Page 63 of Thicker Than Water
Finally, he pulls in a breath, eases it out, and his posture relaxes a little. As if determining something, he raises his eyes to mine.
“I’m sorry, Julia. I’m not supposed to talk about it.”
My heart clunks against my chest. There’s anit.
“Has it only been recently that you’ve been seeing her?” I ask. “Since everything with Jason?”
Wyatt skirts my gaze, looking toward the blank, black screen of his TV. “I’m sorry,” he repeats—closed, it seems, to any more of my questions.
But it doesn’t matter. He’s said enough. And my stomach roils with the revelation: it’s not just Jason who’s been keeping secrets from me.
Sienna—my true other half, the person I know better than anyone—has been lying to me too.
Chapter EighteenSIENNA
I told myself I wouldn’t come here. Told Wyatt I wouldn’t. Told Julia, too. But she was right, earlier on the phone; Wyatt is the person I need to turn to. He told me Henry Hendrix has an alibi for the night of the murder, but if there’s one thing I’ve learned this week, it’s that alibis can fall apart. Jason’s did—according to the police. So excuse me for not trusting their assertion that Henry gets a pass.
I’m only one house away when I yank my foot off the gas. There’s a car parked next to Wyatt’s. And it looks like…
I drive a little closer, peering through the dark at the license plate. When I’m able to read it—these numbers and letters I’ve seen a thousand times—my heart bucks against my ribs.
Julia.
I pound the pedal, screeching down the street.
Why the hell did she come here? As far as she knows, she’s crossing enemy lines, having no idea how many times I’ve crossed them myself.
I drive aimlessly, turning deeper and deeper into the neighborhood. I squint out the windshield and squeeze the steering wheel, trying to get my bearings.
Julia was abrupt when she got off the phone, but she told me she was taking Aiden to his dance—which is nowhere near here. So either she dropped him off, then broke every speed limit on the way to Wyatt’s, or she lied to me, driving to the one person I told her I wouldn’t see.
Which means I lied to her, too.
In such a brief call, we deceived each other as easily as breathing. More than that, we’ve been deceiving each other for months. Me about Wyatt. Her about the money Jason took that sent her reeling. I know why I’ve been hiding the truth, but her reasoning remains a mystery to me, and thinking of it now, I feel the sting of her secrecy all over again.
Taking a sharp turn, I worm back through the neighborhood before parking a couple houses from Wyatt’s. I stare at his front door, as if I can see Julia through it, read every word on her lips, and as the minutes pass, my shock shrinks to curiosity. Maybe it’s not a bad thing, her being here. She must be doing what I said I wouldn’t—asking Wyatt about my Henry theory—so doesn’t that mean she’s giving it a chance? That she’s closer to believing, completely again, that her husband is innocent? I relax a little, calmed by the thought.
Still, it hurts that she didn’t at least warn me before heading here. If the roles were reversed and it was Julia with a cop for an ex, I wouldn’t consult him without her consent.
All day, Julia’s acted in ways I’ve struggled to understand. She’s sent work emails while I’m out here fighting for the both of us. She’s let Maeve into her house—Maeve! The woman who seduced her husband. She’s even insinuated that Maeve’s story about Gavin might explain Jason’s motive—as if Jason would truly kill someone over atheory, a fear.
Now, as time ticks by and Wyatt’s door doesn’t open, my stomach throbs. I feel the sandwich I scarfed down at home trying to sputter back up.
I almost miss her when she finally leaves. Julia is dressed in the deep purple sweater I bought her for Christmas. It camouflages her, making her little more than a smudge in the night, even with the yawn of light from Wyatt’s front door. When she slips behind the wheel of her car, I’m tempted to sprint out of mine. I could dart in front of her, be the deer in her headlights, wild and stunned.What the hell?I imagine saying. But the tone in my head unnerves me. It’s one I’ve never used with Julia before, one I save for the people who have wronged me most.
I watch her go. My eyes dry out, staring at her taillights until they’re speck-small in the distance, and finally disappear. Misery ripples through me, a slow, unending wave. Something else tries to drown me: longing, maybe. Loneliness. But when I look at Wyatt’s house again, I push it all down until only my determination seeps through.
He answers the door quickly, probably assuming it’s Julia again. When he sees it’s me, a wince ripples across his face, and I don’t wait for an invitation before stepping inside.
“So,” I say. “Julia was here.”
In the entryway, I lean against the wall. I cross my arms, trying to appear cool and unbothered, but Wyatt looks at me the way he always does, the way that makes me feel see-through, like the tenderest, tucked-in parts of myself are all lit up by his eyes. I turn away from his gaze, walk to the living room instead.
“Was she asking about Henry Hendrix?” I say, perching on the edge of the love seat.
Wyatt nods, a strange ache in his expression. He sits on the couch, choosing the side closest to me. I shift my knees away from him, even as their impulse is to angle toward his.
“Sienna,” he says—and his voice is so bruised with emotion I have to cut him off.
