Part of me thinks I should call Stark and say that's really unacceptable. After all, I turned down the salary reimbursement.
But since that would be insane, I don't make that call. Instead, I hop off my chair and race over to hug my brother. "This is so amazing!"
"I know, but don't get excited yet. I'm only in. Who knows if it'll end up doing any good. I may not get any range of motion back."
But I refuse to be deterred. "It's fabulous," I say as I reach for my phone. My hand halts midway to my back pocket though.
I was about to call Wyatt.
Griff's watching me, and I can tell from his expression he knows exactly what I was doing. "Now you really don't have to be in the show. You don't need the money." He meets my eyes. "Unless there's something else you need."
There is, of course. I need to shake off the specter of my father. I know it. And with Wyatt, I'd been managing it.
But then all that progress had been ripped to shreds because of a few stupid pictures. And everything I'd believed I'd fixed in myself unraveled all over again. And in the unraveling, I'd hurt the man I love.
I sigh deeply.
I need to get back on track. I need to kick Karma to the curb.
Most of all, I need Wyatt.
I need him desperately.
But after the way I walked out, why on earth would he want me, too?
I'm about to explain all of that to Griff when my phone rings. I snatch it up, hoping it's Wyatt--and then I'm absolutely shocked when it is.
"Hi," I say softly.
"Hi, yourself. You're not in Valencia."
I blink and stand up straighter. "You went to my condo?"
"I figured it was the logical place to find you at six-thirty in the morning. I was wrong."
"Oh. I'm at Griffin's."
I can picture him nodding. "I should have guessed."
"Why did you--"
"I'd rather say this in person, but my trek across Southern California ate up my time, and I have to get back to the studio, because Cass can only shoot from eight to ten today."
"Cass?"
"She's stepping in for you. It's fine," he adds before I can say anything. "More than fine, because I don't want you to do anything you don't want to do. I love you, Kelsey."
The words slip out as if he's said them a thousand times, and my heart flips over in my chest.
"I love you," he repeats. "And if I have to choose between my perfect vision of the show and you, well, I choose you."
"Wyatt, I--"
"No," he interrupts. "Don't say anything. I'll call you later. And maybe I can buy you dinner and we can talk. Okay?"
"Okay," I say, a little shell-shocked.
"Good," he says. "I love you, Kels." And then he just hangs up.