Don't You Wanna Stay Read online

  “Right now I can’t afford the distraction.”

  “You’ve always got an excuse.”

  Irritation prickled. “Better I avoid dating entirely than to make some poor woman feel like she’s second fiddle to my dreams.”

  Simon went quiet for a moment as they made their way into a kitchen that probably merited hazmat suits. “I mean, that’s fair, but don’t you want someone to share it with?”

  Did he want someone to love and support him in the thing that meant the most to him? Of course. But Wyatt had stopped believing in fairy tales a long time ago. Rather than point that out, he hooked an arm around Simon’s neck and gave him a noogie. “That’s why I have you.”

  When he’d taken Simon on, it had been as a favor to his old foster mom, Joan Reynolds. A summer job. A way to keep him out of trouble and teach him a few skills. Three years later, Joan was dead and Wyatt had the chance to be the kind of big brother he’d been lucky enough to have. He hadn’t imagined the boy would stick. But Simon had proved to be a hard worker and eager to learn. He was taller and broader now, no longer the whip-thin boy he’d been, but a leanly muscled man as tall as Wyatt. But there was still teenage boy in his laughing response to the headlock—an elbow jab and long fingers reaching for Wyatt’s ticklish ribs.

  “Are we taking this monstrosity on?”

  His use of “we” made Wyatt smile, even as his gaze automatically tracked over the ceiling and walls, noting small cracks and the evidence of a leak. “Maybe. Transforming this place would be something of a miracle. It’s got that whole train wreck vibe that could really drive views.” And views were income on his monetized YouTube channel.

  They stepped outside. From the front of the walk, beside the gate of the chain-link fence sporting signs declaring No Trespassing and Keep Out, the realtor looked up from her phone with hope in her eyes. “Well? What do you think?”

  Knowing how desperate Shelley was to get the listing sold, Wyatt conceded, “It’s a possibility. I want to look around outside.”

  He shoved through an overgrown section of fence that was more vines than chain link. That would have to go. There was already little enough space to navigate between this house and the next less than fifteen feet away. The foundational plantings were massive and should’ve been ripped out decades ago. But what really concerned him was the huge old oak shading the house in the back. One good storm could send that big, beautiful bastard crashing through the roof.

  Wanting a look at the foundation, he fought his way through the holly bushes that stood higher than he did, cursing as the prickly leaves scratched his arms. Low-tech alarm system at its finest. Crouching, he made his way along the base of the structure. About halfway across the east side of the house, he realized the roof didn’t matter. A huge crack snaked up from the foundation, right where one of the gnarled roots disappeared beneath the house. Based on its location, it was likely running up into one of the overloaded closets, which explained why he hadn’t spotted the problem inside.

  Shoving back out of the bushes, he rejoined Shelley and Simon out front. “No go. There are foundation problems. That big ass oak is gonna have to go, and the house will need releveling.” Foundational issues were too costly and time consuming to tackle for a flip with his small operation.

  Undeterred, Shelley insisted, “I’m sure the sellers will deduct that from the cost. They’re eager to make a deal. I’m positive they’ll negotiate.”

  “I’m sure they are, but unless they want to just hand me the deed, the answer is no. We’ll keep looking.”

  “Thank God,” Simon muttered.

  Shelley’s face fell.

  Wanting to throw her a bone, Wyatt offered a smile. “If you find any others that fit my parameters, let me know. I’m happy to look.”

  She just nodded, casting a frustrated, disgusted glance back at the house.

  “Thanks for your time.”

  They climbed into Wyatt’s truck. As they waited for Shelley to lock the house—Wyatt wasn’t about to leave her on her own in this neighborhood at this time of day—Simon stretched out his long legs.

  “So now what? You close on the current flip tomorrow, right?”

  “Yeah. First thing in the morning. I had hoped to move directly into the next project house, but I’ll have guaranteed money in the bank. I can afford to take a bit more time to find the right next project.” The show needed something with wow factor. Something that would get him noticed by the networks. The right house was out there somewhere. He knew it.

  “What’s the word from the buyer about the potential connection at CMT for the show?”

  Curt Welling was some kind of mid-level something or other at CMT. He and his wife had actually found the house through DIWyatt and put in an offer before the property even went on the market. In the process, he’d mentioned that his boss was part of a team looking at producing some original content for the network in the home improvement arena. With luck, his enthusiasm for Wyatt’s work would translate into a meeting with that team.

  Wyatt shrugged with more nonchalance than he felt. “No word yet. I’m hoping he’ll have something to say tomorrow.” And if there was a part of him that was crossing his fingers and toes that he’d get the meeting and land a show, such that there was an actual production budget, well, he couldn’t be blamed for hoping.

  “They’d be crazy not to talk to you.”

  If only his little brother were in charge of the decisions. “Here’s hoping.”

  “Since you’re about to be flush and all, how ’bout you buy a brother dinner? It’s the least you can do to make up for subjecting me to that shit show.” Simon jerked a thumb toward the property they’d just walked through.

  Wyatt laughed and pulled away from the curb. “I expect I can make that happen.”

  Chapter 2

  The piquant scent of Thai food greeted Deanna as she stepped into her apartment.

  Bennet Hartley slid out of the kitchen Risky Business style in sock feet, leggings, and an oversized T-shirt that should have looked shlumpy but on her looked stylish. She held a full glass of wine in each hand. “I have been honing my list of insults since you texted. Dinner’s just waiting to be plated, and there’s Ben and Jerry’s in the freezer. I figured you haven’t had a chance to eat yet.”

  Tears of gratitude pricked the backs of Deanna’s eyes as she accepted a glass, wrapping Bennet in a one-armed hug. “I will never ever regret giving you a key to my place.”

  “I got you, girl. Go pajamaficate, then we can have an insult the asshat contest the way we did all through your divorce.”

  Deanna drained half the glass where she stood. “How much wine did you bring?”

  Bennet’s laugh warmed the cold that had lodged itself in the pit of Deanna’s stomach since the run-in with Blake. “I came with an overnight bag and hangover preventatives.”

  “God, I love you. Maybe we should become lesbians.”

  “The world cannot handle that much fabulous in one couple. Besides, you are a legitimate morning person, and I’m pretty sure that’s grounds for murder in some states.”

  “Only if I don’t come armed with coffee.”

  Bennet angled her head in mock consideration. “You do make excellent coffee.”

  In the bedroom, Deanna stripped out of her work clothes in favor of yoga pants and her most comfortable T-shirt, the Five Finger Death Punch one that Blake had hated. She no longer lived her life based around his whims and wants.

  It did no good to berate herself for all the years that hadn’t been true.

  By the time they settled at opposite ends of the sofa with bowls of extra spicy basil fried rice and more wine, Deanna felt some of the rough edges of her day smoothing out. Or maybe that was just the alcohol hitting her very empty stomach.

  “So how exactly did you run into the spineless dick weasel?”

  “Work. Of course.” She explained her close encounter of the bastard kind.

  “This is the first time you�
�ve actually had to deal with Blake the flake in over a year, right?”

  “Yeah. Which is a minor miracle considering how small a world the music industry really is. Since he’s now being repped by Gavin Waters, and since I’m now at the beck and call of Gavin’s number one client, I suspect it won’t be the last.” With a grimace, she sipped more wine. “It’s the epitome of irony that my deft handling of the whole potential clusterfuck of Kyle Keenan’s surprise engagement meant I got switched from County Music’s Captain America to Nashville’s biggest diva.”

  “Being amazing at your job has its drawbacks.”

  “I miss Kyle. He was sane. And watching him with Abbey gave me fresh hope that love actually does exist.” It was nice to know some men could and did keep their promises. Certainly she hadn’t seen that kind of devotion from her ex.

  “They are pretty damned adorable, and you just know their baby is gonna be the cutest thing ever.”

  “True story. They’re really nice people. I miss nice people.”

  Bennet angled her head, considering. “I think it’s less nice and more normal. You’ve been rubbing elbows with the famous and famous adjacent for a long time.”

  Deanna drained the last of her second glass of wine. “I have. And, God, I’m so tired of it. I’m tired of wrangling spoiled musicians and keeping their bad behavior or poorly thought out remarks from becoming a DEFCON situation. I’m tired of fixing other people’s mistakes.” Reaching for the bottle on the coffee table, she filled her glass again. “But I don’t get to do anything else because my own mistake was so huge, I’ll be paying for it via alimony for what feels like the rest of my natural life. Because Blake isn’t going to marry again. Why would he? He can’t keep it in his pants.”

  Bennet squeezed her ankle. “You never know. Maybe he’ll hook up with Mercy Lee and be taken off your hands.”

  “I’d say from your mouth to God’s ear, but I don’t know that I hate her that much.”

  “She’d certainly be able to afford him and his expensive tastes better than you. And you don’t need them to stay married. Just get married in the first place. That would terminate the alimony.”

  “True.” Deanna lifted her glass. “To Blake and Mercy Lee. May they find they’re the perfect combination of crazy for each other.”

  “Cheers.”

  They clinked glasses.

  “You know what you need?” Bennet declared. “Hot guys in tool belts. That always makes you feel better. What are you feeling? Carter Osterhouse? Ty Pennington? The Property Brothers?”

  “Oh, I’ve got a new guilty pleasure on that front. Remember, I told you I met Paisley Parish at Ivy’s wedding?” Deanna grabbed the remote and flipped on her small TV, navigating to YouTube.

  “I’m still jealous of that. I frigging love her books.”

  “Well, she’s the one who told me about this.” Hitting a few more buttons, she brought up her current favorite home improvement channel. “I give you DIWyatt.”

  Bennet leaned forward. “What have we here?”

  “He’s this contractor who specializes in mostly one-man flips. He’ll take these absolute monstrosities and turn them into beautiful, functional homes. And it’s not just video of the flip process, which you know I love, but also a ton of instructional videos about how to actually do the stuff.”

  “A glimpse behind the home improvement curtain.”

  “Exactly. This isn’t a case of having a full production crew, round-the-clock contractors, and an army of volunteers. He’s just one guy. From time to time, he’ll pull in a few other folks, but by and large, he does all of this on his own. He makes it look easy and doable.”

  Bennet smirked. “He’s doable. All that thick, dark hair and muscles.”

  Deanna tossed a pillow in her direction and made her laugh.

  “Seriously, though. The fact that your commentary is all about his construction skills and not how that tool belt hangs on his hips is not what I was expecting. I thought you were just obsessed with the prettiness of the end product like the rest of us. I didn’t know you cared about the actual process that goes in to this kind of thing.”

  “I love old houses. I love the idea of renovating something. Building something up that would otherwise be torn down. None of these modern, clean lines and no soul. A home should tell a story. Have a history.” She swiped open her phone and pulled up the house she’d been looking at earlier. “It’s my dream to be able to buy one of these houses and bring it back to glory. Someday I want to walk into my home and feel ownership—not just because it’s my name on the deed, but because I put in the sweat equity to truly make it mine.”

  Bennet studied her with an expression that was part impressed, part Girl, you crazy. “I had no idea you were this into the idea of home improvement. You never said.”

  Deanna swigged more wine and shrugged. “It’s just a dream. Something I play with as stress relief. Pinterest boards and Instagram.”

  “Will you show me?”

  Dragging out her laptop, she introduced Bennet to her many and varied Pinterest boards and the old house accounts she haunted.

  “This is really good, Deanna. You have a great eye.”

  She liked to think so, but anybody could capture pictures on the internet. “It makes me happy.”

  Bennet fixed bright, dark eyes on her. “Have you ever tried to actually do anything like this before?”

  “I tried to talk Blake into buying a fixer upper. The kind of place we could really put our mark on. He wouldn’t hear of it. All he ever wanted was the new and the shiny. All our money ended up going toward this lavish lifestyle that was above our means because he was convinced it would help him be discovered. And instead, it landed us neck-deep in debt—or rather, it landed me neck-deep in debt, since he ran most of it up in my name. Between that and the alimony, I just don’t have the money to put into a project like this.”

  “I mean, yeah, I get that. But why aren’t you doing something like this as a career? Why stick with PR when you hate it?”

  “I’m not qualified for home renovation and design. It’s just something I’m playing with. There’s nothing practical about it, and with the debt and the alimony, I don’t have the luxury of making some kind of career jump.” Topping off her glass with the last of their second bottle of wine, she settled back into the sofa. “I’m slowly building up savings. Maybe someday I’ll actually be free of this anchor around my neck. In the meantime, I have wine, excellent friends, and HGTV. That’ll have to be enough.”

  “And just one more.” Nyra Singh slid another sticky tabbed document in front of Wyatt.

  He scrawled his signature for the hundredth time and felt his head ache as the letters of the contract swam on the page. This was the worst part of his business. He and the written word were not on speaking terms. Thank God Nyra was a trusted friend who could do the heavy lifting on this front and explain what was in the paperwork without him having to struggle through it all on his own.

  He passed the contract across the table to the Wellings. Curt added his signature and dropped the pen, flexing his hand while his wife Megan signed the last line of the seemingly endless FHA loan paperwork.

  “That is it. You’re officially homeowners,” Nyra announced. “I’ll get all of this filed today and my secretary will have copies of all the paperwork ready for you to pick up tomorrow.”

  Curt wrapped his arm around Megan, and they both beamed at Wyatt. “We can’t begin to thank you enough.”

  He grinned back, rising to offer a hand to the other man. “No thanks necessary. I’m delighted to know the house will be loved.” It meant a lot that the property he’d poured his passion, blood, and sweat into would be a real home for this growing family. Just because he chose to live a somewhat itinerant lifestyle didn’t mean he couldn’t appreciate the value of a home.

  Megan absently ran a protective hand over her small baby bump. “I love that we have a video record of the renovation from your YouTube channel, so we
know what it started out as. Nobody would believe it used to look like that.”

  “Speaking of,” Curt began, and Wyatt’s stomach jumped. “I talked with my boss. He’s interested in meeting with you, if you’re game.”

  Holding in a whoop and a fist pump, Wyatt nodded. “I absolutely am.”

  “Fantastic. What is your availability?”

  “I’m between projects for the moment. I’ll make myself available whenever. Just name the time and place.”

  “Great! I’ll text you the details as soon as I confirm.”

  “I’ll be sure to be there.”

  After one last handshake, Wyatt handed over the keys and managed to wait until the Wellings had walked out of the office to do a little victory boogie.

  This was it. His big break. He couldn’t wait to tell Scott.

  Nyra laughed. “Another successful sale down. I noticed there was an extra zero on that check from the last house you flipped. Getting bigger, better, and more profitable. Your brother will be proud.”

  Wyatt fought not to wince at the hitch around his heart at the mention of his brother. The reason for his whole career. The reason he even had a career. “Yeah, I think he’ll be pumped.”

  “The funds should show up in your accounts tomorrow, split per your usual preference. I know you’re eager to get on out to see him.”

  “I am, thanks.”

  She pressed a hand to his arm. “Tell him I said hi.”

  Wyatt gave her fingers a squeeze. “Thanks, Nyra.”

  The buzz of excitement kept him company on the drive to the other side of town. After a brief stop off to pick up milkshakes, he turned onto the campus of Fairland Village. The security guard at the gate looked at his decal and waved him on through with a smile. A tree-lined drive gave way to a cluster of buildings housing assorted therapy modalities, as well as apartments for the wide range of residents. It was, in a sense, a little self-contained village. As residential facilities went, it was a nice place, certainly better than some of the others they’d looked at. Here, Scott had access to round-the-clock care and top-of-the-line therapies and rehab specialists. Wyatt had been able to have him moved here two years ago on the profits from his flips. The progress he’d made in that time was sufficient motivation for Wyatt to keep funneling a portion of every single job toward keeping him here. By rights, part of the profits belonged to Scott, anyway. He’d been the one who’d taken the chance and bought the first house Wyatt had flipped. Before the accident and after, he’d always been Wyatt’s biggest supporter.