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His heart hammered with each step she took away from him. He watched Lucy disappear around the corner, feeling rooted to the floor. He hadn’t seen that wall behind Lucy’s eyes since, well, never. There had been an indifference in her eyes that made him want to punch something, or maybe cry. Lucy had never walked away from him before. Lucy had never left him behind.
She was the one who always came back to him, in every decade and every city. She came back for him in the dust of the Alamo in 1836, and she saved him from that godforsaken Murder Castle in 1893, and she tried to protect him with a lamp in a DC hotel room in 1972, and she threw her arms around him in an army encampment in 1918 while holding a grenade.
Wyatt took a deep breath, trying to get his emotions under control. Hurt, guilt, sadness, anger, confusion, they all swirled inside of him, knotting together in a heavy ball in his gut. “Go. Be with Jessica,” she had said. Jessica. He hadn’t even thought of her since he returned to the bunker and saw the team emerging from the Lifeboat. He should be dying to see her, to pull her into his arms, but instead the thought of joining her in their room filled him with dread. Jessica wouldn’t understand what it was like to travel through time and space, to be shot at by that zombie from 1918. The one person who would, well, she had just walked away from him.
Wyatt headed to the storage room to stow his gear, wincing as he bent over to remove his heavy boots. He could feel a deep ache in his chest where Keynes’ bullet had hit his vest, a sharp reminder of the seconds he had stared at Carol Preston, finger frozen on the trigger. Agent Christopher had chided him for not taking the shot, but she had to understand how devastated Lucy would be if her mother was killed. Sure, they were on opposite sides of history right now, but everyone in the bunker knew how much Lucy had grown up idolizing Carol. Loyalty meant everything when you were part of a team like theirs, and surely anyone else in his situation would have done the same to protect their teammate.
He stood up and paused. The knot was still in his stomach, but maybe that was just dehydration. He had been out in the field all day and probably just needed some water. The dim lights in the hallway of the bunker flickered softly and cast shadows into the corners as he headed for the kitchen. A flash of movement caught the corner of his eye, and instinct made him spin to find out who or what it was. But it was just a door closing, and right before it latched with a small thud, the murmur of hushed voices drifted down the hall. Voices that sounded like—
What the hell? Why was Lucy in Flynn’s room?
The knot tightened, and Wyatt suddenly felt ill. So Flynn was great now, was he? Apparently loyalty didn’t mean as much to Lucy as it did to him. He stalked off toward his room, forgetting about the glass of water. It wouldn’t have helped anyway.
----
Jessica was still awake when he eased open the door. She looked up from her magazine and moved to stand when she saw him. “Hey!” she said softly, a small smile lighting her face. “I was getting worried. Where have you been?”
“Hey,” he replied. “I thought you’d be asleep by now.”
“I was waiting for you.” She brushed his lips with hers in a familiar kiss. “What was the mission today?”
Wyatt turned away and pulled his shirt, grimy with dried sweat, over his head, reaching for a towel and his toiletry kit. Her fingers lightly glided over his back, encouraging, supportive. Unbidden, the memory of Lucy in 1941 unbuttoning his shirt, touching him tentatively then eagerly, swam before his eyes. Her eyes had been so different then, so full of wonder and trust. He shrugged away from Jess, a wave of guilt washing over him as he shook off the memory.
“Wyatt? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing, Jess. Nothing’s wrong. It’s just, it was a long day, and I don’t want to talk about it. I just want to take a hot shower and go to bed.”
“Hey.” She looked hurt. She sounded hurt. “Don’t do that.”
Wyatt scrubbed a hand over his face. What did he do wrong this time? Recently it seemed like all they did was squabble. He couldn’t make her happy, and he didn’t know how to. Arguing with his wife was the last thing Wyatt wanted to do tonight—it was late, he had spent all day chasing after Rittenhouse by himself, he had almost been killed—why was it so bad that he just wanted to get clean and get some sleep?
“You’re shutting me out again,” Jessica continued, eyebrows knitted and arms crossed. “You promised, if we gave our marriage another chance, that you wouldn’t do that anymore. I’m here, I know about your time travel, and I’ve spent all day alone. Agent Christopher and Jiya wouldn’t let me near them, so I know something’s up. What happened to you today?”
“What did Agent Christopher have you do?” Lucy’s words echoed in his mind. She really needed to get out of his head. Obviously she had made her choice, and it wasn’t him.
Wyatt focused his gaze on Jess’s. He took her face in his hands and laid a kiss on her forehead.
“You’re right,” he sighed. “I’m sorry. Let me grab a shower, and when I come back, I’ll tell you everything.”
The steam from the shower helped clear his head, and Wyatt climbed eagerly into the cot next to Jessica, playfully pushing her magazine to the floor and flicking droplets of water from his damp hair onto her face. She laughed and slid closer, tucking herself against his chest and sliding her leg between his. Wyatt was relieved that things finally felt like they used to. Like they were before he let Jess get out of the car that night, before Connor Mason invented a time machine, before a clumsy, clever brunette took up residence in his life.
Wyatt nuzzled his face into Jess’s blond hair affectionately, then quickly jerked back. He took a deep breath to steady his voice. “Uh, Jess. Did you change your shampoo or something?”
“Oh yeah, I ran out of mine, so I used some of Lucy’s,” she replied casually, plucking a lock of hair from behind her ear and bringing it to her nose to inhale the scent. “I kinda like it, it smells like strawberries.”
I know, Wyatt thought. He rolled onto his back and stared at the ceiling. He had fallen asleep in Hedy Lamarr’s pool house surrounded by the smell of strawberries and Lucy’s body tangled with his.
----
Wyatt woke a few hours later feeling restless. Jess was still asleep next to him, so he slipped quietly out of bed, pulling the blanket back up to her shoulders and praying that the door wouldn’t squeak. It was still early, and the bunker was silent, all its other occupants safely tucked behind their respective doors. It reminded him of the first six weeks they had spent locked up down there, when insomnia kept him prowling the halls for hours.
The silence was an unwelcome reminder of why he hadn’t been able to sleep—why he spent his time worrying and waiting and wishing that he could bring Lucy home. He never admitted it, never gave up hope, but in the deepest, darkest hours of those nights, a niggling fear plagued him that he had lost her forever, just like he had lost Jessica. The look in Lucy’s eyes last night, just before she walked away . . somehow it felt like losing her all over again, even though she was right in front of him.
On his way to start the coffeepot, Wyatt pulled up short in the doorway to the kitchen. Lucy was sitting at the table, her back to him. She had a pile of books in front of her, and he could see the cord of her earbuds snaking out from underneath her hair.
Wyatt cleared his throat. She didn’t look up. “Lucy. Hey, Lucy,” he tried, not wanting to startle her. Still nothing. Wyatt touched her shoulder lightly, and she gasped and jumped, pulling out her earbuds and turning toward him.
“Don’t sneak up on me like that!” she scolded.
“Sorry,” Wyatt said, pulling out the chair across from her, but Lucy had already turned back to her book, fingers poised to turn the page. “Can we talk?” he asked tentatively, perching himself on the edge of the chair.
She sighed heavily and looked up again, like he was bothering her. “What is it, Wyatt?” Her tone was cool and collected, distant. His stomach knotted again, hearing it so devoid of emotion. He had seen her devastated over losing her sister, awed to meet her historical heroes, terrified to sing onstage, playful when she flirted with him—but never like this.
He tried to smile in her direction, cocking his head and rubbing the back of his neck. “Thought you promised to tell me what happened yesterday in 1936.” He didn’t know why he was so nervous, but he hoped his voice sounded smoother than he felt.
“Oh yeah, well it was nothing. Pretty normal mission. You know, find the sleeper, save the world. Obviously we made it back in one piece,” Lucy shrugged. She reached for her earbuds again, a clear signal that she wasn’t interested in chatting, but without thinking, Wyatt leaned toward her and covered her hand with his.
“What are you doing?” Her voice was quiet, but it held an edge. She sounded angry. She finally sounded like she felt something. Lucy tried to pull away, but he tightened his fingers around hers—gentle but firm. Her skin was hot and soft under his fingertips, and Wyatt had a sudden urge to climb over the table and kiss her.
“What are you doing?” he asked. “Why are you acting like this?” He had been a wreck since finding Jessica alive again, full of churning emotions, but Lucy—she was cool as could be. She had barely hesitated when he told her the news over the phone, barely blinked before embracing Jessica as a teammate during their manhunt for young JFK. Maybe—maybe that night in Hollywood hadn’t meant as much to her as he’d thought it had. As it had meant to him.
“Like what.” Her voice was flat again, and she wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Like, like you can’t stand to be around me. I know things have—changed—,” he started, thinking ruefully that this might be the biggest understatement in the world, “but we’re friends, Lucy, and you’re acting like I don’t mean anything to you.”
Her head whipped around then, and there was fire in her eyes when she finally looked at him. “Wyatt, you can’t mean anything to me right now,” she hissed. “You were everything to me, but it’s all different now. It has to be different, because you have Jessica back.”
Wyatt recoiled like she’d slapped him, releasing her hand at the same time. He could feel pain and shock and realization etched deep into his face as he stared at her, and his heart was pounding. He chose Jessica. And in choosing Jessica, he had to let Lucy go.
Except . . Wyatt didn’t think he could do that. Lucy—his teammate, his friend, his love. She was the most important person in his life. With that thought, he fled from the kitchen, chair scraping against the floor with a metallic squawk. But even the harsh sound couldn’t drown out the silence that separated him from Lucy.
This would definitely complicate his relationship with his wife.