Wild Thing

38. Thirty-Eight

Thirty-Eight

DYLAN

M y heart pounded violently against my ribcage. Silent tears began streaming down my face as the weight of everything hit my like a freight train.

In my distressed haze, I missed it.

The prickling sensation of being watched.

It wasn’t until I reached the double doors that I saw her.

Ally stood on the other side of the glass, her eyes locked on me, taking in everything that had just passed between Brax and I.

My stomach dropped.

How long had she been standing there?

Shock rooted me in place. I stared through the glass doors, my reflection blending with hers.

For a moment, we just stood there, staring at each other.

Regret and shame was etched all over my face, heartbreak and devastation plastered on hers.

Then came the sharp click of the door as Ally pushed it open.

Her eyes, razor-sharp, tore into me with a mixture of anger and disbelief. Regret clawed at my insides as I realized my face must have looked just as wrecked as hers—only her heartbreak wasn’t deserved. Mine was.

“How long?” she asked icily.

I closed my stinging eyes for a second.

God, I hated myself.

I forced my eyes open to face the woman whose heart I had helped break.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered hoarsely. “I-I didn’t know.”

It wasn’t the full truth. But it wasn’t entirely a lie either.

She took a sharp breath in. Unblinking, she looked past me.

I followed her line of sight to see Brax standing a few feet away, his broad shoulders slumped as his world crashed down around him.

The realization that Ally probably thought I was just some woman he worked with, and not the love of his life, hollowed me out.

This was not my place.

I was the other woman, the mistake, the worthless side piece.

I didn’t wait for Ally to say more. My legs moved before my mind could process, carrying me farther into the foyer, away from them. I braced for her to chase me down, to scream at me, call me a whore, a homewrecker, a slut—anything.

But she didn’t.

She let me walk away.

Like I was nothing.

Like I wasn’t worth the effort.

***

I rushed through the foyer of the convention center before exiting out of the other end, away from everyone and everything. Steadying myself against a traffic sign, I gulped down some deep breaths.

I needed air, air, air, I felt like this dress was strangling me.

Smell the flowers, cool the tea.

I repeated the mantra over and over again until I stopped feeling like I was going to pass out.

I looked out across the river that winded alongside the convention center towards the glittering skyline. The city hummed with activity, a blend of sirens, car horns and music filled the air.

It felt alive, while I felt dead inside.

Blinking, I willed myself to focus on my next move. I needed to get the hell out of there and back to the hotel. I’d pack my bags and get ready to go home tomorrow. This whole affair needed to remain in this city, far away from my future.

Pulling out my phone, I ordered a car and waited, willing the earth to open up and drag me into the depths of hell where harlots like me belonged.

***

I sank onto the same barstool in the dimly lit hotel lobby bar, the very one I had sat on during that first, fateful afternoon.

“Tequila, on the rocks.” I said, my voice flat.

Somewhere on the drive back to The Dalton, I decided packing my suitcase could wait until morning. Tonight, my only plan was to find oblivion.

The bartender nodded and slid the drink toward me.

I slammed it down.

Fuck, it burned, but it wasn’t enough. Not nearly enough.

I set the glass down with a sharp clink and looked up. “Another please.”

The next shot arrived almost as quickly as the first had disappeared. I slammed it back in one smooth motion, the burn fiercer this time but still nowhere close to the blackout I was searching for.

I’d heard of people having affairs, and yet, I’d never really given much thought as to what those involved go through, or feel.

Now, I had a fucking front row seat.

The bartender gave me a brief, unreadable look. “You okay?”

“Nope.”

“Guy trouble?”

I snorted softly, tapping the rim of my empty shot glass with my fingertip. A silent request for another. “Something like that.”

She let out a wry laugh, shaking her head as she reached for the tequila bottle. “Men are assholes.”

“Yeah,” I said as she poured. “They are.”

I paused, staring at the golden liquid for half a beat before slamming it back in one swift motion. The burn clawed at my throat. I set the glass down with a dull thud. “But so am I.”

I struggled to admit to myself what I was really upset about. It wasn’t just the affair or the lies or the fallout that had me spiraling.

No, it was the realization that Brax must have once loved Ally so much, that he knelt down and asked her to marry him.

It killed me to know the moment I dreamed of had already been hers.

God, what the fuck was wrong with me?

The bartender broke the silence. “Well, whatever you did, make sure that someday, somehow, you forgive yourself.”

I let out a short, humorless laugh. “Why is it that bartenders always seem to know exactly what to say?”

She shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Because we hear it all.”

“Maybe I’ve got a story you haven’t heard.”

Her eyes flicked back to mine. “Yeah? Try me.”

“I’ve been having an affair with my ex. And tonight, I found out he’s engaged,” I paused, letting that fact settle. “Oh, and his fiancée found out about me, too.”

Her eyebrows lifted slightly as she let out a quiet whistle. “Oh. Brutal.”

“Yeah,” I leaned forward against the bar, my lips twitching in a bitter half-smile. “Still think I should forgive myself?”

She gave me a long, assessing look before responding. “Maybe not tonight. But someday, yeah. Everyone’s got their shit. You’ll figure yours out.”

I wasn’t so sure.

The bartender picked up a cloth and began wiping down her station.

“Forgiving someone isn’t done because people deserve it. It’s done because it sets you free. That goes for forgiving yourself too.”

I could have cried at her non-judgmental response.

The topic of forgiveness lingered with me, circling back to Brax and Ally.

Did he beg her for forgiveness now that we were over? Was she cursing him? Cursing me?

Or maybe they’d had the fights of all fights and the engagement was over. Then again, maybe they were tangled up in wild, makeup sex.

Any of it felt possible. All of it hurt.

“I think I’ve seen you two in here together before. Tattooed guy? Tall?”

“Yeah,” I said. “That’s him.”

She nodded, setting a clean glass on the counter. “Why’d you two break up in the first place?”

“We were young. I moved overseas; he didn’t want to. So, we broke up.”

The matter-of-fact way I summarized the most important relationship in my life surprised me.

“Ah,” she said with a slight tilt of her head. “And then you found each other again.”

I shrugged. “Doesn’t really matter now.”

She picked up a glass and started polishing it, her movements slow and deliberate. “Why not? Aren’t you two free to be together now?”

“No.”

Her brows knitted together in confusion. “Why?”

“He lied to me. I had no idea he was engaged. I thought he only had a girlfriend.”

She froze for a moment, then scoffed. “Damn,” she muttered under her breath as she set down the glass she had been polishing and picked up another.

“What?"

“Nothing.”

“No. Say what you were going to say.”

“Help me understand it,” she said, leaning slightly closer. “You were happy to engage in an affair knowing he was in a relationship, but hearing he was engaged—that’s what changed things for you?”

“Yeah.”

“Why?”

“It seems more… serious.” I said after a beat.

If only he’d been honest at that first dinner. If only he’d said the words outright.

“Would you still have had an affair if he’d been honest about being engaged?”

“I don’t know. Maybe.”

It wasn’t the answer I wanted to give, but it was the truth. Even if I’d known the full story, would it have changed anything? The attraction still would have existed, the interactions together inevitable.

Ultimately, we wouldn't have been able to control ourselves. We can't be around each other unless we're with each other. I knew it deep in my bones.

I tried to recall the times we spoke about Ally. I tried to remember any minute detail that might have given me some insight into why Brax thought the best choice was to lie to me.

But the tequila was doing its job and my thoughts were messed up.

“So, you went through all of that, just to leave him in the end? Because he lied… to you?”

She placed an unmistakable emphasis on the word you .

My head snapped up, and I searched her face, hoping to find some kind of explanation for the accusation hidden in her words. But her expression remained unreadable, as if she were daring me to confront something I wasn’t ready to see.

“I've had three shots of tequila, you’re going to have to help me out here.”

The bartender smirked, but her tone stayed even. “Affairs are messy, built on secrets and lies. It’s not like he lied about having a relationship—he lied about the seriousness of it, sure—but there was probably a reason he did. And, honey, the person who has the right to rage here isn’t you. It’s his ex-fiancée.”

Ally’s face flashed in my mind. The pain I caused her… I was as wicked as my father was.

“Well, that’s why I’m here punishing myself. Because I am a piece of shit,” I shook my head, the self-loathing pouring out of me.

I stared down at the counter, tracing an invisible line along the grain of the wood. I was ashamed to admit this, but deep down, I had wanted Brax to chase me. I wanted him to choose me over her.

Even though I told him that I didn’t love him, I still wanted him to call my bluff, unlike all those years ago where he just let me go. It felt like history was repeating itself.

And this time, it hurt even more.

“Honey, you’re not the first and you certainly won’t be the last person on this planet to ever have an affair,” the bartender said, placing both polished glasses on the shelf behind her. “You can’t help who you fall in love with. The question you need to ask yourself is: Was it all for nothing?”

Her words lingered in the air long after she moved away, busying herself with other customers.

Was it all for nothing?

My temples throbbed, the tequila wrecking havoc on my ability to think straight.

I looked around at the people remaining at the bar. Only a handful remained. A few couples lounging on the plush chairs, enjoying a nightcap before retreating to their rooms.

I wondered what time it was. Close to midnight, I guessed.

I was just about to call it a night when someone slid onto the stool beside me. I groaned audibly and rolled my eyes. I didn't bother to hide my irritation.

“What do you want, Steven?”

He was still in his suit, the tie slightly loosened.

“You disappeared from the gala,” he said, his voice clipped with annoyance. “Marie’s stressed out and worried about you. I told her I’d check if you made it back to the hotel.”

“Well, gee thanks, Dad.” I snapped, sarcastically.

He ignored my tone, his eyes drawn to the empty shot glasses in front of me.

“What are you doing getting drunk alone, anyway?”

“Avoiding people like you.” I said flatly, not even bothering to look at him.

Steven chuckled, the sound low and mocking. “You can be a real bitch, you know that?”

“You love it.”

He raked his dirty eyes over me. “You’ve got no idea.”

Before I could retort, a different bartender, this one older, and with a no-nonsense attitude, approached us. “Drinks?” he asked.

Steven ordered a whisky neat, and I waved a hand lazily. “Another tequila.”

As the bartender moved off, Steven leaned an elbow on the counter.

“Are you finally going to have a drink with me?”

I snorted. “This isn’t me having a drink with you. This is you crashing my party.”

“Fucking bleak party."

“Eat shit, Steven.”

He chuckled again. “Does this depression have something to do with Brax?”

My spine stiffened. I might have been drunk, but I wasn’t stupid. There was no way I’d hand over the truth to the man I despised most in the world.

“I’m not depressed, asshole." I snatched the shot glass and slammed it back.

“Okay. Sure,” he said with a smirk, clearly unconvinced. “Do you want to talk about it?”

“No.”

“Well,” he said, swirling his whisky casually. “Do you want me to keep you company?”

I shrugged. I didn't give a fuck. “I don’t really care, as long as the tequila keeps coming.”

As if I hadn’t already made enough terrible choices, this one would turn out to be the worst.