Chapter 1
WILDER
May 8, 2024
Present Day
“It’s with extreme pleasure and elation that I announce my candidacy as mayor of Willow Creek.” Dad takes a step back from the podium, basking in the excitement coming from the residents gathered beneath the stage. I watch from the side with my family as he begins to read the speech I helped him write.
When he announces the big changes he wants to make, I clap my hands, along with my siblings, though my thoughts are anywhere but here.
“Not only do I have the support of my loving wife, but also the support of my sons, Wilder, Rome, Callan, and Sayer. As well as my stepdaughters, Elodie, Brogan, and Lake. With them, and all of you by my side, we can do this.” His voice booms as he shouts, bringing the crowd to life. “Let’s make Willow Creek the best damn town around.”
The cluster of residents burst into a frenzy of cheers and chants. Celia, my stepmom, pats my dad on the back. Her support and love for my dad’s endeavor doesn’t go unnoticed.
With my hand in my pocket, I pull my phone out slightly with my SnapTok account on display. I look at the comments of a video I posted this morning, a grin tugging at my mouth. It was a silly video—just me mouthing the words to a viral sound about living with your parents. The comments are unreal, though. Two hundred of them so far. But one in particular stands out to me.
Lifting my eyes to my dad as he continues speaking, I nod subtly as if I’m agreeing with everything he says, when in reality, I’m not even paying attention.
The hot spring sun is beating down on me while sweat dribbles down my back beneath my long-sleeved white button-up shirt. We’ve been standing here for twenty minutes, doing absolutely nothing while my dad talks. I know I shouldn’t be reading my comments right now, but this speech is boring as fuck. Not to mention, I have read and heard it at least fifty times by now.
Staring at the three dotted hearts in the comment of the girl whose profile caught my eye, I find myself smiling.
I don’t know who she is, other than her profile name is CatEyes. After chatting with her a bit, I found out she lives in Willow Creek, and she doesn’t make her own content. Her profile picture is an image of a black dragonfly tattoo with the words “still I rise.” I’m not sure if it’s hers, or if it’s just a picture, but it’s catchy.
She’s been persistent on keeping her identity a secret, so I’ve respected her privacy. But I’ve really enjoyed our conversations. She seems very mature and a bit mysterious, which I dig.
Rome, my twin my brother, nudges me. “Put your phone away,” he grits out, as if he has any sort of authority over me.
I sigh, the sound barely audible as I give my phone one last look. Just as I tap the like button on her comment, Rome nudges me again, this time harder, and somehow the volume on my phone goes all the way up, playing the sound on the video.
“It’s cool but you have to keep it down. My roommates are still sleeping.” It’s not my voice, but it’s the sound I used on my video that’s playing out loud. “You mean your parents?”
I fumble with my phone in my pocket, pushing my hand hard against it, trying to silence the sound, but it’s not working.
Dad pins me with a scathing glare and I gulp as I pull my phone out, holding my finger on the volume button until the sound disappears completely. “Sorry,” I mouth the word as my cheeks fill with heat.
“Should have listened to me,” Rome whispers with a low chuckle.
My chin drops to my chest and I shake my head, unable to look at anyone now. I can’t believe this shit just happened.
Even if my dad is holding it together right now, there’s no doubt I’m gonna get hell for this one. He’s made it very clear how important this is to him and he wants it to be equally as important to us.
Dad places his hands on either side of the podium and leans forward to continue. “As a lifelong resident of Willow Creek, this town is my home. I plan to use the skills I’ve garnered, as well as the relationships I’ve built, to achieve prosperity for every single one of us.”
The applause resumes and when I steal a glance at my dad, I notice his eyes are sparkling with pride. The crinkles around his mouth deepen as a broad smile stretches across his face. I really need to take this more seriously for him—we all do.
With this new venture for my dad comes great responsibility for our family. I get it. I’m not a complete idiot. I just hope this fuckup didn’t change my dad’s mind about me jumping right into my position at his company as his financial writer this fall.
College was never part of my plan. I’ve never been ashamed or embarrassed to admit that and my dad has never pushed me in that direction. My patience is lacking and I really want to jump right into the workforce after I graduate. After my mom passed away a couple years ago, I didn’t think I’d ever see my dad this happy again.
Yet, here he is. Basking in bliss from the electric energy of almost all of Willow Creek with his family surrounding him. He deserves this, and I hope like hell he buries the current mayor, Troy Jenkins, in this election.
“A word, Wilder.” Dad’s voice is stern as he curls his fingers from the bottom step in the basement back at the house. He turns around, giving me his back as he walks upstairs, knowing I’ll follow him.
Rome chuckles, his eyes locked on the video he’s playing on the television in front of the couch. He leans forward, tapping his fingers on the controller with his elbows on his knees.
“None of this is funny,” I assure him. “This mayor shit means a lot to Dad. Had you not…”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa. Don’t turn the blame on me. I tried to warn you, but you just had to keep on checking that stupid app.” It’s just like my brother to claim no responsibility for the chaos he causes while also discounting the thing I care about. He has this ability to float through life as if he rules the world around him, making me feel about two inches tall next to him.
“It’s not stupid. It’s a lifestyle, and now a job. It’s my escape from college.” I have tried to get him to understand, I’ve tried to explain it to everyone in my family. But no one gets it. No one understands how much social media is an escape for me, just as much as it can be for my followers. It makes life feel less overwhelming. Almost like I actually have control even when I know I don’t.
Rome shrugs on the couch, spreading his arms as if he couldn’t give a fuck. “Thought working for Dad was your escape from college? Not that you need it. Your grades are better than mine and I’m going to UCLA.”
“Football got you into UCLA.” Rome side-eyes me with a snarl. “I’m not saying you’re not smart. You’ve got the brains, but football paved the path for your future. As for me, working for Dad is my plan to keep him satisfied. My real passion is creating content. I don’t need college for that.”
“Wilder!” Dad’s voice booms down the stairs. “Now!”
With a heavy sigh, I walk shamefully upstairs, prepared to take whatever he gives me. Fortunately, Dad doesn’t yell at us often, so I don’t think I’ll be on the receiving end of rage and threats. He does, however, have a tendency to make us think really long and hard about our behavior and how it will affect us in the future. Especially when we’ve fucked up.
I find him in the kitchen, swirling a small crystal glass of scotch on ice. As soon as he sees me, he sets it down on the granite center island in the kitchen, eyebrows raised.
“Look, Dad,” I begin, hoping to explain myself before he reminds me of what I’ve done. “I know what I did was stupid. I just?—”
“Just what, Wilder? Decided my candidacy speech was a good time to make one of those little videos of yours?” His voice is calm, but his expression is loud as fuck.
“I wasn't making a video,” I say quietly, feeling like I made more than just one stupid mistake. “I was watching one.”
“Oh,” he pipes up, grabbing his glass. He brings it to his mouth, smiling coyly over the rim. “You were just watching a video in front of hundreds of people while I spoke to them. Everything’s fine then. Carry on with your day, son.” The sarcasm in his tone is apparent and it literally makes me feel two feet tall.
Shrugging my shoulders, I bow my head shamefully. “I messed up.” I pinch the bridge of my nose and take a deep breath. “I’m sorry, Dad.”
There’s a stillness in the room that’s unnerving. A drawn-out silence that has me desperate to get out of here. Just when I think my dad might excuse me and we can move on from what happened, he gestures toward the barstool. “Have a seat, Wilder.”
I should've known he’d use this situation as a teaching moment. Everything is a teaching moment with my dad.
I sit down and instead of him joining me on one of the stools, he leans into the center island, elbows pressed to the countertop as he grips his drink, the ice clanking against the crystal as he swirls it.
“I can’t stress how important it is to me that all of us put our best foot forward. Not just right now, but always. It is my job to raise respectful children, and most days, I feel I have succeeded, but it’s moments like this that I am reminded that I am still your father and there is still work to be done.” He takes a sip of his scotch before dragging his tongue across his bottom lip.
“I know this isn’t going to be easy for any of us, and I take full responsibility for that. It’s a rare situation to be under public scrutiny. Nonetheless, here we are.” He points the glass at me. “You’ve always been a model of exemplary behavior for your siblings and others around you. Please continue to do so, son. I know this dream of mine is altering your life and I don’t want to ask too much of you. But, what I do ask is that you at least hold yourself to a high standard.”
I nod in agreement. He’s right. I know I messed up today and I know I can do better. “Yeah, Dad. I get it. I know how important this is to you.”
“I’m grateful I have your support.” His eyebrows rise. “But what happened at the campaign announcement won’t happen again. I expect you to have self-control. I know you love making those videos…”
Here we go. Dad doesn’t get it. He doesn’t give me too much shit. But he just doesn’t get it.
“…maybe one day you will realize there are just more important things in life than SnapTok.”
This time when I nod in response, it’s not in agreement, but more to be able to get the fuck out of here. It’s pointless to try defending my passion for creating content to him. SnapTok is more than just something I do in my free time. I enjoy doing it. I get to make people laugh—brighten their day while giving them an escape from their lives for a little bit. It’s also a means of money now. I’m not making much, but it’s more than most people my age.
Dad drinks down the rest of the liquid in his glass, leaving nothing but an inch of ice as he sets it down on the countertop. “You’ve got two more weeks left of school then graduation, and only two months before you’ll be taking the helm in your new position at CB.”
CB is the abbreviation for Cromwell Banks. My dad owns many of them across the United States, with the head office in Westerlund Falls, which is only twenty minutes from Willow Creek.
“I know this, Dad. And I’ll be ready. I’m taking a couple fast-tracked courses in business and digital marketing in preparation for starting my job at CB this fall. I’m also applying for a part-time job until then.” He smiles over the rim of his glass. It’s these moments where he is proud of me that I feel like I can connect with him. Like a sponge that’s been in the desert, I want to soak up his pride.
I’m pretty damn excited to start my new job as the company's financial writer. Not only will I be writing marketing commentary for newspapers, I’ll also be handling all the social media marketing and content creation.
It’s funny to me how my father discounts my “little videos” when he has an entire branch of his office that basically does what I do for marketing. He just can’t see it that way, though.
I won’t be starting until September when the current financial writer retires, but I’m not complaining. It gives me a couple months to enjoy my life as a graduate before diving right into a career. However, Dad made it clear that too much time off depletes motivation, so he and Celia insisted that Rome, Elodie, and I get summer jobs to remain active and focused.
Dad nods in agreement, and I’m thankful he’s still on board with the plan. “Have you thought about where you’d like to work this summer?”
“Actually,” I drag out the word, my hand going to the back of my neck. “I was sort of hoping I could do something at CB. Data entry, mail room, anything that helps me to build rapport within the company before I take on a larger role.” I look up at my father with hopeful eyes.
“What if I told you I have a better job available for you and your siblings in the meantime?”
My eyes widen, showing my surprise. “Really?” I didn’t think it would be that easy. My father has always been adamant that we have to work for our positions in his company; they will not be freely handed to us.
“Jillian, my new campaign manager, and I were very impressed with your final touches on my speech.” His mouth tugs up in a grin while excitement ripples through me. The thought of not having to fill out another damn application for a low-paying job as a dishwasher or floor sweeper has me anxious to hear his offer. “Rome and Elodie agreed to work on mailers, and some door-to-door campaigning. As for you, how would you like to help me with my speeches, starting immediately?”
I arch my brows, surprised he’d even consider having me help with such an important task. “You want me to help with your speeches?”
As much as I want to help, I’d much rather take on a job with less pressure. Speeches are the forefront of his campaign. I have no skill set when it comes to political mumbo jumbo. I whipped up his speech for today on a whim and personally critiqued it for hours before handing it over. It was stressful and not anything I enjoyed doing.
“I believe in you, Wilder. I think this would be great for both of us. Obviously, I’ll write out the details and touch on the matters I feel are important for discussion. But I’d like you to be the one who fine-tunes them. You’ve always had a way with words and today’s speech was proof of that.”
I roll my neck, working out the kinks and stress that has accumulated since this conversation started. “Wow.” I gulp. “I wasn’t expecting this.”
Dad tosses his hands out, his enthusiasm trumping mine tenfold. “What do you say? The pay is good.”
Reminding myself, again, that this is important to him and I want to show my support in any way possible, I randomly blurt out, “Sure. Why not?” Immediately regretting it because I have no doubt I’m going to disappoint him. This isn’t my forte. I’m not a speech writer.
Gleefully, Dad pats my shoulder. “That’s my boy. I have no doubt your words will take us to the top in the election.”
I nod, forcing a smile on my face. “Yep. To the top we go.” The sarcasm in my tone is apparent, but he doesn’t take notice as he pours himself another shot. “I better get to bed. Finals are coming soon and I need a clear head.”
Dad raises his glass in cheers, still beaming. “Always thinking ahead, son. I’m proud of you.” He takes a sip before continuing. “I’ll have Jillian email you some key points I’d like to touch on in the article being published Thursday in the Willow Creek Gazette.”
“This Thursday?” I gasp. “That’s four days away. You’re giving me too much credit, Dad. I don’t think?—”
“Nonsense,” he interrupts. “You’re the one who’s not giving yourself enough credit. Together, we can do this.”
His faith in me has always been astounding. To the point it doesn’t seem real. And it’s not just me, it’s all of his children. Dad cheers us on and encourages us to seek out our dreams no matter how impossible they may seem. He’s not one of those parents who forces you to do what he wants to do. I know if I really didn’t want to do this for him, he’d understand—no hard feelings.
The way he looked at me when he offered me this job wasn’t something I could turn down. At the end of the day, he’s right. This could be great for both of us.
“I guess it’s settled then.” I shoot a thumb over my shoulder. “I should get some sleep. Night, Dad.”
He holds up his glass in cheers to me again and I smile before walking up to my room. Everything lately feels like it’s happening so fast. High school will be over soon. My friends and Rome and my stepsister Elodie will head off to college, then I’ll start working and eventually move out of my father’s house.
As much as I’m ready for these changes, I can’t help but feel like it’s a lot to handle.
As I lie down on my bed, staring at the ceiling, I feel an immense amount of pressure. I fear my dad is putting far too much faith in me. I helped him one time and now he wants me to work on his speeches for the entire election. Aren’t there professionals who do this shit?
The only way I can do this satisfactorily is with help.
A random thought pops in my head.
I think I know who can help me.
A few months ago, Mrs. Jenkins, our American literature teacher, helped me with an essay. Dad might not like it, considering she’s married to our current mayor who he’s also running against. But, I’d be doing this for him. That’s assuming she’d even help me, given the circumstances.
Mrs. Jenkins is well versed in literature and grammar. She’s the type of person Dad should want working on his speeches, not me.
I have so much respect for him as a father, a businessman, and as a human altogether. If I’m going to do this, I want to do it right.
There are a few other people I could ask, but Mrs. Jenkins and I work together so well and I actually learn from her. A lot of our other teachers try, but they don’t have the same spark she does. When I walk into her class, I feel like she wants me to walk out a smarter person, and she gives me every tool I could need to make it happen.
That’s probably why my essay got me into the business classes I wanted to take early. They are technically classes for juniors in college. But Mrs. Jenkins helped me prove I was capable with my essay.
I find myself smiling as I think back to us working together. We had a lot of fun and laughs during that time. After a while, she didn’t even feel like my teacher anymore. She became someone I just wanted to spend more time with.
It was also during that time that I formed an opinion of our current mayor, her husband.
One night Mrs. Jenkins and I were working late at the school when Mayor Jenkins showed up unexpectedly. Fuming, as if he had just caught her doing something illegal, he demanded to speak to her in the hall. I could tell he had embarrassed her as she whispered that she’d be right back. I could hear him plain as day out there. His voice was loud and authoritative as if he was speaking to a rebellious juvenile, not his wife.
He told her she needed to get home immediately and that she should know better. Know what better? I couldn’t understand why he was so pissed, but I chalked it up to marital issues that were none of my business. Regardless, I didn’t like the way he talked to her.
A minute later, Mrs. Jenkins came back into the room, rushing to put everything away. I could see the humiliation on her face as she hung her head low and avoided eye contact with me.
I tried to make things easy on her and helped clean up the coffees I brought us before packing my bag quickly. She didn’t even look at me as she gathered her things and tried to apologize. I said it was no big deal and walked out, but not before looking back at the man I thought was the composed leader of our town. It was shocking to see him so out of sorts. His hair was tousled, as if he had been pulling on the strands, and his shirt was only halfway buttoned and crooked.
Something tells me he’s not the man everyone thinks he is. But I didn’t say anything as I watched him all but shove her into his car and slam the door so hard it rattled. I just let her go because I feared that saying anything would only make the situation worse.
I got an unsettling feeling that night. When she wasn’t in class the next day, that feeling only grew. By the time school ended, my stomach felt like it was in knots, so I used our email portal to reach out and check on her. She assured me everything was fine and she just had a bit of a head cold.
The next time I saw her, she pretended as if nothing had happened. I still get this uneasy feeling today when I think about that evening, and my opinion of the current mayor has only worsened since then.
As for my opinion of her, she’s too good for him. I don’t even have to know him to know that. Mrs. Jenkins is class and beauty—she’s timid and kind.
I turn on my side in bed and a smile stretches across my face just thinking about getting to work with her again, one-on-one. Maybe this speech writing thing won’t be so bad, after all.