Night Resurrected (44 page)

them—just as much as she trusted Wyatt.

But her hand fell away and Remy

stepped back from the door, not

altogether certain why she didn’t open it.

Was it because she trusted Wyatt’s

judgment over her own? Or because she

knew that any interruption would disrupt

their time together?

Moments later she heard David and

Cat move away, their voices low as they

went off down the hall. And only then

did she go to the bathroom door and

knock.

The water stopped immediately, and

before she could consider whether she

should peek in, the door cracked open.

She expected warmth and steam to come

rolling out, but there was only Wyatt.

“What happened?” He poked his face

around, his hair dripping in crazy dark

wings, his eyes sharp and alert. She

could see only a glimpse of tanned neck

and a sliver of water-dappled shoulder

before she jerked her attention away.

“David and Cat just came to the door

and knocked. I didn’t answer,” she

added before he could respond. “They

went away.”

“Good. Be out in a sec.” He shut the

door.

Oh God, I hope he doesn’t come out

in a towel. Or maybe I do.
Remy bit her

lip, looking at the closed bathroom door.

She felt flushed and warm again.

If he did, she didn’t know where

she’d look. Or what she’d do.

In an effort to distract herself, she

walked around the room, looking at his

things. The neat pile of clothing on the

other dresser. His pack on the floor,

with a variety of other things she

recognized from the semi-truck: the first

aid kit, duct tape, the box with Trojan on

it, a pair of boots. Then she wandered

over to the table next to the bed. Earlier,

she’d noticed the small rectangular item,

a hand-sized, sleek electronic device. A

cord ran from it down behind the table,

and when she picked it up, the surface lit

to show a picture. Remy’s breath caught

and she went still, something sharp and

sad twisting inside her.

The picture was of a woman and two

children, all smiling and beautiful.

Heartbreaking in their beauty.

This is why.

She nodded to herself, still looking at

the picture, seeing the bright, laughing

eyes of the red-haired girl whose face

was an explosion of freckles, the

mischievous grin on the towheaded

boy’s face—he looked like a devilish

one—and, the wide, white smile of the

woman, whose blond-brown hair curled

in a riot around her face, held back at the

top by a sparkly barrette. She had a

sweet, happy face that wouldn’t be

called striking so much as pretty or

perky. Intelligence and warmth shone in

her eyes, even in this picture.

She must have been looking at

someone she loved. And who loved her

in return.

The bathroom door opened and Remy

put the device down with a clatter.

Turning, guilt written all over her face,

she faced Wyatt.

His eyes went from her to the table

and back again, but he said nothing as he

walked over to one of the dressers and

yanked open a drawer. He was, as she’d

feared, wearing nothing but a towel.

Rivulets of water ran down over his

arms and neck, dripping from too-long

hair plastered to his skin, and she

couldn’t help but admire his long, lean

back and the slide of muscle there as he

dug through the drawer.

But the tension was different now.

Her awareness of him was tempered by

sorrow and sympathy, and the reality of

what he’d lost. A feeling of inadequacy.

And

discomfort

at

being

caught

snooping.

He disappeared into the bathroom

again, then came out moments later

wearing a T-shirt that clung to his damp

skin and a pair of loose, drawstring

shorts. He’d shaved, but his face was

still tight and drawn.

“Now that you’ve assuaged your

curiosity,” he said, his voice cool and

remote. “I suppose I owe you a little

more of an explanation.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” she

replied automatically, forcing herself to

use the same emotionless tone.

His mouth quirked without humor.

“Another bad movie line. Yet, there are

some things you should know . . . about

me, and the others. Before we meet

downstairs. In”—he glanced at his

watch—“forty-five minutes.”

“Fine.”

“Have a seat,” he said, and sat down

in a chair as far away from her as

possible.

She sat on the edge of the bed and

leveled a stare at him.

“Quent, Elliott, and I went on a

hiking and caving trip in the mountains

of Sedona, Arizona. Fence and another

guy named Lenny were our guides.

While we were in there, all hell broke

loose—there were earthquakes, storms,

all kinds of events. Something happened

and we were knocked unconscious.

When we woke up, we found Simon

there, too, and we all came out of the

cave.” He focused his gaze on her,

steady and intent. “It was fifty years

later.”

Remy blinked and tried to assimilate

his words. “Fifty or fifteen?” she said,

knowing what she’d heard, but knowing

it was impossible. Yet, his expression

was one of calm certainty.

“Fifty. A half a century.”

“So you’re telling me . . . you . . .

what . . . ?” She worked to grasp the

concept, to wrap her mind around his

words. She shook her head. Crazy.

“How?”

“We don’t know. Time-traveled,

maybe. Frozen in time, maybe. We don’t

know. All we know is, one minute it was

June of 2010, and then when we woke

up or came to, it was 2060. And the

world . . . was . . .” His voice cracked.

Gone.

She looked at him for a long moment,

and he met her eyes unflinchingly. Truth

shone there. “Really?” she said finally in

a low voice.

He nodded. “Really.”

“So . . . you’re . . . really old.” Remy

wasn’t certain why
that
was the first

thing that came out of her mouth. She

wasn’t certain if she really believed

him. But . . . hell, if there were zombies,

and immortal beings, and crystals that

could kill merely by their presence . . .

she supposed time travel wasn’t

completely out of the realm of

possibility.

Before he could respond to her silly,

thoughtless statement, she spoke again.

“I can’t imagine how terrible that must

have been. For you.” Her attention

slipped over to the bedside table and its

device with the photo, then back again.

“I’m sorry, Wyatt.”

He nodded, and she saw his throat

work as he forced himself to swallow.

“I . . . kissed my wife and children

goodbye one day and got on a plane. The

next thing I knew, it was fifty years later

. . . and they were gone.
Everything
was

gone. Every fucking thing.”

Remy felt sick. “Wyatt.” Her eyes

stung and a horrible, empty ache swept

over her. How could anyone handle that?

How could anyone be normal, sane . . .

happy . . . after that? “My God. I’m so

sorry.”

“If I hadn’t gotten on that plane . . . if

I hadn’t left them . . .”

He didn’t seem to be talking to her

any longer . . . the words tumbled out

quietly, taut with grief and guilt and

desolation. She didn’t remember getting

up, getting out of her chair. But the next

thing she knew, she was sliding her arms

around his shoulders, sliding onto his

lap, pulling him into her. Close to her.

She felt a tremor ripple over his

wide shoulders, the stiffness in his arms

and neck, the ragged breaths. His hair

pressed wet against her cheek, dripping

and seeping into the front of her shirt,

sleek and cold under her hands. But his

body melted against her, warm and

solid, and for a moment . . . just a

moment . . . she closed her eyes.

Breathed in, smelled him, felt that little

fluttering warmth in her belly.
Ah, Wyatt.

He moved, gently taking her arms

from around him, extricating himself. “I

. . . Remy, there’s more. And I can’t . . .

think . . . when you’re—when—like

this.” He kept his face averted as he

slipped away, standing to walk across

the room.

She watched him, settling into the

chair he’d vacated, waiting. Patient,

horrified and devastated.

“It’s been a year,” he said, his voice

stronger now. “Since we came out of

that cave. One of the guys—Lenny—died

shortly after. But the rest of us, the five

of us . . . we’ve changed.” He glanced at

her now, sort of sidewise, as if to gauge

her reaction. “We can do . . . things.

Each of us has an ability we didn’t have

before. Elliott isn’t just a doctor

anymore, but now he can heal with the

touch of his hands—but there’s a sort of

backlash when he does it. And he can

sort of see what’s going on inside

someone. Quent can touch something and

see its past, read its history—but he gets

sucked into a trancelike, coma sort of

state. That’s why Zoë won’t let him

touch the Mother crystal. She’s afraid

it’s too powerful and he won’t come

back out of it.”

Remy was aware that her jaw had

fallen open, and she closed it.

“Simon . . . well . . .” Wyatt gave a

strained chuckle, “I wouldn’t believe it

if I hadn’t seen it myself, but he can turn

himself invisible. That’s how we got

past Dantès, that first time we met—

when you set him to guard us. Simon

turned invisible and sneaked past him.”

She wanted to shake her head, to tell

him he was crazy . . . but Wyatt? He

might be a jerk, he might be arrogant and

commandeering and cold . . . but he

wasn’t crazy.

“Let me guess,” Remy said, somehow

finding her voice. The pieces—as

improbable as they were—had fallen

into place. “You can walk through a fire

and not burn up?”

His eyes glinted briefly with

appreciation. “Basically. I do burn . . .

but then it . . . peels away. Or at least,

that’s what happened last night. I didn’t

know it would happen. That’s the first

time . . . and I don’t really know if it

would happen again. I’m not particularly

eager to find out.”

Remy looked at him, and he stared

back for what seemed like a long time.

“You realize how crazy this all sounds,”

she finally said.

“No shit.” He ran a hand through his

hair. “There’s one more thing.” When

she didn’t respond, he continued. “David

. . . well, he’s my son.”

His son.
“Wow.” She tilted her head,

thought about that. More pieces fell into

place as she remembered the moment in

Cat’s room when Wyatt realized she was

there. That moment when he gathered her

up to him as if he’d never let her go . . .

and then the shields, falling back into

place once again. She tried to smile.

Now it all made sense. “So that makes

Cat . . . your granddaughter?”

His expression reflected the same

wonder and confusion she was feeling.

“Yes.” There was even the ghost of a

smile—the slightest bit of happy—

playing about his lips.

Remy laughed softly, shaking her

head. “Well, she’s going to be a little

disappointed to know you’re her

grandfather.”

He frowned. “What? Why?”

“I saw the way she was checking you

out. She thinks you’re hot.” Somehow,

teasing him a little felt . . . right. It eased

the tension, just enough.

“Christ,” he muttered.

Silence fell only for a moment, then a

sharp rap at the door had them both

looking up. Wyatt made a sharp gesture

to Remy, sending her toward the

bathroom, but she frowned and shook