Chapter 52
MAISIE
In the two weeks that have passed since the day at Crescent House, things have been blissfully quiet and uneventful.
Honestly, exactly what we needed. Calmness to settle around us so we could settle with all that had happened.
Thanksgiving break at OU is officially underway. Classes are out, and campus is like a ghost town, which means that I’ve had the last week to do absolutely nothing.
I’ve spent most of my days reading and napping with Sebastian, baking and hanging out with Lennon, and every other free minute has been with Wilder when he wasn’t working.
Every night since that day at Crescent House, we’ve spent together. Instead of leaving, he stays.
He wraps me in his arms and pulls me against his chest and holds me until I fall asleep, even though I’ve now learned that sleep doesn’t come easily to him.
When it does… he has nightmares.
I learned that the first night he stayed over, exhausting my body until I literally passed out on top of him with him still inside of me.
Sometime later, I woke to Wilder crying out in his sleep, covered in a sheen of sweat, his skin clammy as I reached for him. He thrashed and kicked like he was fighting something off.
I was sobbing by the time I was finally able to wake him.
It broke my heart for the man I love, and for the boy that he once was.
The one who still relives the past at night when he closes his eyes.
He didn’t say a word about what happened, but he held me while I cried for him, his strong arms circled around me like he was trying to shield me from whatever was haunting him.
Before I fell back asleep, I felt his big, powerful body shake, and I just held on tighter.
Tighter than ever before.
I knew that even after the day that he cracked open and let me in the smallest amount, it wasn’t going to magically heal anything.
I didn’t expect him to suddenly split open and give me every piece of himself.
But I know now that he’s trying. I can see how hard he’s trying.
He’s trying to give me pieces of himself, little by little, after he’s spent so long burying it all inside. It’s hard for him, but he’s still trying.
And I’m so proud of him. I tell him that each time I think about it, which is often, and I remind him that he doesn’t have to do it alone.
Usually, I spend my school breaks at home with my family, but this time, I decided to stay on campus, because truthfully, I didn’t want to leave Wilder.
I obviously could not tell my parents that. Instead, I made up an excuse about wanting to spend more time at home with Sebastian, and it wasn’t a lie. I do.
But… with Wilder too.
I did go home for Thanksgiving supper yesterday so I could see my family and reassure my mama that I am actually okay, but then I came back to my apartment afterward.
Today, though, is just for Wilder and me.
Our first holiday together.
Coincidentally, also one of the only days aside from actual Thanksgiving that the team has off from practice or games. Apparently, hockey doesn’t stop… even for national holidays.
When I asked Wilder what he wanted to do, he said he didn’t care as long as it was with me, and yes, my heart nearly flew out of my chest.
“I can’t believe I just sat through two hours of that,” he grumbles, his chest vibrating beneath where I’m sprawled across him in his bed.
Scoffing, I lift my head to look at him. “I can’t believe you don’t like The Covenant. It’s a classic. You have so much to catch up on; it’s my job to make sure you’re watching them all.”
“Mmm… yeah, don’t think I’m missing very much, baby.” He chuckles.
Our version of Thanksgiving is binge-watching movies on his brand-new TV that I’m almost a hundred percent certain he got only for me.
It’s been the very best day I’ve had in a long time, and we’ve done literally nothing but lie in bed, watch movies, and just be together with zero interruptions. No classes or practices.
No phone calls, or emails, or classwork.
Nothing but the two of us.
“Not that I could hear the last thirty minutes over the sound of your stomach growling, Sunshine. C’mon. Let’s go get some food.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, Coach, but you promised me not one but two orgasms after this movie. It’s time to pay up.”
“Food first. Then fucking. I can’t do the things I promised to do to you if you’re starving to death. I need to go grocery shopping, I guess.”
“Or… we could get Mr. Changs?”
Wilder shakes his head, rolling his eyes at my obsession with my favorite restaurant, but he’s already walking to his keys, and I already know that I’ve gotten my way.
What a man.
What a freaking man.
My man.
An hour later, we’re back at Wilder’s apartment, walking across the parking lot with the goods secured.
It dawns on me right at this moment while walking beside him, his large hand curled around mine, fingers intertwined, doing something so domestic and so normal, that the perfect Thanksgiving isn’t dressing up, spending the entire day in the kitchen preparing a dozen different foods, and playing nice with family you only see twice a year.
The perfect Thanksgiving is ’90s movie marathons, my favorite fat pants, takeout from the best Chinese restaurant in NOLA, and the hottest man on the planet.
Who is mine.
I can’t seem to stop thinking about the fact that he’s mine.
And also the food.
Because yes, fine, he was right. A taaaad bit. About the whole no-orgasms-until-sustenance thing.
I need food to replenish all the excessive energy I’ve been burning.
“My God, my mouth is actually watering. I need that fried gyoza, or I’m going to die.” I groan when a waft fills my nose, triggering an immediate growl from my stomach.
“Can’t have you dying on me, ba—”
The words die on his tongue as he suddenly stops beside me so quickly that I stumble backward a step because of his hold on my hand. The sound of the paper takeout bag in his hand hitting the concrete shakes me to my core.
He’s gone completely rigid, every muscle in his body tense and coiled tight, frozen completely in place, his face nearly ashen.
Like the day at Crescent House.
And I don’t understand what’s happening, what’s caused this sudden reaction out of him.
“Wilder?”
Suddenly, he snaps out of it, like hearing me call his name is what brought him back, and he tugs hard on my hand, his nostrils flaring, the expression on his face morphing.
“Maisie. Get behind me.”
Now, I’m afraid. I’ve been too focused on him to even notice the woman who’s standing just ahead of us between two vehicles in the direction that he’s staring. She’s what’s caused him to react this way.
I’m confused an—
“Maisie!” he yells, causing me to jump, to flinch away from the sound, and he realizes that, his fingers tightening around my hand but his voice lowering, softer now. “Baby, please. I need you to listen to me.”
I don’t argue.
Not when I feel the unease rolling off him and the frantic tone of his voice.
I have no idea who she is, but clearly, he’s worried about me enough to place himself in front of me, like I need protecting from her.
Stepping over the bag, I do as he says, moving behind him. I wrap my hand around his forearm and hold on because I’m scared, but I don’t know what I should be doing.
I mean, should I call the police?
Is this a crazy fan? Some hockey-obsessed woman who’s somehow found out where he lives?
“Wilder…” the woman says as she cautiously approaches closer, and I just have this feeling, this ominous gnawing in my gut that I can’t place, that I can’t seem to put my finger on.
He reaches for me, grabbing my hand so tightly that it almost hurts, moving over slightly until he’s completely in front of me. I have to peek around his bicep to even see her.
Her hair is long and unkempt, the greasy, stringy pieces falling in her eyes. Eyes that are glassy and dull. Lifeless even.
And she can’t seem to stand still. She bounces on the balls of her feet, her eyes darting from Wilder, around the parking lot, to me, but never in the same place for long.
When she reaches up to fiddle with the collar of her shirt, I can’t help but notice how dirty her clothes are, stained and streaked with dirt.
“Get the fuck away from me.” Wilder says each word slowly, with an eerie calmness that doesn’t match the venom behind them or the tension in his body.
It makes my stomach dip, and instinctively, I reach for my phone, which is in my pocket.
Something’s not right.
No, something is really, really, really wrong.
I’ve never seen Wilder this way, and I’m afraid to the point that my hands are shaking as I hold on to him.
The woman laughs, the sound devoid of any humor at all. “Baby, that’s no way to talk to your mama.”
Oh my God.
This… This is Wilder’s mother?