48… 47… 46…
I press his name.
43… 42… 41…
It rings. Rings. Rings.
37… 36… 35…
No answer.
Of course— what kind of person is checking their phone at midnight on New Year’s Eve?
33… 32… 31…
His gruff voice implores me to leave a message. The voicemail picks up with a long beep.
28… 27… 26…
“Wyatt… It’s Kat.” I breathe deeply. “But you never call me that. You call meKatharine. Orbaby. Orcrazy. Or… you used to. Now, you don’t call me much of anything. Now, I’m lucky if you even look at me.” My voice breaks. I hear the chant inside, getting louder, picking up steam as more voices join in.
20… 19… 18…
“I don’t know why I’m calling,” I whisper into the phone. “Actually, that’s a lie. I’m calling because it’s New Year’s Eve, and you aren’t here. You’reneverhere, anymore. And I get it — you’re happy. You have her, and everything has changed between us. And I’m… I’m happy for you.” My voice cracks again and I laugh brokenly. “Actually, that’s not exactly true. I’m really, reallytryingto be happy for you. I swear I am. But it’s really hard, because Wyatt… you’re my best friend. And I miss you. I miss you so much I can’t evenbreathe.”
14… 13… 12…
“I hope, wherever you are, whatever you’re doing tonight, whoever you’re spending it with… you’re happy. That’s it. That’s all.” I take in a gulp of air that sounds a lot like a sob.
9… 8… 7…
“Happy New Year, Wyatt. I hope you know that I… that I…”
6… 5… 4…
I click off the phone and contemplate tossing it into the pool. I stare at my feet, breathing hard. Fighting down the last part of my message that I couldn’t force myself to say. Three little words stuck in the back of my throat, suffocating me. I have to let them out.
“That I love you,” I say to the night. Testing it out with only the shadows to hear.
3… 2… 1…
“I LOVE YOU!” I scream out loud, at the top of my lungs, anguish seeping into every syllable. The sound is swallowed up by the huge swell of voices inside.
HAPPY NEW YEAR!
They’re cheering and clapping, kissing and hugging.
And I am weeping.
Because I love, love, love Wyatt Hastings.
My Viking.
My novelist.
My sunshine.
My best friend.