Chapter 15
FIFTEEN
Amelia
I can feel the night winding down before Kamden even says it. The easy laughter softening, the buzz settling into something warm and familiar.
“We should do this more often,” Kamden says, lifting his beer. “I always wanted you guys to meet, and I’m so fucking happy you finally did.”
I swallow hard.
Oh, we definitely met.
We’ve migrated to the living room at some point without me fully registering when. Kamden’s sprawled beside me on the couch, relaxed and content. Wilder’s across from us in the chair, one arm draped over the back, posture loose, eyes sharp.
Too sharp.
Kamden pushes to his feet. “Bathroom break,” he announces, disappearing down the hall.
The door clicks shut.
And suddenly Wilder is everywhere.
He crosses the space in two strides, crowding me back against the couch, his mouth crashing into mine like he’s been holding himself back for hours. Which he has. His lips are strong, possessive, claiming. His hand grips my jaw, tilting my face up as his knee slides between my thighs.
A soft moan slips out of me before I can stop it, swallowed by his mouth.
He nips my bottom lip, then sinks his fingers into my hair, tugging just enough to make my pulse spike.
“My place or yours after this?” he murmurs against my mouth.
For a heartbeat, I’m lost, caught in how he makes me feel, how reckless and alive and wanted I am with him this close.
Then reality slams back in.
My eyes fly open. “Wilder! Kamden will see us,” I hiss.
His lips curve into a lazy, dangerous grin. “My place or yours?” he repeats, unfazed.
I glance down the hall, then back at him, my heart pounding so hard it hurts.
“Mine,” I whisper.
He kisses me once more, quick, searing, and then pulls back just enough to look into my eyes.
“Tell me you aren’t more turned on with the excitement of getting caught.”
Fuck.
I am. And he knows it.
But my nerves finally win. “No,” I breathe. “Get back to the chair before he comes out.”
Wilder laughs softly, clearly enjoying this far too much, and slowly moves away. Unhurried. Like there’s nothing to hide.
“Next time,” he murmurs as he sinks back into the chair, not even looking at me, “I’ll make you come sitting at the table.”
The words hit me like a punch.
Heat floods my body, my breath catching as my panties grow damp in exactly the way he intended.
The bathroom door opens.
Kamden drops back onto the couch beside me, glancing over. “You good, Amelia? Your face is flushed.”
“Fine,” I say quickly. “It’s the beer.”
I steal a glance at Wilder.
He’s grinning around his bottle, eyes dark, satisfied.
I stand, stretching just a little, trying to shake off the tight coil of nerves and heat that’s been sitting low in my stomach all night.
“I’m going to head home,” I say. “It’s been a long week, and I’m exhausted.”
Kamden immediately gets to his feet and pulls me into a hug. It’s familiar. Safe. Comforting in a way nothing else ever really is. My brother has always been my rock. The constant when everything else felt shaky.
“I’ll call you tomorrow,” he says. “Let’s set up dinner with Mom and Dad.”
I nod against his shoulder. “Sure. Sounds good.”
When I pull back and reach for my purse, I try to slip past Wilder without looking at him.
He steps directly into my path.
“I had fun tonight,” he says easily. “Getting to know you better. We should all go out sometime.”
My heart drops into my stomach.
What the hell is he doing?
“Hell yeah, great idea,” Kamden agrees instantly, grinning.
I look between them. Kamden’s genuine excitement, Wilder’s teasing, knowing expression. And something sharp twists inside my chest.
“Yeah,” I say tightly. “Sure. Sometime.”
I grab my purse and head for the door before Wilder can make things worse. I don’t look back.
The drive home is a blur of red lights and racing thoughts.
I don’t know why I’m so annoyed but I am. Furious, actually. Because this doesn’t feel like a joke to me. It doesn’t feel light or easy or fun.
I have everything on the line.
My career.
The trust of my brother.
My damn heart.
And it feels like Wilder is treating this like a game.
By the time I pull into my apartment’s parking lot, my hands are tight on the steering wheel. I head upstairs, unlock my door, and step inside, the quiet hitting me all at once.
I pull out my phone.
Me: I’m going to take a rain check for tonight.
His response comes almost immediately.
Wilder: Too late. I’ll be there in a minute.
Fuck.
He left right after me.
I toss my phone onto the counter and grab a bottle of water from the fridge, twisting the cap off and taking a long drink, trying to cool the anger burning through me and the way my body is still wound tight from being near him.
There’s a knock at the door.
I open it and step aside, letting him in.
“No hello kiss?” he asks lightly as he crosses the threshold.
“What the hell are you doing?” I snap.
He stops short, clearly taken aback. “What are you talking about?”
He crosses his arms, watching me carefully.
“Tonight,” I say, the words tumbling out sharp and fast. “You think this is a joke? Throwing out the idea of all of us going out? It’s not funny, Wilder.
I have everything on the line here. Everything.
” My chest tightens. “If this is just some game to you, you can leave. I’m not playing it.
I’m not going to lose everything because Wild Calloway wanted another notch in his bed. ”
He stares at me for a beat.
Then, infuriatingly, he smirks.
“Damn,” he says. “You are hot as hell when you’re pissed.”
I shake my head and point to the door. “Get out.”
“Doc, come on.”
His voice isn’t teasing now. It’s low. Real.
“You think I take this lightly?” he asks. “You think I don’t get consumed by the fact that I could be the reason everything gets fucked up for you?”
He steps closer, and I don’t back away this time. His presence fills the space, steady and solid.
“This isn’t a joke to me,” he continues. “I’m not playing a game.”
Then his arms are around me. Firm, warm, grounding and despite myself, I sink into him. My forehead presses against his chest, my anger unraveling thread by thread.
“You said earlier we never talked about what this is,” he murmurs. “I don’t usually do relationships. It’s been easier that way.” He exhales slowly. “But I’ve never felt for anyone the way I feel about you.”
I stay still, listening.
“You don’t treat me like a star pitcher,” he goes on. “Hell, you don’t even call me Wild. You treat me like Wilder Calloway. Just a guy.”
Something in my chest softens.
The fight drains out of me, but I don’t let go of myself completely. “So what is this?” I ask quietly. “What are we doing?”
He pulls back just enough to look at me, his thumb brushing a piece of hair behind my ear. He grins. Nervous, honest, unguarded.
“I just said I don’t usually do relationships,” he says. “So I’m not going to lie and pretend I know how to do this perfectly. But I want more with you. More than just nights in my bed. More than something casual.”
My breath catches. “You want a relationship?”
He shrugs, vulnerability written all over his face. “If that’s the label you want to put on it, yeah. I want a relationship with you. I want to make you as happy as you make me.”
“We’ve only slept together once,” I point out, not accusing, just trying to keep my feet on the ground.
“Damn, Doc,” he says, lips twitching. “Didn’t take you for the kind that measures a relationship by sex.”
I blush despite myself, a laugh threatening. “You know what I mean. We only know the bare minimum about each other.”
“Then we fix that,” he says easily.
He takes my hand and pulls me toward the couch, sitting beside me instead of looming, his body turned fully toward mine.
“Well,” he says, settling in, eyes locked on mine, “Amelia Bronwyn, tell me about yourself.”
I sit there for a second after he says it. Tell me about yourself. It feels like the room tilts.
Not because it’s a big question.
Because no one ever really asks me that without wanting something useful in return.
I draw a slow breath, still aware of his hand wrapped around mine, steady and warm.
“What do you want to know?” I ask quietly.
He doesn’t hesitate. “What makes you feel safe?”
That hits harder than anything else he’s said tonight.
I look down at our joined hands, my thumb tracing the line of his knuckles. “Consistency,” I admit. “People who show up when they say they will. People who don’t disappear when things get complicated.”
He nods like he’s filing it away. Like it matters.
“And what scares you?” he asks.
I let out a small laugh, more breath than sound. “Letting people close enough to hurt me. Trusting someone who lives in a world where I could be collateral damage.”
His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t interrupt.
“I grew up watching my brother give everything to baseball,” I continue. “And I loved it for him. I still do. But I also saw how easy it is for the game to take more than it gives. I promised myself I’d never lose myself inside someone else’s orbit.”
His grip on my hand is firm, not possessive, just present.
“I don’t want to be another chapter in someone’s highlight reel,” I say softly. “I want to matter.”
“You do,” he says immediately. No hesitation. No swagger.
I look up at him, really look at him.
“And you?” I ask. “What do you want?”
He leans back slightly, considering. “Peace,” he says after a moment. “Something that feels real when everything else feels like noise. Someone who sees me when the lights are off.”
His eyes meet mine, unguarded.
“I don’t know how to do this perfectly,” he adds. “But I know I don’t want to walk away from you.”
The silence between us isn’t heavy anymore. It’s honest.
I squeeze his hand. “Then we go slow.”
A small smile curves his mouth. “I can do slow.”
I arch a brow. “Can you?”
He chuckles. “I can learn.”
I finally laugh, the tension easing from my shoulders as I lean back into the couch.
“Okay,” I say. “Then here’s the first thing you should know about me.”
He turns toward me fully, all attention.
“I don’t do games,” I tell him. “But I do effort.”
He nods, serious now. “Deal.”
And for the first time since this all started, the future doesn’t feel like something waiting to explode.
It feels like something we might actually build.