Must Be Wright (The Wrights 3)

Belle wanting her mother and Gypsy walking away were the final cracks in his unstable life. All the weaknesses in his world gave way, and he felt his life crumbling.

Wyatt eased Belle to the far side of the gurney, then climbed on beside her. He pulled her close and stroked her hair, something that calmed her at night. She pressed her face to his chest and sobbed. Wyatt’s heart cracked. He closed his eyes and rested an arm across his eyes.

But when Belle showed no signs of calming, he knew it was time to do what he’d sworn he wouldn’t do. He pulled out his phone and dialed.

It rang twice before his mother picked up. “Your father and I were just thinking about calling you. This cruise is amazing. The ship is beautiful, and the food, oh my goodness, we’ve never eaten so well. We’re both going to be ten pounds heavier by the time we—” She stopped suddenly, and a moment passed, filled only with Belle’s pathetic, heartbreaking wails. “Is that Belle? What’s wrong? What happened?”

Wyatt took a deep breath, then started to talk with tears stinging his own eyes.

By the time Wyatt got Belle home, she was asleep again. Whatever the doctor gave her for pain knocked her out, which was a good thing, because she was going to need sleep to heal. And Wyatt needed time to think.

He laid her down in the extra bedroom closest to Wyatt’s room, took off her shoes, and covered her with an extra blanket. There was no way in hell he was going to wake her to get changed or under the covers.

He sat there a long time, in the dark, with moonlight illuminating the room, just staring at Belle. His mother hadn’t said anything he didn’t already know, or anything Gypsy hadn’t already said, but knowing she was behind him and that she and his dad were on their way home eased some stress even as it created guilt.

His talk with his parents made Wyatt think about Gypsy’s support systems. Made him realize that Gypsy never had parents who were one hundred percent on her side. She was more like Belle than him. She’d had an unstable home life in her early years, which explained her dedication to Cooper and her reluctance to get involved with a man.

And what had Wyatt done? He’d gone and proven he was just like every other flake she’d ever dated. Not on purpose, but, in a way, that almost made it worse. He’d been so stupid he hadn’t kept track of the time. He hadn’t monitored his phone. And he’d been so caught up in his music, he’d been oblivious to everyone but himself.

Fuck. He had a serious problem. First Brody, then Francie, and now Belle and Gypsy. He’d let them all down.

Wyatt let out a long, deep breath. His shoulders slumped. Gypsy was right to walk away. Wyatt was a fucking mess. Even worse, his mess had rubbed off on her and Cooper. What in the hell could he offer a woman as together as Gypsy anyway? She was young, beautiful, sexy, successful, an amazing mother, sister, and friend. She had concrete morals and values and lived by them authentically.

Only now, during what felt like one of the darkest nights in his life, did he realize this was exactly why he hadn’t gone after Gypsy over the last three years. Because, in his gut, he knew he wasn’t good enough for her. In his gut, he knew she deserved better.

She’d been right. About everything.

Belle stirred and mumbled. Her eyelids fluttered. “Uncle Wyatt.”

She clearly wasn’t awake, but Wyatt sat on the edge of her bed, put his hand on her back, and sang the theme song to Beauty and the Beast until she quieted.

“I’m sorry, monkey,” he whispered, brushing her hair off her cheek. “I’ll do better.”

Wyatt felt fifty pounds heavier as he moved down the stairs and into the kitchen. He leaned back against the quartz counter, crossed his arms, and stared out at the incredible view of Nashville that filled almost every window of his house.

The view from Gypsy’s thinkin’ spot was just as nice.

That one little thought took him back to their night together. He’d been flying so damn high when he’d finally carried a sleeping Belle to his truck and kissed Gypsy good night.

He rubbed a hand down his face. “Damn, I fucked up.”

He was seriously questioning his role as a father to Belle. He had no idea what Brody and Francie saw in him.

Thinking about Brody dragged his gaze to the letter. He’d left the envelope on the counter where he dropped all his things when he came in the door. This seemed like as good a time as any to read it. He already felt like shit. Might as well get this out of the way too.

Wyatt picked up the letter and sat down at the breakfast table. He ripped the flap open and took a deep breath before unfolding the single page.

The sight of Brody’s messy handwriting felt like a knife in his heart. Wyatt closed his eyes, took a slow, deep breath and blew it out. Then opened his eyes and began to read.

Wyatt,

If I know you, you’ve found some way to blame yourself for my death.

Wyatt huffed a laugh, and a tear leaked from his eye.

Despite what you believe, I’m telling you—on my deathbed of sorts—that you were the biggest positive impact in my life, and having you in my corner kept me alive years longer than I would have been otherwise.

Pain and love cut through Wyatt’s heart.