Chapter 35
CHAPTER
THIRTY-FIVE
HUDSON
B etween my days working and my nights being railed by Wilde, I can’t remember ever feeling this settled in one place.
What started as a creepy town in the middle of nowhere is becoming more familiar, more real, and I can’t deny that I’ve got a connection growing to this place that I never would have expected.
Which I obviously can’t let happen.
One morning, after having my guts thoroughly rearranged the night before, I leave on the bike before the sun even comes up and go and visit someone I’ve only ever met once.
Gracie Raylon is already outside, filling a bowl with blueberries from the bush beside her house, and she immediately recognizes me when I pull up and take the helmet off.
Her eyes narrow a little, but she doesn’t run off. I’ve never had much experience with twelve-year-olds, but I would have expected one as sheltered as her to be a lot more skittish than she is .
“Want me to grab my parents?”
“Actually …” I walk closer but keep a safe distance between us, conscious that while we’ve met, she doesn’t actually know me. “I came to see you.”
“Me?”
I nod, wishing I could turn around and leave this stupid idea behind me, but all it takes is the memory of Wilde saying he has a favorite pair of jeans to keep my feet planted to the ground. “I have a favor to ask.”
“Okay?”
“I broke something of Wilde’s. A vase. Pot. Thing.”
“Not following.”
“He said you gave it to him, and he was really upset that I wrecked it.”
She moves the bowl to the other hand as she thinks. “Wait, the clay bowl I made him when I was little?”
I don’t point out that she’s still little. “Yep. It was one of his favorite things.”
Shock fills her features. “It was?”
“Yeah, so I was hoping … could you make another one?”
She thinks for a moment. “No.”
“Oh.” I try to hide how my hopes crash out.
“ We can.”
“We?”
“Yeah. Mom said Wilde was showing you around the other day because he wanted to stop you selling off Old End. Like if you knew us, it would soften you to us.”
“I assumed as much.”
“I don’t think it will work though.”
“You don’t?”
She shakes her head, long brown hair spilling over her shoulders. “An outsider will never understand what it’s like to live here, but you can be taught the basics, and in Wilde’s End, if you want something, you work for it. Every Wender knows that.”
“If I make the pot—uh, bowl —you’ll help me?”
“Sure. And if you’re lucky, it might look as good as the one that you smashed.”
“You think I can’t do better than a six-year-old?”
“No way, man. You’re a city boy through and through. I’ll run these into the house and let Mom know where I’m going.”
“She won’t care that you’re walking off with a stranger?”
“Oh, no, I’ll be bringing my hunting gun. But I can handle myself.”
Given I think Gracie might be more mature than I’ve ever been, I don’t doubt it.
Wilde pulls out of me and flops onto his back on the mattress, trying to hide the way he stretches out his leg. My hole has taken a beating this week, and while it probably needs a few days to recover, I have absolutely no complaints.
The last two nights, Wilde has lingered longer after sex than I’m used to. There’s a hesitance to him, like he wants to touch me or talk, but he never lets himself get there, and eventually, he gives up and leaves.
Tonight, I’m determined for it to be different.
“Your leg still sore?”
I’m assuming he won’t answer me because that’s kind of his thing, but then his voice fills the silent room. “A bit. He got me deep.”
“Should you have Booker check it again?”
“No, it’s healing fine. ”
“Good.”
I can feel the way he wants to say more, and for once, he gives in. “Don’t know how I’ll go in my match on it though.”
“Peril?”
“Yeah. If Foley senses I’m injured, he’ll target the spot.”
“Foley sounds like a dick.”
“I’d do the same to him.”
Okay, so they’re both dicks. But Wilde is sort of kind of my dick, so I’m going to assume Foley is the bad guy in this scenario. “I’m still going to hate him.”
He snorts. “Why?”
“Because I’m loyal like that.” I think back to everything he’s told me. “If you lose, will the town have enough money to get by?”
“I have my personal funds, so we’ll always be okay.”
“You spend your own money on this place?”
“I don’t like to touch it at all, but I won’t let people go without.”
“Why don’t you like to touch it?”
He turns, eyes catching mine, and I don’t back away from his stare. “Every cent of it is tainted.”
A sentence like that has my curiosity through the roof. I want to question it. Peel open his thoughts and dig for all of the nuggets he keeps hidden. But for someone who’s obviously not used to talking about himself, the fact that he’s given me this much has to be enough.
And now, it’s time to give him something.
All day, I’ve been nervous about seeing him tonight, and as I remember why, those nerves come back in force.
I climb up on shaky legs and clean myself off with the T-shirt I was wearing earlier before crossing to where I left Wilde’s gift.
Really, all I’m doing is replacing something that I broke, so I shouldn’t be feeling so weird about it, but even when I get back to my bed, I still feel like I might vibrate out of my skin.
“I, uh, have something for you.”
Not only was Gracie right and it turned out horribly, but she insisted on scratching both our names into the surface before it dried. Seeing the uneven HUDSON on the side when I’d picked it up today only made the nerves even fucking worse.
Wilde sits up slowly, like he’s worried this is a trap. “You what?”
“Have, umm … well, I owed you it. After fucking with your things. It was wrong, and I shouldn’t have, so …” Before I can lose my nerve, I pull the bowl out from behind my back. “Sorry, it’s sort of dark in here.”
He doesn’t take it. There’s a long moment stretched tight where Wilde looks at it and I wait, my gut twisting tighter and tighter until I can’t stand it anymore.
I grab his hand with a huff and press the bowl into it. “It’s yours. Don’t make this weird.”
He clears his throat gruffly. “I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
I’m caught between what I want to say and denying that I want to say anything at all.
He stands before I get a chance to decide and tugs his clothes clumsily back on. The disfigured little bowl is still balanced in his hand, and the longer he doesn’t say anything, the more stupid I feel.
“Night,” he throws out as he stalks toward my window.
I flop back on the bed as he pulls open the curtain, questioning whether that could have actually gone any worse.
Except he doesn’t disappear right away .
When I turn to him, he’s looking back at me, moonlight flooding his expression and making something catch in my chest.
I almost don’t hear his whisper before he disappears.
“Thank you.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left more confused about Wilde than ever.