Chapter 21
CHAPTER
TWENTY-ONE
HUDSON
W hen I wake up to find the front door busted open on one of the houses we’ve torn apart, I know Wilde is back. Apparently, our sex only held him off for so long.
I creep inside the gutted building, all exposed wooden frames and stripped-back flooring, to find the line of tools we’d had yesterday is no longer sitting where I left them. And it’s no great mystery where they’ve gone.
Fucking Wilde.
I kick the toe of my boot into the filthy floor.
What do we do now? With no tools, there’s no work, but those fuckers were expensive.
Maybe Wilde thinks he’s being cute, but this game is wearing thin, and when my brothers see what we’re missing, they’re not going to be happy.
It’s bad enough that I banged up the bike we bought; now the guy I fucked less than a week ago has stolen our prized possessions.
They’re going to kill me .
Before they wake up, I duck back into our house as fast as my sore ankle will let me move, grab the bike keys, and take off again.
The motor kicks to life with a low rumble, and then I’m off.
My first stop is Wilde’s house, but it’s empty, and so is the swimming hole I followed him to the other day.
I check down by Booker’s place, the giant building where they have Peril matches, and get lost more times than I can count.
How they keep track of where anything is out here is a mystery, but I keep following trails that lead to other trails, and thankfully, the bike is loud enough that it scares off any wildlife before I come across it.
Apparently, it also scares off humans because I don’t catch sight of anyone.
No Wilde, no Booker, and neither of the other men I’ve seen with him.
The forest is exactly as deserted as it’s supposed to be, and it’s the first time I wish it wasn’t.
If I don’t get back with all of our tools, I might as well not come back at all.
I’ve traveled further down toward the river, judging by the sounds of birds and softly moving water. It’s the deepest I’ve come yet, that I can remember, and even if I have no clue where the hell I am, I’m pretty sure if I follow the river, it will take me back to Old End.
And just, I dunno, let my brothers take a swing at me, I guess.
Maybe this will be the thing that finally makes them pack the car up to go.
Because we can replace the tools, but if we have to keep replacing everything that we buy, this place will bankrupt us. Borrowing against the business, again and again and again, will reach a point where it’s not sustainable.
This place was supposed to save us. Not ruin us.
Maybe Hartwell is right.
Maybe life was as good as it was going to get for us.
I turn to follow the river, but the second I look up, I almost jump out of my fucking skin as I pull the bike to a fast stop and land heavily on my sore ankle.
But that’s not what catches my attention.
“Holy shit .”
There’s an enormous cat blocking the way. It’s spotty, with tufts on its ears, golden eyes, and lips pulled back to expose tiny, razor-sharp teeth. It’s on all fours, and the fur along its back is prickled as it watches me through the light mist that clings to everything around here.
I think it’s a bobcat, and I have no idea if those things are dangerous or not, but I’m not in a hurry to find out.
Especially when it takes a menacing step forward and lets out a demon sound, halfway between a hiss and a yowl.
“ Fuck .” My heart is thrumming against my ribs as I yank the bike around and hit the gas. I tear through the trees, paranoia creeping over me that the thing is hot on my heels and too chickenshit to glance back and check.
I refuse to be scared, but the instinct to put distance between me and that thing fills my head as I beg to find the gravel road without another accident, and somehow, luck is on my side for the first time since I moved to this hellhole.
The second the front wheel hits gravel, I lean on the accelerator and take my first real breath since I saw the beast. We’re in the middle of nowhere.
Wilde even talked about bears. But knowing there are things out there that could eat your face and actually seeing one of them are two very different things.
And that cat definitely wanted to eat my face.
I reach town, heart thrumming, and burn rubber against the road as I slide to a stop in front of our house. It’s not until I climb off the bike that I let myself look backward and confirm the road behind me is clear.
Because of course it fucking is .
“Where have you been?” Kennedy asks, almost like he doesn’t want the answer.
I rest the helmet on the handlebars before I can launch it into the wall and dig my fingers through my hair instead. I’m fucking pissed that the stupid animal scared me off. I’m pissed I couldn’t find anyone. Pissed that the tools are gone and I didn’t get them back.
Pissed that we’re dealing with all of this in the first fucking place, and there’s nothing I can do about any of it.
“They stole our fucking tools. All of them. Gone. And I couldn’t find a single person to fucking scream at, until a stupid bobcat got in my way and practically chased me out of there.”
“Our tools?” Kennedy asks, looking at the house we’re renovating with concern, but before I can answer him, Hart takes over.
“A bobcat chased you? Really? That’s what you want us to believe?”
I stare at him for too long. “That’s what happened.”
“Sure. That’s why you’re a mess and not because you fucked Wilde again.”
I want to strangle him, so I turn away sharply and toss him a “fuck you” instead.
“Did you at least trade a hammer for a hammering?”
“I didn’t fuck Wilde, so stop being an asshole. I tried to find him to get our stuff back.”
“And I believed you until you brought up a bobcat. They stay clear of people, so there’s no way in hell one chased you.”
“Maybe it had rabies.”
“Doubtful.”
I throw the motorcycle keys at his fucking head, but Hart knows me too well and catches them before they can hit. “You go for a ride, then. I hope it finds you and bites a hole in your neck.”
He gives me a rare smile. “Think there’s a chance? ”
“Maybe instead of fighting again,” Kennedy says, like his patience is about to snap, “you could focus on the fact that with no fucking tools, there’s no work.”
Guilt that I really shouldn’t be feeling trickles its way past my anger. This is all on Wilde, and sleeping with him hasn’t changed that he doesn’t want us here. I lean face-first against the shiplap building, like blocking out the sight of everyone will somehow make this latest disaster disappear.
“Are we finally at the point of going home?” Hart asks.
“No,” I grumble, wood eating my word.
“I don’t want to,” Kennedy admits. “But how much more can we take? Maybe we need to cut our losses.”
“Or maybe,” I say, pushing back and turning to them, “you could both back me up for once. I’m fighting these guys single-handedly, and you two want to give in. No wonder they’re walking all over us.”
“Nothing would make me happier than them driving us out of town,” Hart says, but Kennedy looks rattled.
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”
“Not let them walk all over us would be a start.” I cross my arms, using it as a way to keep my anger inside.
I’m supposed to be the one leading them, and all I’ve done is lead them into a fucking mess.
All of this was supposed to help us. To be good for us.
I’m scrambling to try and save this experience, and it’s rapidly going downhill, and while I’m directing my anger their way, I know it’s only because it’s easier than being angry with myself.
I fucked up.
And I can either admit that and go home, eat the losses, and splinter further away from my brothers, or I can dig my heels in and fight Wilde to the last breath.
It’s no choice, really.
“I’ve never been good at that.” Kennedy sighs and tilts his head back, like he’s looking at the sky, but it’s something he does a lot when he’s trying not to cry. “I don’t want everything to have to be a fight. I only wanted to come here and work and spend time with you both.”
His confession helps dull my anger, but it does nothing to Hart. Not that I expected it would. “It must be nice to believe in fairy tales.”
“It is. And it makes me sad that you’ll never understand it.”
“Don’t be sad for me, brother. Be sad for yourself,” he says as he gets up and makes his way to the other house.
Kennedy follows him, and it tears me up to see him so …
flat. I have to do something about it. Something to bring the spark and hope back to him, but I’m so lacking in both of those things myself.
All I know is that unless we work together, this place is never going to happen.
We end up wasting too much of the day in Wayward, picking up a new drill, some screws, and the groceries we’ll need to get through the week.
We spare time for lunch at the diner, and maybe it’s because we’ve been living off anything we can cook on a hot plate, but it’s the best meal I’ve had in a long time.
None of us is in a hurry to get back, and I’m dreading what we’ll find when we do.
I’m relieved when, after a check of the site, I confirm that we haven’t come home to more headaches.
We spend some time going over the shopfronts and making plans for what to do in there, and then it’s late afternoon, and I want nothing else but to escape the tension between the three of us.
There was a man with longish black hair watching us today, who takes turns with Wilde, but he’s gone when I make my way back across the street to the house.
“Weird,” Kennedy mutters, and I turn back to see what’s caught his attention. He’s paused by the dirt bike, and as I watch, he reaches out to run a hand over the seat.
“What is?”
“Someone’s cleaned it.”
My gaze flicks to Hart, who looks equally as confused. “They cleaned the bike?” I confirm.
“Yeah, look. All the dirt is gone.”
He’s right. Other than the scratches in the paintwork, it’s gleaming as happily as the day we bought it. “That is weird.”
Hartwell laughs, scattered and hollow. “Fuck this place.”
I bound up the stairs before he can get into another one of his rants and head inside. Somehow out here, the days feel stretched thin, and while I’m not hungry and dinner is still a few hours away, I’m exhausted through to my bones.
I kick my shoes off as soon as I get back to my room and slam the door behind me. There’s no way I have the energy to deal with anyone else tonight, so I’m going to play mindless games on my phone until it’s dark and then hopefully knock myself out for the night.
The sun is beating straight into my window, so I cross to close the makeshift curtains when something catches my eye. The man who’s been watching us from the outlook all day is gone, and Wilde has taken his place.
The sight of his scruffy beard, red flannel shirt, and crossed arms makes me want to head over there and scream at him. Which will get me exactly nowhere because we’ve done that one too many times.
The restlessness in me grows, and if I can’t fight him, I can do the next best thing.
It was Hart’s suggestion to trade a hammer for a hammering after all.
So instead of feeding into his game with anger, I reach back and pull my shirt over my head. I hug it to my front, almost one hundred percent confident he’s watching me as I let it slip off my arms and onto the floor.
Then I hook my thumbs into my gym shorts and push them slowly from my hips.
They stick around my thighs before dropping, and while he’s too far away to make out the expression on his face, I don’t miss the way he shifts his weight.
Don’t miss the way one of his crossed arms pops free so he can rub at his mouth.
And if he can’t see me, who the fuck cares?
There’s no one else around. I lose my briefs next and wrap my hand around my cock.
I’m not hard, but with Wilde, it doesn’t matter because I’ll get there soon enough.
And once I am, I slide the window all the way open, then step back and do what I first planned to do.
I close the makeshift curtain to cut off the sight and hope Wilde took my invitation for what it was.