Chapter 19
CHAPTER
NINETEEN
ZIGGY
We wake up and get back into our slightly damp clothes, and then Kennedy feeds me breakfast before we get on the road home.
But I’m distracted the entire time by one thought:
Kennedy doesn’t know what love is.
At least, that’s the conclusion I’ve come to after last night. He’s a funny one. The way he can be so sure it’s a thing he wants, even though he’s never experienced it. I assume. From what he says, no one he’s dated before has appreciated what they had with him, and their loss is my gain.
Because I’m going to do it.
I’m going to win Kennedy over.
I glance at where he’s singing along to the radio as we speed back toward Wilde’s End and promise myself that I’m going to give Kennedy the love he deserves.
There’s just one problem.
I need to figure out what love is first.
A recluse with absentee parents vowing to shower this guy in love? Ridiculous. It sounds like the start of a bad joke. People underestimate me all the time though, and I’m not about to do it to myself.
We reach Old End, and I’m expecting him to pull over, but he passes the houses and keeps going.
When I turn my confused look on him, he’s already watching me, grinning like he’s up to something. I have a hunch that I know what that something is.
My eyebrows rise a little, prompting him to share the idea he’s so obviously proud of.
“I’m going to keep driving,” he says like he’s warning me. “So you might want to tell me which way to go to your place, or we’ll end up very, very lost.”
I don’t point out that it’s impossible to get lost in Wilde’s End. The real risk is ending up in the Dale, but Kennedy doesn’t need to know it exists.
Not completely sold on his idea, I tap the dash for his attention, then point to a trail to the left.
“Here?” he checks. I know why he’s hesitating. It’s deceptively small, but we get trucks through here fine, and those are much bigger than this SUV. “Okay …”
I could have easily had Kennedy drop me anywhere in Wilde’s End, but I also want him to know where I live on the off chance he’ll come to me for once. But while that idea is appealing, I’m nervous as hell because I love my place. It’s warm and comforting and gives me everything I need.
It’s also a mine shaft.
I couldn’t stand it if Kennedy looked around at my entire world and decided it was beneath him.
I don’t own much, but what I have is mine. I’m proud of it, and I’m proud of the life I’ve built for myself. I might be lonely, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’ve fought hard to get here. Exactly where I want to be.
I direct him the whole way, getting more nervous the closer we get to home. Kennedy’s back singing along to the music, and I remind myself, for the millionth time, that it doesn’t matter either way.
I’m able to hold on to that thought until we clear the tree line and he pulls to a stop on the dirt clearing in front of my place.
Kennedy looks around. “Where is it?”
Directly in front of us, but I’m not about to tell him that.
Instead, I make a show of tapping my knuckles against his jaw before climbing out of the car. Unfortunately, Kennedy follows me.
“Hey, wait. Aren’t you going to show me around?”
Before it can dawn on him that the mine shaft is my home, I take him by the shoulders and spin him back toward his car, then give him a little push.
He lets out a heavy sigh. “Fine. Next time, then.”
Oh, yeah, sure, of course.
I wait for him to climb back into the car and turn on the engine, and then I wave until he disappears into the trees and I can’t see him anymore.
Ahh … Kennedy. These last twenty-four hours have been …
they’ve been … I’m all jittery and squirmy and fluttery in my gut.
I can’t believe we kissed. I can’t believe we had sex.
Sex that apparently won’t happen again, and I don’t have the energy to sulk about that because I got more than I ever thought I would.
Is this what happiness tastes like?
The titter of a bird in a tree close by brings me back to the now.
The sky is still patchy with clouds, but the rain is gone, and it won’t take long for everything to dry out, including me.
It’s also way too quiet for the big feelings I’m having, and because I know there’s no way I’ll be able to go inside and rest, I figure I’ll spend the day working on my present for Kennedy.
I stayed up late watching him sleep last night, and I don’t regret a minute of it.
The breeze picks up briefly, already heavy with the coming heat, as I make my way toward the train carriages that hold our supplies.
I need a few things for this bird, since I want to try out an idea I had to fix the beak, and I’m distracted going over the design in my head.
I reach the first carriage and pull open the door—then freeze.
It wasn’t locked.
My gaze darts to where the padlock normally hangs, but it’s not there. Did Wilde come up here while I was gone? He’s normally so careful about locking—
Something shiny in the thick grass gathered around one of the large metal carriage wheels snags my attention. I stoop down, pick it up … and my pulse takes off.
The padlock has been smashed open.
This wasn’t Wilde.
I quickly close the door, tuck the damaged padlock into my pocket, then head inside my mine for my keys. It’s the second time this week I’ve had to use my truck, and I can’t remember a time that’s ever happened.
Wilde’s End works because we look after each other. We don’t take more than we need, we don’t hoard goods, and if someone needs something from the supply carriages, all they have to do is let Wilde know, and he’ll get it for them.
We keep our shit locked up in case of strangers and the rare times people from the Dale have raided us. Considering how many matches Foley has won in Peril lately, they shouldn’t be wanting for anything.
So while it’s unlikely, I can’t rule out that possibility. But I also can’t rule out the possibility that it was one of our own. This is one of the many, many times I’m glad I’m not in charge. Wilde can work out what to do about it.
He’s not at home, so I check in a few of the usual places and find him walking out of the Lair. He’s sweaty, carrying his post, and looks like he’s just finished training.
The second he sees my car, he’s immediately on alert.
“What is it?” he calls as I climb out.
I pull the padlock from my pocket and hand it over.
There’s a pause while Wilde turns it over, inspecting the damage, and then he holds it up. “This from the carriages?”
Yes.
“Shit. Where’s Rooney?”
“I haven’t seen him.” Which means he’s either sourcing or at home.
“Think you can find him for me? He needs to call a meeting.”
Thankfully, he’s at home, and when I show him the lock and utter the word meeting, Rooney jumps in my truck and directs me to where everyone should be.
He has an uncanny knack for knowing things, and I’ve never been completely comfortable around him.
It’s not like with Booker, where I assume he’s waiting for me to drop dead so he can see how much blood’s inside me, but it throws me anyway.
Sometimes I think Rooney knows things about me before I know them myself.
By the time we get to the Cutty, everyone’s waiting for us.
Wilde has been home to shower and change, Nox and Booker are sitting at the table furthest from the door, Lynx has his arms folded, leaning by the entrance like he’d rather be anywhere else, and Viv is bustling around in the kitchen out the back.
She doesn’t technically have to be here, but whenever she knows there’s a meeting on, she shows up with snacks. And I love her for it.
Booker doesn’t technically need to be here either, but he’s nosy and is the one with connections across all the towns within driving distance.
“Someone broke into the supplies,” Wilde says, jumping straight into it as always. “We need to find out who, and we need to do it quickly.”
That catches everyone’s attention. Rooney joins Wilde by the jukebox as Viv brings out a plate of cookies and hands it off to Nox.
They’re confused as they look from Viv and back to Wilde again. “You think it was someone in town?” they ask.
“I don’t think anything. Someone broke in, and I want to know who.”
“I’ll tell you who,” Lynx says. His machete is strapped to his belt, and even with Bob waiting outside, he looks no less menacing. Thankfully, I know better.
“Who?” Rooney asks, playing along, though I have a good idea what he’s going to say next.
“The brothers. They need supplies, so they figured they’d help themselves to ours. Like they have done with everything else in this town.”
“It wasn’t them,” Wilde pushes back.
“Did your boy tell you that during pillow talk?”
Wilde grunts but chooses to ignore him. “Ziggy, was anything missing?”
I freeze with everyone’s attention on me. Heat slowly seeps into my cheeks, and I know that Wilde doesn’t expect me to talk, but having attention is too much. The pressure to say or do the right thing grows, ballooning out until it’s so big it fills the room.
I want to provide a detailed list for him of all the things that were gone, but I didn’t even think to check.
“Right.” His sharp voice has every pair of eyes swing back to him, and I stutter out a breath. “We’ll go and take inventory and tell you what’s gone. Ask around, keep on the lookout for—”
“Do you think someone came up from the Dale?” Nox asks.
Booker and Lynx answer at the same time. “No.” There’s a pregnant beat as they eye each other. Booker’s smile lights up his face, but he goes on saying nothing, so Lynx continues.
“I’ve been by that border all day. No one’s crossed it.”
“Then it’s someone in town,” Wilde concludes. “Bring me a name, and I’ll handle it.”
Handle it could be anything from reestablishing the rules to running them out of town. All I know is that I’d hate to be the person on the end of Wilde’s temper.
He makes it clear the meeting is over and crosses to me as conversations break out. Lynx leaves, door thudding closed behind him, and Wilde glares at the now empty spot.
“He’s on thin ice.”
I give Wilde my most doubtful look. He and Lynx have always had friction, but we need them both. Lynx is prepared to do the work no one else wants to, and I’d struggle to survive without him stopping by with food every few days.
“Sorry to put you on the spot like that,” Wilde says. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He shouldn’t have to be sorry; it should be something I can handle.
I’ve known the people in this room for years, and logically, I know they’re not going to belittle me for trying, but my brain doesn’t work like that.
When everything that’s ever come out of your mouth is treated like it’s stupid, you start to believe it’s true.
Even eight years here hasn’t undone the damage. It probably doesn’t help that I don’t have a lot of opportunities to try. Except with Kennedy. He’s been giving me the space and patience I need.
Wilde goes to continue, and I pull the same move with him that I pulled with Kennedy. My hand seals over his mouth, and I give him a determined look, warning him to give me a minute. I want to do this.
I might not have been able to do it in front of the whole room, but Wilde is safe.
“It’s okay,” I finally manage. There are times the words come easily and times where I have to fight for every one. I know it’s all mental. I know it’s something I need to push through, but my brain and my mouth don’t always link up.
He pulls my hand away and nods once. “Good.”
The best thing about Wilde is that he never questions me. He trusts me to give him the truth.
“When did you find the lock? Right before you brought it to me?”
Yes.
“So it happened this morning?”
That, I don’t know. I’m hesitant to give him the truth, but it’s important. “I wasn’t home last night.”
“Where the hell were you?”
“In Wayward. With …” I need an extra breath for courage. “Kennedy.”
He processes that information as he studies my face. He’s the only one who knows about my feelings for Kennedy, so I’m sure he’s putting things together. “Has he been good to you?”
“We’re friends.”
“Didn’t answer my question.”
I like that he cares, and I duck my head with a smile, caught off guard by that thought. Wilde has always been the closed-off protector, but since he started his relationship with Hudson, I’m getting glimpses of another side to him.
A side that might have answers.
“Wilde … what’s love like?”
That shocks him so much that his gray eyes fly wide.
“Love?” His expression closes off, like he’s far away, something brewing behind his eyes that’s the complete opposite of what fills Kennedy’s when he talks about it.
“Love is pain and disappointment. The second you love someone, you have something to lose, and more often than not, you’re going to lose it. ”
He shoves through the Cutty front door, and I watch him go, wondering if he’s ever voiced those thoughts to Hudson. I can’t imagine anyone related to Kennedy would feel the same way.
Then again, what would I know?
Wilde was speaking from experience, and given the mix of good and bad highs I have with Kennedy, he might be right. I can’t say the way I feel about him doesn’t hurt sometimes.
I join the others, sharing Viv’s plate of cookies and letting their voices wash over me. My gaze flows from one of them to the next, trying to guess who out of us has been in love before.
And knowing that there’s no way I’ll ever ask.