some way. Thought if he had told her, she would have helped him figure it out. Even if she hadn’t, she would have had sense enough to make sure he and Harley were separated when that phone call came that her parents were on their way
. Instead, she trusted Harley to be in her room, Wyatt to be in his.

It wasn’t until his birthday that she said a word. She handed him the keys to his truck. “You’re a man now,” she’d said. “Think like one. If you love her like you said you did, then it will not matter how long you’re apart. You go after her now, and you’ll lose her forever.”

Wyatt could only halfway listen to that advice. All he wanted was to hear Harley’s voice, for Harley to tell him she was all right, to tell him anything.

He had tried everything to call her. All the numbers from Willowhaven Farms were blocked. He and Easton had gone to everyone they knew in town, even the hospital, to try and call. Every once in a while, they would get past the butler Donald that answered the phone at the Tatum residence, but once the call was put on hold Claire Tatum always came on the line to ask who was calling.

They tried to work around that, too, had Ava, even some of her friends, to call. One night, Easton and Wyatt drove a hundred miles just to call from a different state, thinking that would help; it never did.

It was killing Wyatt, breaking him apart
from the inside out. Day by day, he and Easton became just a little wilder. Wyatt picked harder rides, broke a rib here and there. Easton and him, they drank, they smoked. Even when school started, they barely went.

Camille took everything she could away from Wyatt. When that didn’t work, she tried giving him things to stir his interest. Asked Easton to move into the apartment. She knew Easton could be just as wild as Wyatt, but the thing was that Easton knew when to put the
brakes on.

She sold and traded a horse just to get him a ride he’d been wanting. His dad, along with a buddy of his, Memphis’ dad, worked on his truck with him.

That notion of being constantly around Memphis and Easton, his dad, working on the motor in his truck seemed to at least to keep Wyatt focused enough to stay in school. He still skipped, but his grades were too high for there to be any threat of him not graduating. Getting kicked out, that was another issue altogether. Most times, Camille was able to reason with the school, wave Wyatt’s GPA in their face—he was one of only a handful of students that were already taking college credits.

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 way
s, 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 ‘asshole’ 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.