40. Wilder
For the next three days, Reed and I fuck every chance we get.
In my hotel room, in his, in the shower, bent over the sink, my dressing room, a storage closet.
Hell, we even did it in a hotel stairwell after coming back from drinks with the guys.
My thirst for him is insatiable, and no matter how many times I let myself sink inside of him, it never seems to be enough.
He’s the best fuck of my goddamn life, and I know he feels the same, so why aren’t I happier?
I’m about to battle in the top twelve of the Elite World Championships, and no matter where I place, it won’t matter.
I have secured myself in the Miles name, out from under my father’s shadow, and no one has asked about Jason all week.
The only thing they seem to care about is me, and what I might do next.
Reed has my social media accounts looking absolutely insane, and my hotel is spilling with PR packages from so many brands that I can barely keep up.
I should be excited, thrilled even, and I would be if it weren’t for the look in Reed’s eyes after every time we hook up.
Sure, he looks satisfied, I mean, blissed out with pleasure would be more accurate, but then his stare takes on this faraway look.
One that tells me that he is still pulling back from this, from us, and I know it’s because of his father, but how long is he going to live his life for someone else?
He’s not a child, he’s a grown man, and he should do whatever makes him happy.
Every time I try to get closer to him outside of hooking up, he keeps me at arm’s length.
He doesn’t flirt back, doesn’t give me hope, doesn’t act anything other than a friend at best, and a PR assistant at worst. The worst part is, if he told me he didn’t want this, or showed any sign of not being into me, as much as I am into him, then I’d leave him alone.
Instead, he gives me just enough to keep crawling back, like an addict needing their next fix.
In private it’s an entirely different story.
In private, he looks at me like I am the only one in the world who sees him, touches me like he’s starving and I’m his last meal, and lets his guard down just enough to have me falling even deeper than I already have.
It’s what keeps me tugging him back in, because I know there is a version of him that sleeps curled into my side.
One that reaches for me before the sun even comes up, letting me bask in those last seconds of us before turning it all off.
I know he’s trying his best, that he’s giving me as much as he can, considering how he was raised, but it doesn’t stop me from wanting more.
From needing it.
I pull my phone out before I can stop myself.
Wilder - Are you free for lunch?
Barely a second passes before the typing bubbles appear, and his message pops up a moment later.
Reed - How about I eat you instead?
His response should excite me, make my heart race at the prospect of him sucking me, feeling his mouth wrapped around me, and hitting the back of his throat.
Instead, it reminds me that even though he is happy to lose himself to me in private, in public it’s the complete opposite.
And I’m not saying I don’t want to fuck him, I do, I’m actually worried I may be addicted to him, but I want everything else with him too.
It has a bitter laugh escaping me, as I reread the message again, that familiar swirl of panic curling up from my stomach into my chest, and I curse.
I press my hand to the center of my chest, forcing myself to take a deep breath as I type out another message.
This one isn’t to him, it’s to Laura, typing out directions for exactly what I need, and when her response comes, it has the tightness in my chest receding.
Ignoring Reed’s message completely, I grab my coat, pull a cap low onto my head, and order myself an Uber to my destination.
I’ve been volunteering at hospitals since I was sixteen, teaching ASL to newly deaf kids and others alike.
It’s not nice sometimes, especially if their impairment is trauma induced, but it is rewarding to watch them learn to communicate again.
When I found out I was coming to Sweden, I had Laura reach out and privately arrange a visit to a children’s hospital here, and they said that I would be welcome anytime.
Now unfortunately, I don’t understand Swedish Sign Language, but knowing how stretched most hospitals are, I knew they’d be happy to let me volunteer for the day.
The children’s hospital wasn’t on the schedule for today, it never is.
I make sure of it, considering no one outside of Laura and my dad know I do this.
It’s not something I share with my team, and definitely not something I want to alert the media to.
I just like to show up and help the kids any way I can, and on days like today, it feels very much like I am the one who needs the help.
Like always, Laura ensured my background checks and references were forwarded to them when she set this up, so I know they are expecting me. By the time I get there the pressure I was feeling eases completely, and I head to find the person Laura spoke with so I can get started.
The reception area is big and bright with colorful murals painted all over, all trying their best to make this place feel less like a hospital. I’m not sure it works, but I can appreciate the sentiment. I can only imagine how hard it is for families to be stuck here long term.
I approach the desk and introduce myself, and the woman behind it smiles in recognition. “Ah, Mr. Miles, it’s so good to have you,” she beams, standing up to come around the desk and greet me, and I shake her hand.
“Please, Wilder is fine.”
She nods, raising her hand to lead the way. “The kids are going to be so excited.”
I follow her through a maze of corridors, until she leads me to a small office near one of the pediatric wards, and a woman in her forties stands as I enter. The woman who led me here, excuses herself politely, as the new woman rises from her chair.
"Wilder?” She asks in confirmation and I nod, making her smile. “It’s good to finally have you here. I'm Ingrid. Laura and I have exchanged approximately twenty emails about today." Her tone is teasing, but she smiles, and I laugh.
“Sounds about right for Laur, she knows how important this is to me.”
"She speaks very highly of you,” Ingrid tells me, guiding me to a chair across from her.
"Ah, that’s because she's contractually obligated to do so," I joke, and she snorts, as I take a seat.
“She said you were a bit of a spitfire,” she muses, reminding me of my mom a little, in the way she seems both impressed and exasperated by my personality, and I hold my hands up.
“Guilty as charged.”
We have a quick conversation, where she asks some questions and runs through some safety checks and rules of the place.
I have visited enough hospitals over the years to know that they are all different, so I stay quiet and listen.
She explains that the ward I will be in houses a mixture of sick kids, some of who are terminal and I have to swallow thickly, as she runs through what to expect.
“They don’t get many visitors aside from families, so I think they will be really excited to have you here.”
A warmth settles through my chest at her words, and she gestures for me to follow her on a quick tour, before leading me to one of the activity rooms. Twenty minutes later I am sitting cross-legged on the floor surrounded by a group of children.
I feel a little out of my comfort zone considering I’m not just here to teach them ASL like I normally do back home, and the sight of them has my heart aching.
They are all just so small, with tubes coming out of their bodies and despite what they are all going through, they still find it within themselves to smile.
I have a translator sitting beside me, but to my surprise, quite a few of them know a good amount of English. So I pluck a book off the pile. “Ready?” I ask, letting the translator do her thing, and several enthusiastic nods greet me.
The second I start reading, all the kids go quiet, listening intently to my every word, before the translator follows suit.
We work in tandem, both telling the story with exaggerated expressions, animated movements, and the children absorb it all.
Every word, every expression, all laughing when I pull a funny face, and some of the parents here with them look on with teary gazes.
It makes me wonder how often they get to do something as simple as listen to a story.
It reminds me of being a kid myself, of my mom teaching me ASL by doing the exact same thing I am now and reading stories. So simple but so effective.
I read three stories in total before I notice the kids are starting to get restless, and I let the nurses do some quick checks, before we set them all up with some arts and crafts.
When I settle down with them to do the same, it prompts them to ask at least a hundred questions about who I am and what I do.
It’s refreshing to watch their faces as I tell them, all of them looking at me like I am the coolest person in the world, and right now I feel like I am.
“Does your race car have cup holders?” One little girl asks, and the question takes me completely by surprise.
“No actually, it doesn't.” Her disappointment is instant, but it only induces another round of questions.
A little girl with bright pink bows studies me for a moment, then asks, “Do you have a girlfriend?”
I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I don’t.”
She smiles so hard I think it might split her face in half, and I am reminded exactly why I do this.
None of these kids care who I am or what I do and right now with the world weighing down on my shoulders, it feels nothing but refreshing. My problems are nothing in comparison to theirs and I needed that reminder more than ever.
Movement catches my eye through the glass panel in the door and I find a familiar figure watching me through the other open door.
My stomach somersaults.
Reed found me.
For a second I just stare at him through the glass, wondering how the hell he managed it, because I know full well Laura wouldn’t have told him.
Bringing my focus back to the kids, I force another smile and go back to answering their questions, before one of the nurses notices Reed.
So I excuse myself from the children, promising I'll be back in a few minutes, before making my way into the corridor.
The second the door closes behind me, I fix my stare on him. "Stalking me, Blue?" His mouth twitches, but he keeps his smile at bay.
"Your dad said I'd find you here."
Of course he did.
“Well if you’re here to take some pictures you’re shit out of luck,” I grunt, moving to lean on the wall so the kids can’t see me, while my hands itch for a cigarette.
“That’s not why I’m here,” he replies gently, but the words come out flat.
“Isn’t it?” I scoff. “I know what you're thinking. It’s good publicity, a driver spending time with sick kids.” I glance back toward the room where the children are still waiting for me.
“But that's not why I'm here. I do this because I like it, not because there is a chance it can make me look good.”
Silence stretches between us, before he finally takes a deep breath. “Can I at least come in and join you?”
I nod before heading back inside, taking more questions, as Reed takes a seat at the back with another nurse.
Then I paint some pictures, play some video games, then host a little drawing competition to see who can draw the best car.
The girl who asked about the cup holders wins by a landslide, and by the time we all say goodbye, my heart feels lighter than it has in weeks.
Reed and I walk back through the doors and he pauses, turning to look at me, a gentle look in his stare that I haven’t seen before. He’s looking at me like he thinks maybe we’re something, and my heart starts to race.
Is he finally seeing me?
Is he finally realizing this thing between us could be everything?
I let out a breath and lift a hand toward him, noting the strand of hair that has fallen forward.
I reach up to push it back from his forehead, and his reaction is immediate in the way he flinches away from me.
Not in fear, not because he thinks I will hurt him the same way his father has, but from me, my touch.
I watch his eyes dart in worry as he looks up and down the corridor, because God forbid anyone sees me touch his hair.
“Stop, we’re in public,” he hisses, and the words hit harder than they should, as my hand drops back down to my side.
For a second I just stare at him, and then I can’t help but scoff, a sharp laugh escaping me. Not because it’s funny, but because if I don’t laugh, I’ll say something I’ll regret.
“Right,” I drawl, shaking my head. “So I can fuck you in private, but I can’t touch you in public.”
His expression shifts, but he doesn’t refute my statement, and I turn and start walking. "Wilder,” he calls, and I hear his footsteps, but I don’t stop. “Wild, please.”
Still I don't stop, because suddenly I can’t stand the contradiction.
I can’t deal with the way he can crawl into my bed and fall apart beneath me like we’re everything, and then act like my touch burns him like we’re nothing.
So I keep walking, not stopping until I can no longer hear him call my name.
I know it makes me an asshole, especially when I know the reason he is the way he is. Those words he said are his father’s, not his, but it doesn’t make hearing them hurt any less. In fact, all they did was make me angry. I wait until I’m in a cab before I pull out my phone and call Cade.
“Yeah?” he grunts, when he answers, and my fingers tighten around my device.
“Why haven’t I had an update?” I snap down the line.
It’s been days since he told me anything about what his little fucking minions have found, and it’s taking too long.
So far, all they have been digging up is some bullshit on his business deals, and though once compiled it will be enough to cause him trouble, it’s still not enough for me.
I want to ruin him, the way he has ruined his son.
“In case you didn’t notice I’ve been a bit busy watching you.” His response sounds sarcastic, but I don’t miss the underlying dark tone of it.
“And here I thought I heard you were a good multitasker,” I clap back, and he sighs, as I hear the telltale sound of a lighter.
“If you’re mad at your little boyfriend, don’t take it out on me,” he breathes, exhaling deeply, and I roll my shoulders, trying to keep my temper in check.
“Just fucking get me something,” I grit down the line, before ending the call.
Then I tell the driver to take me to the nearest bar.