Chapter 15
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
HUDSON
W hen Wilde came back with the bike, I’d perked up, looking for another chance to tease him and draw him into … well, whatever the fuck we have going on. But he only dumped the bike in the middle of the street and took off again.
It’s been days, and I haven’t seen a glimpse of him. No one has been watching us from the overlook. No one has been messing with our stuff. And when I wake suddenly in the middle of the night, expecting to see him lurking in my room, it’s empty.
I’m not saying that nighttime stalkers are a good thing, but you can’t set a man up to expect one thing and then take it away completely.
It’s fucking rude.
A week ago, I would have said this was a good thing. Now, it’s like someone dragging claws down my back. No way in hell am I letting him ignore me like this .
Thankfully, the doc was right about my ankle, and after a few days of taking it easy, I’m able to put weight on it again.
Hart is pissed off that I scratched up the bike, and he’s only talking to me because I’m injured, whereas Kennedy won’t stop flapping around me like some kind of mother hen. I have to remind myself, daily, that I love my brothers. That the majority of the reason we’re here is for them.
Doesn’t make it any easier when Hart refuses to hand over the keys to the bike so I can go and hunt down Wilde again. It takes me a few days to acknowledge that was a good call. It’s not until my concussion wears off that I realize how bad it was.
“Need anything before I head next door?” Kennedy asks, sticking his worried face into my room.
“I can walk again. I’m fine.”
The reassurance doesn’t do anything to shift the tight lines by his eyes.
“Just go.”
“Okay, but if you need me, yell out. I’ll keep the music off.”
Despite myself, the way he cares gets to me sometimes. It’s one of those rare moments that I remember we really are in this together. The second he disappears, I yell out to him again, and Kennedy’s back, eyebrows perked up like a puppy waiting for a treat.
“Sorry I brought up your exes. It was a dick move.”
Some of his eagerness fades. “Yeah. I get it.”
We’re quiet for a moment.
“Is it really that bad that I want to find someone?” he asks, thumb stroking over the wooden doorframe. We both watch as his nail digs an easy groove into the soft timber.
Is it so bad? Objectively, I guess the answer to that from most people would be no. Seeing him hurt again and again is the part I have an issue with .
“It’s not you wanting to settle down that’s the problem. It’s the way you don’t care who it’s with. You deserve someone who’s worthy of you, Kenny. I don’t say this enough, but you’re a cool guy.”
His lips try to pull into a smile, but there’s still something getting to him. “Why don’t we make a deal, then? If I give up dating for like … six months, you’re not allowed to message Sutton in that time either.”
That deal catches me off guard, mostly because Sutton has been the last thing on my mind. “Ah … okay.”
“I mean it. Even if he messages you, don’t respond. Block him if you have to. I’m not the only one who deserves better.”
Now I’m following. If I don’t reply, Sutton will move on.
Even telling him to fuck off keeps him interested because that’s exactly how messed up our relationship is.
The trade-off is having Kennedy protect himself.
Maybe if the three of us focus on nothing else but this place for six months, we’ll come out the other side less of a mess than we are now.
“Fine. Deal. No contact.”
His hope is hesitant but there. “This will be good for us.”
“Now we have to find a way to get through to Hart.”
Kennedy widens his eyes doubtfully as he digs further into the wood. “Sometimes I think he enjoys being miserable.”
“Maybe. Or maybe he’s forgotten how to be anything else.”
“That can change, can’t it?”
“Of course,” I lie, because if there’s one thing I don’t want, it’s for Kennedy to lose that eternal optimism. Plus, I want to believe it too.
There’s the sound of a car outside, and I sigh and ease myself to my feet. “Speak of the devil.”
“He’s hardly the devil. ”
I pat Kennedy’s shoulder on the way past. “He’s your twin. You have to say that.”
We get to the front door, and I’m expecting Hart to be waiting, attitude radiating from him like always, but our car’s not in sight.
I glance back at Kennedy. “You heard a car, right?”
“I thought I did.”
I’m embarrassed by how eager I am when I turn the other way, expecting to see Wilde parked on the edge of the forest. He’s not there either.
Sunset has already started, and night is creeping in, casting long shadows over the town. It might be a ghost town by name and was slightly creepy when we first got here, but I’ve seen no evidence of actual ghosts. Is it possible Kennedy and I both just hallucinated the same thing at the same time?
“Weird …”
“Maybe Hart forgot something,” I suggest.
Kennedy pulls his phone out to check it. “I’ve got service, I’ll call him.”
Then he stays really still so he doesn’t lose reception as he clicks on Hart’s number and puts the phone on speaker.
“What?” he answers.
“Oh, hey. Just curious when you’ll be?—”
Headlights flash in the distance.
“Is that you now?” Kennedy finishes.
“Is what me now?”
“Coming up the road?”
From the sounds coming down the line, he’s driving.
“No, I’m still an hour out.”
“Then …”
I descend the front steps as the car draws closer.
“What’s going on?” Hart asks.
“Someone’s here. ”
“What?” It sounds like he hits the gas. “Who is it?”
“Not sure. The car looks black, but I can’t see it properly from here.”
It’s growing closer quickly though. The sun seems to set fast out here, where the hills surround us on three sides, which makes this place darker earlier than it should be.
It only takes another minute until the sleek black SUV tears into town and then slows suddenly.
The headlights wash over me as it creeps closer, and then the passenger window slides down.
There are four men inside, from what I can see. The one in the passenger side stares me down, and when they’re close enough, they slow almost to a stop.
“Ah, hey?” I try, but the man doesn’t answer me, and the driver leans over a little so I can see him properly. The lights from inside the car light up his face. He’s handsome with a lot of black hair, empty eyes, and teeth tattooed across his mouth and onto both cheeks. Like a skeleton mouth.
“Cool tattoos,” I manage, trying not to recoil from the car.
Skeleton man lets out a quick laugh, then stomps on the gas. I watch them leave town and hit the gravel road before their brake lights disappear into the trees.
Who the fuck were they? Based on the whole five-second interaction, I doubt they’re here by accident. Are they friends of Wilde’s? They didn’t look friendly, but how the hell would I know. Wilde doesn’t exactly look friendly either.
“What’s happening?” Hart’s voice coming from Kennedy’s phone snaps me back to the present.
“Who the fuck were they?”
Kennedy looks like he isn’t sure of anything. “Think they’re lost?”
“No way. Those weren’t the faces of people who were lost. ”
“Can someone please tell me what the fuck is happening?” Hart demands.
Kennedy turns back to his phone, but my attention is still on the road.
Should we warn Wilde? I might not like the guy, but I don’t want him dealing with whoever the fuck that was alone.
Our relationship is a complicated mix of incompatible goals, unhealthy sexual tension, and neither of us being able to stand the other, and yet, I want to go anyway.
Only partially because this gives me an excuse to seek him out.
I stalk over to Kennedy and take the phone from him. “Where are the keys to the bike?”
Hartwell’s disdain comes loud and clear down the line. “None of your business.”
“Where the fuck are they?”
“There’s no way in hell you’re getting back on that thing.”
Kennedy pulls a face at me that immediately looks guilty. “You’ve got broken fingers.”
“Don’t need them to ride.” I hold my hand out to Kennedy. “I know you have them.”
His eyes flick to the phone, and Hart groans. “For fuck’s sake, Kenny. You can’t keep a secret to save your life.”
“He doesn’t like to lie,” I defend. “That’s not a bad thing.”
“Whatever. I’m still over half an hour away and can’t stop you from being reckless. Go for a ride. Kill yourself. See if I care.”
I hold my hand out to Kennedy, and he looks like he wants to argue for a second before he pulls the keys from his back pocket.
The thing is, Kennedy could easily stop me if he wanted to.
We’ve wrestled before for fun, and while I’ll never admit it, I really did try to win. He’s just a strong motherfucker.
Luckily for me, he’s also too sweet for his own good .
We all fall silent as another car approaches, and this one does the same slowdown to stare at us before taking off again.
“Was that another car?” Hart barks.
“It was.” I head for the dirt bike. “I’ll be back as soon as I can.”
They don’t bother to argue with me. I guess they know me too well for that.
My ankle doesn’t love holding my weight for as long as it has been, but as soon as I get the bike started and take off, it gets relief at last.
I have no idea where I’m going as I hit the dirt path, but I figure if I found Wilde’s house once, I can do it again. It’s almost completely dark now, and as I round another bend, I spot something glowing through the trees. Like lights, but a fair distance from the gravel road.
I pull to a stop and try to judge the distance, wondering if that’s where those cars ended up.
Well, I won’t find out from up here.
I take the first track to the right and follow it as far as I can before it branches off again and again. I’m going deeper into the forest, loudly announcing my approach and trying to keep the lights in sight while I deal with the trees and strangled bushes blocking my view.
The closer I get, the less it looks like cars and the more it looks like something bigger. I finally find a wider path, wide enough for a car, that looks like it will lead me in the right direction.
I slow as I approach, taking in the solid, dark timber wall that’s maybe fifteen feet high and the chaos of bulky SUVs, trucks, and vans parked right beside it.
What the fuck is going on?
I park the bike and climb off, pacing closer until I find a break in the wall that must serve as the entrance. Two people are standing there talking to Booker, and as I watch, he nods, and they pass, entering the weird building.
“Hey, Doc,” I say, stepping out of the shadows. He doesn’t look at all surprised to see me.
“Sorry, Hudson. It isn’t time to remove your stitches yet. Come back later.”
“You know I’m not here about that.” My gaze climbs the large exterior wall. “What is this?”
“What is what? Life? The universe? Our creation?”
I pin him with a glare. “What’s going on inside? Just behind you. Why are all these cars here? Is it a party or something?”
Booker’s lips tremble. “Or something.”
“Want to be more specific?”
“Not especially.”
“Can you anyway?”
That sweet face lights up. “It must be so irritating for you not to know.”
Unable to stop myself, I say, “Considering I should know what’s happening in my own town, yeah. It’s fucking irritating.”
His eyes narrow a little while his smile stays in place. “Wilde’s town.”
“Where is he anyway?”
“If he wanted you to know, he would have told you.”
He can’t exactly tell me anything if I haven’t seen him. “He hasn’t been around since I got injured.” I force a casual shrug. “Maybe he’s backing down.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath.”
I’m putting an end to this. I go to step around Booker and walk inside, but he immediately blocks my path.
“You’re not on the list.”
“Check it again. ”
“Don’t need to. I wrote it.”
I bite back the need to swear at him. I’m going to get through this conversation without getting angry and insulting him. I can do it. “Then it shouldn’t be so hard for you to add me. Hudson Bellamy. Two L s.”
“Damn, forgot my pen.”
I go to sidestep him again, but Booker’s hand snaps tight around my right wrist with a strength I’m not expecting. He lifts my injured hand in front of my face. “Don’t make me hurt you again,” he whispers.
“I don’t see the big deal with letting me past.” My voice is bordering on anger and pain, but I somehow keep it steady.
“The big deal is that this is a closed event. You were not invited. So I suggest you leave before things get nasty.” He releases my wrist with a shove backward, and I stumble a step.
“Can I at least talk to Wilde, then?”
Booker studies me. “No.”
My fingernails are digging into my good palm as I talk myself out of punching him.
“Not here,” he adds, and that gets my anger under control. “But I can tell you where he’ll be after this.”
“And where’s that?”
“Wayward. As soon as he’s done, he’ll head down there. He does every night that we have a—one of these events on—for as long as I can remember.”
Wayward. It’s two hours away.
Still, it looks like I’m not going to get anything out of Booker, and the town is bringing back a memory.
Wayward is where Wilde goes to hook up. It’s a weird bit of information to retain, but I’m glad I did because I have an idea forming.
And Wilde is going to hate it.