Chapter 59
MAISIE
It seems impossible that a month has already passed since Wilder resigned from his position at OU.
But I guess time flies when you’re floating on a literal cloud and the happiest you’ve ever been. Or… however that saying actually goes.
I’m deliriously, sickeningly out of my mind in love with Wilder Hawthorne.
So in love that it feels like sometimes my heart is actually going to burst from happiness.
Even though the last month has not been all rainbows and butterflies, I wouldn’t have done a single thing differently.
I would choose Wilder no matter what the outcome would be.
He chose to resign from OU the following day after our conversation, and it wasn’t easy for him. Even if he felt like the decision was. Wilder respects Coach Taylor.
But ultimately, he did violate school policies, and they had to report it to HR and document everything. Thankfully, the school chose to accept his quiet resignation without pursuing any formal discipline.
His mother, on the other hand, didn’t go away quietly, as much as we both wished that she would.
She sold the story of our relationship to the tabloids.
And it did spread like wildfire through campus.
Everyone connected the dots that it was actually true and not just gossip, because Wilder had recently resigned.
It made my stomach hurt, reading the headlines and articles from the media. Not only for me, but for Wilder. I hated the way they labeled him and the vile things they said about him.
Like they know the kind of man he is.
All they know is what they see: a past that doesn’t define him, one they will never understand, and a situation that’s not anyone’s business but ours.
The same thing I told anyone who had anything to say about our relationship.
Including… my parents.
In a much nicer, more thoughtful way, of course.
I didn’t blame them for being disappointed that I hid something of this magnitude from them, not at all. But this was between Wilder and me. It’s our life, our relationship, and I don’t owe anything to anyone.
Not my parents, not the congregation, not the people at OU.
This was ours, and no one could take it from us.
Not even the media, despite how hard they tried to spin it.
Thankfully, after a couple of weeks, the story died down when they found something more exciting to latch onto.
The one thing that didn’t work against us is the fact that his mother was arrested on a slew of charges shortly after, not only from the ones that Wilder pressed against her for blackmailing and extorting him for money and for stalking us, proof of which she so graciously provided us with her threats, but also for drug trafficking due to the amount of drugs they discovered in her possession when the police went to arrest her.
I’m calling it karma, but maybe it’s just coincidence this time. Either way, she’s gone for good.
Louisiana’s three-strike law is what ultimately sealed her fate and saved Wilder from more heartache.
This being her fourth drug felony meant that her sentence was life with the possibility of parole.
The justice system here, as flawed as it may be, finally did the right thing as far as she’s concerned.
“Baby, please show me how to work this fucking thing before I throw it outside,” Wilder calls from the kitchen, and I grin, shaking my head when I hear the low curse that follows.
He wanted to figure out the Crock-Pot by himself, so…
I set down the rag I’m using to clean the windows and walk to the kitchen.
Wilder’s standing in front of the Crock-Pot, his dark hair still damp and unruly, and I know him well enough to know at this point that he’s raked his fingers through it a hundred times.
I hold back my giggle, only barely.
He looks more frazzled than I think I’ve ever seen him, his brow furrowed into a tight crease, his shoulders taut as he stares at the Crock-Pot like it’s done something wrong.
I know it’s not a kitchen appliance that’s the real problem here, but I’m not sure that he does.
“Please don’t break my beloved Crock-Pot,” I say as I lift onto my toes and press a sweet kiss to the corner of his lips.
He grunts grumpily.
But… there’s a ghost of a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.
“Yeah, well, I can’t get the fucking thing to work. I’ve pressed every damn button twelve times, and it ju—”
“Wilder.”
His gaze whips to mine, and I lift a brow, my eyes softening as I reach for him, curling my fingers along his forearm. “They’re going to love you.”
I watch as a slow swallow moves down his throat.
The muscle in his jaw working.
His shoulders dropping slightly.
It’s not about the Crock-Pot at all, but my sweet, darling man is actually… nervous.
And he hasn’t quite figured out how to process it.
So he blames the poor, innocent kitchen appliance for not reacting when he pressed the buttons with zero patience because he’s so worked up.
“I promise, it’s going to be fine,” I say.
“This isn’t about meeting your parents, baby. It’s about the fact that the damn thing won’t work. Can’t have dinner if we can’t cook it.”
I lift my shoulder in a shrug. “Then we can order takeout. But not Mr. Changs because Camila loves Mr. Changs, and I already told her we’d get it when they finally get here.”
“How’d you know that Cam likes Mr. Changs?” He cocks his head, and I grin.
“Because we’ve been texting, obviously. I wanted to make sure I had what Lily needs when they come over this week, so I texted her about it, and we’ve been talking ever since.”
Wilder hums, eyeing me warily.
“My apartment is not toddler-proof, and I didn’t know what babies her age even eat or drink besides milk. I needed to prepare. Plus, I wanted to pick up a little present for her from her Uncle WyWy since you didn’t see her during Christmas.”
“Fuck, baby, not you too. Jesus.” Wilder groans, dropping his head back on his shoulders and glaring up at the ceiling. Very dramatically, if I must add. “Anything else. Pick literally anything else. How about Uncle Wilder? Easy to remember.”
“Nope,” I say with a pop of my lips.
And then I reach right past him and press two buttons on the Crock-Pot, and it turns on.
Which makes Wilder shake his head and mutter a curse under his breath.
“Problem solved. See?” I lean back against the counter and slip my arms around his neck. “Take a deep breath for me. I promise you that everything is going to be great, and you have nothing to worry about.”
Yes, tonight is a big deal, but my parents have started to come around some to the idea of us being together.
And even if they didn’t… we’d still be together, so really, there’s no use in worrying over something that’s not going to change.
I want my parents’ approval, but I don’t need it.
What I need is for them to trust that I’m making the right decision for my life and that I’m with someone who respects me and is good to me.
I want them to love the man I’m choosing, but if they don’t, then that’s something they’re going to have to work through.
He finally sighs. “Just your father meeting the man who’s dating his much, much younger daughter. Who probably has a real solid idea that I deflowered her before marriage.”
Smirking, I slowly trail my finger down the center of his chest and over the rows and rows of hard, chiseled muscles on his stomach.
I feel them twitch beneath my touch, and that smirk spreads.
“Should we work on more deflowering? Would that help you relax some?” I slide my hand lower and cup his dick over his pants.
“Mmm. Maybe I should get on my knees and suck all of your worries out.”
Wilder groans. “Jesus. I’m going to fucking hell. Straight down to the bottom.”
“Nah,” I murmur, raking my teeth over my bottom lip. “Daddy will pray for you. Perks of dating the pastor’s daughter.”
When Mama and Daddy arrive later in the day, Wilder’s still anxious and tense. Even after trying to relax him, which turned into an hour-long sex marathon all over every surface in my apartment.
I think it might have actually made it worse?
I’m pretty sure he’s currently hoping my father doesn’t somehow realize that he had me bent over the side of my couch just a couple of hours ago with how hard he’s staring at it.
My father is a pastor, not a mind reader.
Plus, I’d say that it’s going great if you ask me.
“Wilder,” my father says, offering him a small smile that makes me hopeful. “Have you decided what you’re going to do next?”
I slide my hand over his thigh beneath the table and squeeze gently, trying to reassure him.
Even though my parents are… hesitant and still wary about our relationship, they’ll never be rude.
That’s just not how they are. But I think that Wilder thought tonight was going to be an inquisition.
Which, thankfully, is not the case. My parents have asked him things; of course, they want to get to know the man I’m dating, but it hasn’t felt like they have us under a microscope.
Relief floods my chest.
Wilder’s Adam’s apple moves as he swallows.
“I’m currently deciding on that. I’ve been looking into possibly starting a nonprofit for children who are in foster care.
” He clears his throat, and his gaze travels to mine.
I give him a smile and a slight nod, feeling pride swell beneath my rib cage.
“It’s very personal to me. I spent my childhood in a group home, and I think this is where I’m being drawn to. ”
I thought I couldn’t love him any more than I do.
But then one night, while we were lying in the bathtub and I was reading out loud to him like he asks some nights, not always involving spicy tabs, he shared that he had this idea in the back of his mind.
He didn’t know where to start, or if it would even be plausible, but he wanted to help kids like him. The ones who are in a broken system, without love and support and resources the majority of the time. He told me all about the little girl he met that day at the arena.
Kori.
And how he hasn’t been able to stop thinking about her, about what he could do with what he has to help more kids like her. Like him.
He’s got the money, and he’s got the time. Wilder just has to be brave enough to jump.
We talked about how he could tie hockey into it too, his other passion, and we stayed in the bath so long that night that I was shivering, talking about his plans and his dreams.
I fell in love with him a little more that night. And every night since.
“Oh, Wilder, that’s wonderful,” my mother chimes in. The smile on her face is warm and genuine, and it makes me want to cry.
Being able to sit here with Wilder and my parents, and it doesn’t feel strained or uneasy… It means more to me than I realized it could.
Wilder nods and returns the smile. “Thank you, ma’am.”
“Yes, I agree. That’s a very admirable thing to do. If it’s calling to you, you follow it. I’ve always told my baby girl that,” my father says as he looks over at me, his eyes soft. “Let me know if you need any help. I have a few contacts within the city and Mid-City. I’d love to help.”
“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Wilder says. His fingers thread with mine under the table, and he squeezes tightly.
And for the first time today, I feel some of the tension beginning to slip out of him.
After that conversation, dinner passes uneventfully. My parents love the roast Wilder made—thankfully, the Crock-Pot pulled through for him—and now Mama and I are drying the dishes we just washed while he and my father are sitting in the living room, chatting about hockey.
Mama’s shoulder bumps against mine as I finish a bowl. I turn to her and see that she’s smiling.
“He’s handsome, Maisie Grace.”
My cheeks heat. “Mama!”
“What? He is.” She laughs, setting her dish towel onto the counter in front of her. “I could tell how nervous he was.”
“Yeah, he was very nervous. Which is not really at all like him, but I know he wants to know you both and for you to approve.”
Mama’s eyes soften, and she reaches for me, gathering me into her arms. “It’s not that we don’t approve of you dating, honey. It’s just that we’re your parents, and we worry about you. It’s our job.”
I nod.
“I don’t know him well enough yet to say that he’s good enough to deserve my daughter.
My baby girl. But he seems like a nice man, and it’s clear that he cares about you.
That’s enough for me and your daddy to give him a chance.
” She squeezes her arms tight around me, and a sense of relief and comfort has my shoulders sagging.
“If he makes you happy, then that’s what matters to us, sweetheart. ”
My heart squeezes in my chest, my stomach flipping excitedly. It’s not just that I wanted them to approve of Wilder; it’s that I wanted them to see me for the woman that I am now.
Not the girl they’ve always known.
She pulls back to look at me, and her lips turn into a small, teasing smile. “But don’t think I didn’t notice that toothbrush in the bathroom that wasn’t pink.”
Oh shit.
That’s just Wilder’s tired of forgetting it when he stays here more than his own apartment toothbrush.
Not that I’m going to be saying that to my mother.
“Actually, Mama, I think I hear Daddy calling me from the living room.” I wiggle out of her arms and toss her an indulgent smile over my shoulder.
“Mhmmm. We’ll be talking about that later, young lady.”
Yeah, I have absolutely no doubt about that.