24. Reed
Iwas still a child when I picked up on the skill of pretending to be in control, my father instilled it in me.
He taught me that hesitation was a weakness, which was a dangerous flaw, one that could be used against you easily and eventually become your downfall.
I watched him wield his own power of control relentlessly, whether it be in the boardroom or our family dining room.
What he said was law, and no one ever disputed him.
I thought it made him powerful, special, someone to be reckoned with, who would have my back at every turn.
I know better now of course, it’s why I learned early on to keep my face blank, my voice steady, and my hands still, no matter what the situation.
It doesn’t matter whether I am being berated with slurs behind closed doors, or listening to false praise at parties, my expression never falters.
I can walk into a room with my heart hammering in fear, but my head still held high.
Remaining in charge of my exterior appearance is something I pride myself on, because even when I am falling apart, you can look at me and I will make you believe that everything is okay.
I also manage to make it look effortless, despite how exhausting it is.
I thought I was untouchable, that all my father’s lessons and outbursts had prepared me for anything that would come my way.
I accepted my last name and family obligations a long time ago, and was fine with it, but it’s only now I realize that I have made a mistake in the shape of Wilder Miles.
I took this job after already walking into his lion’s den.
I let him linger, I let him look too closely, showing him all the ugly parts of me, and now here we are.
We landed in Berlin yesterday afternoon, and sure enough when nightfall came, Wilder let himself into my room and slipped silently into bed beside me.
I didn’t bother asking him how he got a key, coming to know that he really has no boundaries when it comes to something he wants, and instead just stayed focused on my book.
After checking his phone, he demanded I read out loud to him, and I wasn’t surprised when he fell asleep before me.
He slipped out early this morning when his phone lit up with his cousin’s name, and I didn’t see him again until he met me after breakfast for the tour I had booked.
Now here we are, biking along the Berlin Wall, something I knew I wanted to do immediately when I found out we were coming here, and I’m doing it with Wilder Miles of all people.
The rest of the guys were too hungover to join us, and honestly I’m kind of glad.
It's nice spending time with him alone, despite knowing I shouldn’t, but his friendship hasn’t come as easily as the rest of them.
We’re riding along parts where the wall once separated everything, and neither of us are saying much, because what are you even supposed to say to history like this?
Warm air floats over us as we ride, sweat already slick down my spine, but it smells like it’s going to rain.
I’ve already made Wilder stop multiple times, so I can take pictures and soak up the history of everything, and he hasn’t complained once.
He didn’t seem bothered about my wanting to stop, or by the amount of photographs I took, just watched me silently as he smoked a cigarette.
I’ve probably dumped more Berlin history on him than he has ever cared to know, and still he absorbed everything I said with rapt attention, even asking me multiple questions.
It feels good to share such a deep and meaningful part of history with him, and not have him look like he would rather be anywhere else.
Most guys would probably be bored of my rambling by now, but Wilder listens attentively, taking in the sights each time we stop. I even snapped a few pictures of him, not to post anywhere, but just because I wanted to capture this moment with him before we get back on our way.
Of course Wilder looks just as comfortable on a bike as he does in his race car, and it’s almost annoying how he is good at everything.
When he starts to pull ahead, I feel his smirk every time he looks over his shoulder at me.
“You okay back there, pretty boy?” he calls out, and I can hear the amusement in his voice.
“Of course I am,” I scoff, trying to hide how out of breath I am, but he only shakes his head.
“Really? Because you look like you’re working up a sweat.”
“I’m fine,” I force out, making him laugh, but curse him for his level of athleticism, and that’s coming from someone who played lacrosse for eight years and still works out every day. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised by his level of stamina, I know personally just how good it is.
“You’re a terrible liar, Blue,” he drawls, and I grin despite myself, because it seems no matter what mask I wear, he can see through every one of them.
“Just shut up and peddle, Miles.”
Once we finish our tour of the wall we head to Kornerpark, a beautiful space set on just shy of six acres of land.
As soon as we arrive and step inside, I’m in awe.
It sits lower than the streets that surround it, like a sunken slice of heaven just asking to be explored, and I feel like I’m in another world entirely.
When I flick my stare to Wilder, I find him taking in the serene space just as deeply as I am.
The first thing I notice is how quiet it is.
Not because there aren’t people here, there are, but it’s like we’ve all stepped into a serenity we know to respect.
It’s quiet in the way churches are, and I half wonder if anyone else came here looking for a way to chase off the noise and find some peace.
The second thing I notice is how symmetrical everything appears, the paths, the staircases, the terraces, all of them so perfectly aligned.
It’s honestly one of the most aesthetically pleasing places I have ever seen.
“Wow,” Wilder muses, mirroring my sentiment, and I look at him again from behind my shades.
He fits in with the tourists seamlessly, with his black cap and sunglasses, and shorts so short they are almost obscene. I can already see two women ogling him, and honestly I can’t blame them, he looks ridiculously hot without even trying.
I follow his stare as he looks around. “Let me guess, the sunrise would be beautiful here,” I joke, forcing his attention to me, and the knowing smirk he gives me makes my knees a little weak.
“Probably.” He turns to look at me fully now, and I swallow thickly as he takes off his glasses.
“But I was actually admiring those balconies over there,” he tosses back, amusement clear in his tone, and I almost choke, especially when he leans in even closer.
“Keep blushing like that, Blue, and I’ll start to think you want me to give these people a show.
” When he pulls back, he is still the picture of cool, while my body feels like it’s heating from the inside out.
“Now where is this café we’re going to? I’m suddenly starving. ”
I feel his stare on me all the way to the Orangerie, the place we are having lunch, and it’s like a phantom touch against my spine.
Once seated on their outdoor patio space we both order, Wilder going for their plant-based tuna club sandwich, whereas I opt for the focaccia French toast. There are people enjoying lunch all around us, and though this isn’t the first time we have eaten together, it feels eerily like a date.
His stare remains on me, even as I let myself admire the view, and I prepare myself for whatever he is working up the courage to ask me. “Are you and your brother close?”
“What?” I blink back a little in surprise, not expecting that question at all.
“Freddie, right? Are the two of you close?”
The waiter drops off our drinks, and I reach out and instantly take a sip of my wine, giving myself time to think about my answer. Not because I don’t love my younger brother, I do, it’s just complicated, especially when we both have the last name Lamont.
“As close as we can be,” I start carefully, not sure what the angle of his question is.
“He’s only eleven, so we don’t have much in common, and he wasn’t even eight when I moved out for college.
” A bitter feeling weighs heavy on my chest as I tell him that, because I know I’m the reason we’re not close.
Sure now that he’s older he texts me randomly almost every day and I FaceTime him every couple of days, keeping up with him anyway I can.
I would do anything for him, except go to the house he calls home more than I ever need to.
Which I guess makes me a shitty big brother, a fact I’m sure makes my father happy, because I know I am the last person he wants Freddie to look up to.
I know I should be his last line of defense, that I should protect him from the man who is still raising him, but how can I do that when I can’t even protect myself?
A lump forms in my throat, and I have to take another drink of wine, this one a large gulp, just to try and keep it at bay.
Wilder is still watching me, his intense stare almost penetrating directly into my soul. “Jason and I never had anything in common either,” he replies calmly.
That makes sense I guess, considering Wilder likes to race and Jason played football, but they were only a year apart in age, surely they had other things in common?
I guess it’s one of those times where siblings are raised in the same house, but don’t have the same upbringing, but still, I can’t help but focus on the past tense nature of his words.
“You don’t talk at all anymore?” I ask, presumably already knowing the answer, given that everyone it seems that Jason Miles has disappeared, but Wilder isn’t everyone. “Do you even know where he is?”
Wilder stares at me for a few seconds before he replies, “Yes, I know where he is.”