Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Wilder
I stretch out my fist, feeling the ache in my fingers from punching Wesley in the face after I’d already hit the drunken idiot from the bar.
Tonight might be a new record for how much trouble I’ve gotten myself into in recent years.
Admittedly, I shouldn’t have hit the bastard while he was in uniform, but he made my blood white-hot the moment he called Delilah a whore.
Fucker deserved it.
It’s one thing to retaliate against me, but he knew what he was doing by setting me off at that moment.
He wanted me to hit him.
Once they take my fingerprints and mugshot, Sheriff Wagner has me writing down my full statement since Wesley isn’t innocent in this either. Apparently, this is his third strike, so I’m not taking all the blame.
Still, considering what I did, I’m lucky the sheriff doesn’t make me rot in a cell all weekend. Perks of him knowing my family helps. My parents are charitable when it comes to police fundraisers and to small businesses in town. Our ranch and retreat attract tourists, which helps bring in a lot of business to the local shops.
Even in small towns, it comes down to politics and money.
I’ll see the judge on Monday, he’ll give me a fine, and then tell me what the charges will be. Sheriff Wagner warned me to bring a lawyer, so now I have to tell my dad so he can call the family attorney and make sure he shows up on time.
That’s going to be super fun.
Wesley could push for an assault and battery charge, but all they have to do is watch his body cam to know I’m telling the truth about his inappropriate name-calling.
The sheriff let it slip that their policy for field sobriety tests is to call for backup. And since he wasn’t even supposed to be on duty, he never called it in or followed protocol.
So if he’s smart, he won’t dig himself into a deeper grave, but Wesley’s proved he’s not.
Either way, I’m not worrying about that now when I have Delilah in my bed.
“I woulda been fine to drive you and go back home so I could sleep in my own room,” she mumbles when I tuck her underneath the covers.
With one eye open and the other fighting not to close, I snort at her delusion.
“But then we wouldn’t be able to talk about that kiss,” I taunt, sitting next to her.
Groaning, she buries her head in the pillow. “How about you tell me why you have beef with Wesley instead?”
I blow out a breath because I knew she’d eventually bring that up. “I slept with his wife.”
Her eyes pop open, as does her mouth. “Jesus Christ. Why’d you do that?”
“I didn’t know she was married!” I throw my arm up. “She’s not from here and wasn’t wearin’ a ring. Plus, it was like two years ago. Dude needs to let it go.”
She rolls her eyes. “Would you be able to let it go if someone fucked your wife?”
I raise a brow at her question because did she not witness my response to someone calling her a horrible name? Or someone spilling beer on her? My reaction to someone sleeping with my wife would be ten times worse.
The guy would be in a coma needing a machine to push air into his lungs.
“We’re not talkin’ about hypotheticals here. Wesley puts the blame on me instead of where it should be.” I smirk, then add, “Himself for not being able to properly please his woman.”
“Just when I thought you were gonna say somethin’ smart.”
“Oh, c’mon. You can’t tell me I’m wrong. Wesley’s an arrogant douche and his wife pickin’ me to cheat on him knocked his ego six feet under. Trust me, if she had slept with some average Joe from a coffee shop, he wouldn’t be so pissed.”
“Wow…the humbleness just floats off you.”
“I am humble. But I’m also honest.”
“Interestin’ way to describe your ego but okay.” She turns toward me on her side, folding her hands underneath her cheek. I can’t resist grabbing the loose strand of hair that falls over her face and tucking it behind her ear.
“Now it’s your turn to be honest. Why’d you kiss me and then freak out about me not wantin’ to fuck you in the front seat of your truck?”
She squeezes her eyes and releases a deep sigh. “Considerin’ everythin’ that’s happened tonight and how I waited four hours for you to get released, I’m gonna plead the fifth. I’m also not in the mood to talk about that right now.”
Grinning, I nod. “Fair enough. Will you at least listen to what I have to say then? You don’t have to respond, just hear me out.”
She lifts her shoulder. “Make it quick. You have two minutes before I fall asleep.”
“I’m anythin’ but quick, Delly…” Her nickname slips for the second time tonight and her gaze lowers to my lips when I say it.
I think she likes it.
“I’m not sure what enticed you to kiss me tonight or why you felt weird about it afterward, but I just wanna make it clear in case your brain is confused that I was in no way rejectin’ you. But public sex ain’t somethin’ I’m tryin’ to add to my rap sheet. I’m in enough trouble as it is…”
And no random hookups is what I promised my therapist.
Not that Delilah would ever be a random hookup, but it wouldn’t have ended the way I’d want because she would’ve felt remorseful and ashamed as soon as it was over. And I know that because I’d feel those same things when I used sex as an outlet.
Dr. Branson wants me to challenge myself on making real connections with women before falling into bed with them. Instead of using sex as a distraction, he wants me to focus on getting to know someone and only getting intimate if feelings are involved.
So far, I’ve gone twelve months without it—a record since I started being sexually active back in high school.
Delilah giggles with a little snort and it’s the cutest thing ever. I can tell she’s exhausted and fighting sleep.
“It’s good that you stopped us. I kissed you for the wrong reasons. I’ve not been myself lately, or rather, since my dad died. Between not ridin’ as much as I used to and the grief suffocatin’ me, I haven’t been managin’ my emotions in a healthy way.”
“I know a thing or two about that.” I lick my lips, wishing I could lean down and brush mine against hers. “Looks like we both need an outlet.”
She arches a suspicious brow.
“A healthy one,” I correct. Perhaps kickboxing would be a good activity to take up.
For her too.
I noticed a shift after her dad’s death and should’ve figured that was the reason for her mood and behavior changes. There’s no saying how I’d act out if I lost one of my parents or siblings. I’d probably lose my damn mind.
Delilah’s close to her family and after watching her dad suffer for years, I’m sure she’s feeling a mixture of emotions.
“I miss ridin’, but I don’t think I wanna trick ride professionally anymore. It’s all I’ve known for the past seven years, and it kept my mind busy, but now I need to figure out who I am without it.”
“I’m sure you will. That shit takes time, so give yourself some grace. You’re allowed to grieve and just be in your feelings for a while. There’s no rush.”
“Yeah, but I feel guilty, too,” she confesses. “Guilty that I wasn’t home to help more or there to keep my dad company. Guilty that I feel so angry at him even though I knew he was sufferin’ and is in a better place now. But mostly guilty that I’m still alive but not really livin’ because of how lost and empty I feel. The hole in my heart gets bigger every day.”
Tears fall down her cheeks and when she closes her eyes, I swipe the pad of my thumb underneath to catch them.
“I find some peace knowin’ he’s no longer in pain, but that doesn’t always take away mine,” she adds just above a whisper.
Mr. Fanning was in a wheelchair for the past eight years after a tractor accident took one of his legs. He suffered from chronic phantom limb pain. There’s no cure, only temporary treatments, and he dealt with it daily. It fucked with his mental health. He spiraled into a deep depression and severe anxiety. As the years went on, he didn’t even want to leave his house anymore.
One day, he couldn’t bear it anymore and overdosed on pain meds.
By the time he got to the hospital, it was too late.
It was the wake-up call I needed to take my mental health seriously and seek therapy. After witnessing how distraught their family was and the aftereffects of his death, I knew I needed to make a change. Waylon begged me for years to get help, and I knew he was right but never wanted to admit it.
I didn’t want my family to go through that kind of pain and grieve my self-inflicted death in the event I couldn’t stop myself from cutting or taking an alternate way out. There’s been a couple instances where I cut too deep and nearly bled out. I’ve had to get blood transfusions to save my life. When I get to that point, there’s almost nothing to pull me out of it until I pass out.
Doing that to my family feels worse than horrific thoughts battling for my attention and I don’t want them to have to go through that again.
I especially didn’t want my twin brother to feel like he lost half his soul because that’s exactly how I’d feel if I lost him.
Going to therapy and trying antidepressants is something I can control when for years I felt like I had none. It’s not easy and doesn’t “fix” everything, but it’s helping me take the right steps to restrain from unhealthy coping mechanisms.
Tonight I’ve learned Delilah getting messed with or spoken to badly is a trigger for my anger.
Not that I’ll apologize for reacting, but I can work on how fast my temper blows up and think about the consequences before I do something stupid.
Leaning down, I press my lips to her forehead and then rest mine against hers. I love that she feels safe enough with me to let out her emotions and I want to keep it that way. I have a feeling being the oldest child, like me, she doesn’t have many opportunities for someone to be there for her the way she’s always there for others.
“You should get some sleep. We can talk some more tomorrow,” I tell her.
The glow of the side table lamp casts over her beautiful face. Her eyes close and she hums out a response. “Mmkay.”
But then her gaze finds mine again. “Wait, where’re you sleepin’?”
“On the couch.”
“Are you sure? I feel bad but also your bed is so comfy, so I don’t feel that bad.”
I chuckle as she sinks deeper into the mattress. “It’s fine. I’ve crashed there hundreds of times.”
Plus, I like that my bed will smell like her after she leaves.
My spare room is mostly random shit. I never got a bed for it because I never needed one.
“Good night, Delilah. Sweet dreams.” Standing, I kiss her forehead again and then click off the lamp.
“Night,” she murmurs softly.
“WILDER GARRETT HOLLIS!”
“Oh fuck,” I mutter at the same time Waylon snaps his gaze to me. He’s mucking the stall next to me.
“What the hell did you do?” he asks.
It’s rare for our mother to scream at us, even more rare to drop our full names—it’s usually Dad—but it was only a matter of time before she found out.
“You got arrested last night? When were you gonna tell me?” She stands in front of the stall gate with hands on her hips.
“Uh…now?” I flash her my boyish grin that usually gets me back into her good graces. Although I’m a fully grown man, Mom still sees me as a sixteen-year-old boy who can’t stay out of trouble.
I glance at my twin, who looks less than amused. “I thought you were with Delilah?”
“She was there,” I confirm.
“What’d you do?”
I don’t get the chance to respond before Mom continues. “Betty Fields told Miss McWilliams that you beat up one of Sheriff Wagner’s deputies and put him in the hospital!”
I roll my eyes at the exaggeration. Good ole rumor mills are already spreading misinformation.
He gapes. “You did what ?”
“That’s not entirely true…” I lean the rake against the stall. “I punched Wesley, only once , and he hit his head on the cement. He has a concussion, but he’ll be fine.”
Mom’s eyes are wide with fury and her cheeks are bright red. “Have you lost your mind? Who raised you?”
Waylon snorts and then quickly hides his face when Mom scowls at him.
“He’s gonna press charges!” she exclaims, crossing her arms. “Why on God’s green earth would you hit a deputy?”
“He was harrassin’ Delilah and then called her a whore! I knocked him out on his ass because he deserved it. Dad woulda done the same thing if any man spoke to you that way.”
“You father would do it out of love, not spite.”
Arching a brow, I stare at her in silence until it dawns on her.
“Oh, Wilder…” She sighs, resting a hand on her chest.
“What?” Waylon asks, clearly missing the obvious.
“Nothin’.” I retrieve the rake and go back to work. “I’ll go in front of a judge tomorrow and deal with the consequences. If Wesley wants to press charges, then he risks gettin’ himself in more trouble too,” I say without explaining all the details.
Sheriff Wagner can be a hard-ass on many things, but one thing’s for sure—you talk badly to a woman in his town, he ain’t letting you off the hook with only a slap on the wrist.
Considering the Fannings have a soft spot in his cold, black heart, I’d be surprised if he lets Wesley off the hook at all.
He was there when Mr. Fanning got hurt and saw him fighting for his life under that tractor that took his leg.
The following year, he was the first one to arrive at their house when Harlow was unconscious after being assaulted by one of the intruders. She had two broken legs, cracked ribs, and was put on life support due to swelling in her brain.
Then, on the day Harlow was kidnapped, he was the one who found the two guys in the barn after Waylon and I rescued her. Harlow took a bat and beat the living shit out of the one guy who was trying to kill her, and I shot the other, who was using a paintball gun to keep us out.
She was bruised and banged up but made a full recovery.
He knows their family has been through hell and back.
And Delilah had to witness most of it. She stayed home for years instead of getting her own place because her dad and sister needed her. Their mom’s a nurse and works twelve-hour shifts, so someone always needed to be home.
With the full realization of how much their family has been through, I think a kickboxing class is just what Delilah needs. Or maybe a rage room where she can smash everything and anything she wants until all the weight of the stress and grief lifts off her chest.
“You’re lucky the sheriff didn’t lock you up all weekend,” Mom says.
“Trust me, I know. Delilah waited while I got processed and then I drove us back to my place.”
“She’s there now?” Waylon asks.
“Yeah, she was exhausted. I didn’t want her to take me home and then drive herself back to town that late.”
Mom grins, then pats my arm. “See, now that’s the Southern gentleman I raised, who makes sure a woman is safe.”
“Safe in his bed …” Waylon muses under his breath, but I hear him.
“Thanks, Ma. I’m gonna check on her during my lunch break.”
“Alright. Well, you better talk to your father afterward because he’s not happy with you either. I’ll call John so he meets you there in the mornin’.”
Figured he wouldn’t be.
“Will do. Thanks, Mom.”
She leans in to hug me, and I wrap an arm around her, then kiss her cheek.
“Does she know?” Mom asks softly.
I lift my shoulder because it’s more complicated than that.
“You should tell her before it’s too late.”
As if it’s that easy.
“I’ll try,” I admit.
“See y’all at supper tonight,” she says, waving at us while she walks out of the barn.
Every Sunday night, my siblings and I go to our parents’ house for dinner. Everyone has busy schedules between their families and working on the ranch, so we use this time to catch up.
My grandmother and younger cousin, Mallory, also live with my parents, which means when everyone’s there—including my siblings’ partners and kids—it’s jam-packed. Mom sets up two large tables between the kitchen and dining room, but we still step on each other’s feet with how crammed it is.
Gramma Grace loves to bake and cook with Mom, so they put on a whole feast. Afterward, they bring out scrapbooking supplies and everyone works on a few pages while they eat dessert.
Since Waylon and I have evening chores at the retreat barn, I don’t usually stay after dinner, but at least once a month I try to stick around because it makes Mom happy.
Once my half of the stalls are mucked and water buckets refilled, I take my lunch break. Trail ride tours are usually at ten in the morning and four in the afternoon, but once it cools down, we only do them once per day at two.
I don’t mind doing them twice a day during the summer since the trees provide shade throughout the trails, but during the winter, we have to bundle up to avoid freezing our asses.
But that means less work and more time to get shit done.
“Something goin’ on between you and Delilah?” Waylon asks when I pull out my keys and walk toward my truck.
“Like what?” I play dumb because he doesn’t need to know. I’ve gone this long without telling him about our past, it’s easier at this point if the truth never comes out.
“I dunno. You tell me,” he says, following me outside. “She’s never slept over before, has she?”
I spin on my boots, facing him, and he nearly collides into me. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. And I slept on the couch, so you can stop lettin’ your imagination run wild.”
He shrugs, then folds his arms over his chest. “Alright, just checkin’.”
“Why? You’d take issue if there were?” I fire back.
“I don’t want her to get hurt. She’s gone through a lot, especially this past year.”
“I’m aware of that since I’m the one who’s been with her almost every weekend. The last thing I wanna do is cause her more issues, which is why I told her I was done going out and set her free of babysittin’ me.”
Saying those words again causes my chest to tighten. I won’t have any excuses to see her unless I make up a reason.
“Well, that was noble of you.” He grins. “Harlow says she hardly hears from her and when they celebrated their dad’s birthday, she barely spoke a word.”
“She’s grievin’,” I remind him.
“Yeah, Harlow too. I hate that for ’em.”
“I could tell somethin’ was off last night even before the bar fight?—”
“There was a bar fight, too?” he exclaims.
Shit . No one else knew about that.
“The asshole who spilled his beer on Delilah swung at me and I gut-punched him.” I wave him off. “It’s no biggie. He walked away with all his teeth and limbs.”
Waylon snorts, rolling his eyes.
“Anyway…we’re just friends. So you don’t haveta worry about me doin’ anything to her.”
Even as I speak the words, they sound wrong coming out of my mouth.
Especially since she kissed and begged me to touch her, I want to be much more than friends .