26. Reed
The next two weeks follow the same pattern.
Wilder has gone back to acting like I barely exist in public, and is no longer showing up in my room late at night, but the same can’t be said for his gifts.
It all started with the ring, the one he gave me himself, and I haven’t taken it off since.
I track his eyes every time he is in my vicinity, and each time they subtly fall down to my hand to check if the ring is still there.
I tell myself it doesn’t affect me, but there is just something about the way his eyes fill with pride at the sight of it in place on my finger.
It’s almost primal in the way he watches, my skin heating every time he’s close, and I haven’t missed the way Matt has been smirking every time Wilder curses under his breath.
I’m sure the guys have noticed the shift between us, because it doesn’t matter that we are barely talking, it’s clear things have changed.
Wilder is no longer openly hostile, not to me anyway, and that’s noticeable in itself, but it’s everything else too.
He no longer complains about any of the work I make him do, he’s not caused any trouble with the press since Peter Simons, and he’s more focused on his work than I have ever seen him.
Mr. Miles even complimented me for whatever I have done to him, and I tried not to blush as I thanked him.
I thought the ring would be it, just a token to replace the necklace with something that can’t be torn off, and a way to apologize for pushing me.
How wrong was I?
When we got to the South of France, a book about Greek mythology appeared in my hotel room.
I didn’t bother asking where it came from, or how he got it into my room, I already know he has no boundaries.
The next day it was an art print of the Berlin Wall, which was so goddamn perfect I almost cried.
Then there was the framed picture of me at Sirmione Castle, a picture I didn’t even know existed, but appreciated anyway.
Wilder never said anything about any of them, just continued to act like things were all fine and good between us, which they are.
I guess we could class ourselves as friends now, except the next gift I got from him was a little more unusual.
A blue silk robe trimmed with white lace was left in the center of my bed.
I was in awe when I opened it, and even more so when I tried it on, and I had to stop myself from texting him to thank him.
For a couple of days after that nothing arrived, and I thought he was done, but then we got to Monte Carlo and another bag showed up in my room.
That one was a silver chain, like the one I wore the night we met, except this one was thicker and sturdier, and had a part that fastened around my neck, with another chain leading down to a section that wrapped round my waist. It was followed by a black lace top, a pair of white leather shorts, and a signed hockey shirt from none other than Archer Gray, which I’m not even sure how Wilder got his hands on.
In fact, I only mentioned once in passing that I liked the way he played and then bam, now I have his signed jersey that’s not even available in stores yet.
It’s our last day in Monte Carlo now, and after this we are all heading to Sweden to gear up for the Elite World Championships.
Between Laura and I, we have set Wilder up with three separate photoshoots and two more brand deals, giving him a busy schedule before the EWC even starts, but all I can focus on are the gifts.
“Maybe he is friends with Archer Gray and that’s how he got it,” Eloise muses from my laptop screen, where it is sitting on the desk as I try to pack my multitude of gifts.
We’ve been talking on the phone any time I’ve had a chance, and where the time difference would allow, and when it wouldn’t, we have shared lengthy voice notes to stay updated with one another.
She is the only person who knows everything about what has been happening with Wilder, and she has been loving every second of it.
“That’s really not the point of the conversation, babe,” I sigh.
“Oh okay, shall we go back to talking about how your broody racer is clearly obsessed with you?” My cheeks heat at her remarks, but I keep my mask in place.
“He is not obsessed with me. We're just friends.”
The words burn on my tongue for the lie they are, because I don’t have a clue what Wilder and I are, I just know that whatever it is, it isn’t normal.
We’re not friends, but we’re not more than that either, so where the hell does that leave us?
Colleagues? It doesn’t seem like the right word to describe all the things we have shared, but it’s the only one we’ve got.
“No, honey, you and I are friends,” Eloise replies with a hint of amusement. “You and Wilder are something else entirely.”
It’s the same thing she has been saying for weeks. Every time I share a new update she squeals in excitement, or daydreams about a future I can never have, and bile rises up the back of my throat at the thought.
“No, we’re not!” I snap, panic swirling inside of me. “We can’t be, and you know that better than anyone.”
I don’t mean for my tone to be so harsh, but she is the one I cried to the first night my dad hit me.
She is the one who drove me to the hospital when he threw me down the stairs and I broke my ribs for the first time, and she is the one who helped me clean blood off my dress shirt at our high school graduation.
She knows what the stakes are, my limited choices, my stupid last name.
All of them are a noose around my neck that grows tighter every day, so it doesn’t matter how many gifts he buys, or how much I like spending time with him.
Once the racing season ends, we will be nothing but strangers who shared something more for a while.
Eloise softens completely in understanding, a knowing sadness in her eyes that I’m sure isn’t entirely for me, but her too. “I’m sorry, Reed, I wasn’t even thinking.” I know it’s not her fault, but still I can’t help but feel bitter about it.
I slump back into the chair in front of my laptop. “I know, babe, it’s fine.”
We’re in this fucked up thing called life together, just like always, and it’s only now that her absence truly weighs heavily on me. I miss her so much.
“Have you heard from your father since Zurich?” It’s the safest way she can ask that question, and still I flinch at the mention of him, as she tries to change the subject.
“His assistant forwarded me an email from him to discuss my birthday party, but apart from that, it’s been radio silence.”
Not that I’m surprised by that, my father and I aren’t exactly the type to call and check in every day. Right now I’m out of sight and not causing him any problems, just the way he likes it.
My birthday isn’t even until September, and I’ll be back stateside then, so I don’t know why we are discussing it at the end of July.
I guess my father just likes to remind me who is in control, as if I could ever forget such a thing.
I don’t even want a party, I never do, but of course as his heir, my father insists.
The only people I am ever allowed to invite are Eloise, and some pre-approved friends of my father’s choosing.
It’s basically just an excuse for my father to parade me around as if he is actually proud of me, when we both know better than that.
If I had my own way, I’d spend it somewhere with a great view, where I could take some pictures and maybe watch the sunset.
Instead, I’ll be stuffed into a room with a bunch of fake partygoers, who will all pretend my father isn’t an asshole.
“Well fuck him, you’re about to have a few days off in Sweden before working the biggest race of the year.”
I let out a humorless laugh. “Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“Yes,” Eloise says firmly. “Because for once you are somewhere he isn’t. You’re not in that house. You’re not standing in a room full of his friends pretending your life is pretty. You’re in Europe, Reed. With a job you fought for, and with people who don’t know him well enough to fear him.”
My throat tightens, her sincerity and support has always been the thing that has kept her firmly by my side. She is the only one who knows me this well, except that doesn’t feel as true as it once did, not after these past two months.
“And whether you want to admit it or not, you also have someone keeping you company,” she adds softly.
I close my eyes with a sigh. “Please don’t.”
“Okay,” she whispers. “I won’t.”
But the damage is already done.
Because now all I can think about is him.
Him with those green eyes and that damn smile.
The guy who doesn’t look at me like I’m broken glass, a family name, or some polished thing built for my father’s convenience.
He looks at me like I’m a problem he wants to solve with his teeth, and God help me, some terrible, lonely part of me wants to let him.
The jet cuts through thick, gray clouds, as Sweden begins to unfold beneath us in endless dark forests and shimmering lakes.
It’s the kind of beauty you can only appreciate in person, and I’m already desperate to be on the ground to soak it all in.
I’ve never been to Sweden before, another perk of the job, and the more I take in the view, the more it reminds me of Wilder.
It’s cold and quiet, but holds a beautiful yet dangerous edge to it.
The man in question is currently sprawled across the leather seat opposite me like always, wearing his usual version of a travel day outfit.
Black hoodie, dark jeans, and a permanent scowl.
His hood is up with his headphones hanging around his neck, like he doesn’t have a care in the world, which I’m sure right now he doesn’t.