“I’m his partner for the NRSDA competition.”
I watched Mr. Nash’s dark eyebrows knit together. He looked so much like his son, yet so unalike. It was the most peculiar thing to look at someone who looked just like a person I was so fond of yet possessed none of the qualities.
It wasn’t that Mr. Nash was unlikeable. Aloof was a better word, and maybe self-important. And that wasn’t just because he didn’t know who I was. But we’d been sitting here making small talk for the past few minutes and it was becoming increasingly clear that he knew nothing about what was going on in his son’s life.
He hadn’t even known Wyatt had a doctor appointment today!
So, I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when he looked bewildered by the news that his son was in a singing competition.
“Why does that name ring a bell?” he asked. “Wait. Is that the new show Post Malone is hosting? I was just talking to him about that. Are you two trying out?”
“No. NRSDA is the Northeast Regional Scholarship for the Dramatic Arts. You know, the program your wife is co-sponsoring,” I said, no longer trying to hide my annoyance. I knew I was being sassy, but I couldn’t help it. How could this guy be so clueless?
“Ah, yes. That’s right. I knew it sounded familiar.”
But I wasn’t so sure he did. How could he be so out of touch about what went on in his own family? No wonder Wyatt was always mad at his dad. He deserved a better one.
“So,” Mr. Nash said. “Wyatt’s competing? How did that happen?”
“I needed a singing partner. It’s kind of a long story. Maybe you should ask him about it,” I offered.
“Maybe I will.” A very Wyatt-like smirk spread across Mr. Nash’s face as he shook his head with amusement. “Singing, huh? I didn’t think he had it in him.”
That was it. Something in me snapped. “You’re joking right? Your son is an incredibly talented musician. I don’t know where my songs would be without him.”
“Ah, so you’re a musician?” he asked, like suddenly everything made sense to him. “I’ve gotta say, if you came here to give me your demo, I admire your tenacity. You’ll need that in this business, but I’m afraid I can already tell you’re not a good fit for my label. We usually work with more polished singers. Perhaps when you’re a little older—”
I stood, unable to sit through one more moment of his condescension. I cut him off, my blood boiling with anger. “Actually, I’m a songwriter, but thanks to Wyatt, I’m finding my voice. But that has nothing to do with why I’m here. I don’t have an ulterior motive and I’m definitely not trying to get on your label. I came to talk to your son, who’s an incredible human being, by the way. If you spent time with him, you’d know that.”
The shocked expression on Mr. Nash’s face told me I’d just crossed a line. Regret was a swift punch to my gut. I didn’t know what had come over me. I hadn’t said anything that wasn’t true, but I definitely shouldn’t have done it so rudely, especially in his home.
Crap! I was shaking, half with fury and half with fear. Had I really just insulted Wyatt’s father like that? I needed to leave before I said anything else I couldn’t take back. I picked up the jacket Wyatt had given me and muttered a rushed goodbye.
“I’ll just talk to Wyatt tomorrow,” I said, quickly making my escape.
But as luck would have it, I’d left my keys in the kitchen next to the box of donuts I’d brought. I made a beeline for them. I was just rushing into the kitchen when I heard the side door open, and Wyatt walked in. No, limped was a more accurate word. And he was on crutches!
Fear sliced through me. “Wyatt?”
His eyes, which had seemed sullen and drained, instantly lit up when he saw me. “Layne? What are you doing here?”
But just as I started to answer, his father walked into the room. I could practically feel the icicles forming as Wyatt’s bright expression turned dark and stormy. He closed up like a book when he saw his father. Having encountered the man, I couldn’t blame him.
“Dad?” Wyatt’s eyes darted worriedly between us. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” his father said, sidling up next to me to put an arm around my shoulder like I hadn’t just completely offended him a minute ago. “Layne here was just telling me all about her music.”
Wyatt’s eyes shot to mine. They were so full of hurt and betrayal for a moment I couldn’t speak. Then, his mother walked in, breaking the crackling tension in the room. Her eyes surveyed the scene quickly, narrowing in on her husband. “Bradford, I wasn’t expecting you.”
“This is my house,” he retorted coolly. “Do I need to be expected?”
She forced a smile at him, then her gaze shifted to me. “Layne, it’s good to see you. Why don’t we let you and Wyatt catch up?” she suggested, not so subtly giving her husband a hint to head to the other room.
Before she left the kitchen, she turned back, giving Wyatt a warning glance. “Remember what we talked about. Keep it short.”
Wyatt gave his mother a withering look, but when he turned those intense green eyes on me, he said, “Don’t worry, Layne was just leaving.”
I was? That was news to me since I hadn’t done any of the things I’d come here to do.
An hour ago, I’d had such high hopes for tonight. I’d come here with a firm grasp on my future and what part I wanted Wyatt to play in it. But now, with just one look from him, I felt like I was holding a cracked glass, desperately trying not to damage the already fragile pieces.
I’d never in my life been on the receiving end of such a hateful glare. If it had been Wyatt’s father looking at me like that I could understand, but Wyatt? What happened today?
I rushed forward, desperate to make sure he was okay. Because I could tell there was something more causing this kind of contempt. Again, my eyes went to his crutches. “Wyatt? What’s wrong? Is your ankle okay? Did you get bad news?”
He gave a bitter laugh. “Like you care.”
Shock resonated through my whole body, stopping me in my tracks. We stood only a few feet apart. So close yet so far away. I could sense the pain beneath his words. There was something seriously wrong. “Wyatt, talk to me. What’s wrong?”
He laughed again, but there was not an ounce of joy in the sound. “You, Layne. You’re what’s wrong. Or maybe it’s me. Because I must be stupid, right? I mean, I actually thought you were different. I thought you cared. But you’re just like everyone else.”
“What are you talking about?”
Wyatt crutched closer, hatred radiating off of him like steam on asphalt. “Why are you here, Layne?”
I swallowed the lump in my throat, forcing back the sting of tears. I will not cry! “I came to check on you. And . . . and to tell you about school and our music, and . . . and to . . . to . . .”
“To what? Get me to fall for you so you could get what you really want?”
“What? No. What are you talking about, Wyatt?”
“Give it up, Layne! I can see through your little act now.”
“What act?”
He shook his head, a wicked snarl curving his face. “You almost had me, but you’re just like everyone else. Just using me to see what you can get—my father, fame, fortune. Well, I’ve got news for you. It’s not going to happen. So why don’t you stop embarrassing yourself and leave?”