Chapter 16
Jett
Wilkin and Reeve carried me inside and laid me down on the sofa with my leg stretched out, propped on the coffee table. Reeve attended to the huge gash on my knee, bandaging it up like a pro, while Wilkin held a bag of frozen peas against my ankle.
I can't believe he's been such an asshole and secretly helping me out all this time because if it's true and he really has been doing it, then…then maybe he's not such an asshole after all.
Which begs the question—what is he then?
Why has he been doing these nice things to help me out?
I'm so confused. Once you have an idea of someone in your mind, a narrative in reality TV terms, it's really hard to change it.
"Just going to rest this here," Wilkin says, placing the peas against the outer side of my ankle. "And make us all some tea. Is that okay?"
"That'd be great," Reeve says, looking over at Wilkin with a grateful smile.
"Yeah, whatever," I say, sounding more like my teenage self—I was a nightmare apparently, go figure—than I care to.
Wilkin steps over to the kitchenette. A slight frown appears on Reeve's brow, but it smooths out when he asks, "How are you feeling?"
"I'm okay. Better. Thank you."
"I don't think Wilkin heard that."
I shrug a shoulder and look away. I'm in pain and shock and nowhere near up for challenging the lifelong opinion I've held of Wilkin Hurst.
Unluckily for me, Reeve isn't a mind reader, so when Wilkin brings our cups of tea over, he insists we talk.
"We've been having such a great time," he says. "I know you guys have your issues, but I truly believe if you just hash it out, you can resolve them. If you like, I can leave you two alone."
"No," we both say at the same time.
Reeve seems a little shocked at our response at first, but he quickly spins it into something positive.
"See? Maybe you're more alike than you realize.
" I shoot him daggers. "Okay, maybe not.
But just start talking. I'm going to sit over here…
" He gets up and sits down on the floor a few feet away. "Out of drink-throwing range."
Wilkin takes a seat on the couch. "I'm sorry for not being upfront with you about what I was doing. I wanted to help, not meddle. But that doesn't make it right."
I take a sip of tea, but all I do is burn the tip of my tongue.
I set it down with an annoyed hiss. "You're actually fine," I grumble.
"I mean, you were doing nice things for me, and the only reason you couldn't tell me about them is because I'm a hotheaded idiot who would have told you to shove your kindness and decency where the sun doesn't shine. "
"Could you say that again? I'd like to record it, please?"
I glance over at Wilkin and grin. "You're an idiot."
"Right back at ya. Who survives a day of leaping off a waterfall only to hurt themselves by tripping over a tree trunk that was clearly sticking out of the ground."
I throw my head back. "Me. That's who."
"Exactly," he says with no malice in his voice. No anger. No righteousness. If the situation were reversed, I'd probably be rubbing it in his face. But Wilkin is obviously a much better human than I am.
A few seconds pass. I take another shot at the tea. Still scalding. I put it back down. "My grandma used to put some cool water on top," I explain.
"I see."
A few more seconds pass. "Why?"
"Why what?"
"Why were you doing those nice things for me?" I'm tempted to ask if it's out of guilt, but a voice inside me tells me to cool it, that that would be the worst thing I could possibly say. For one of the very rare times in my life, I listen to that voice.
Wilkin pushes out a long breath, glances over at Reeve who gives what could be the world's smallest nod, then aims those light-brown eyes at me and says, "Because I'm in love with you."