Chapter Ten
The Beale Street
Ingrid
Wilder still feels distant as we meander down Beale Street. Hordes of people move around us as neon lights flicker overhead. Somewhere, the sound of a blues guitar permeates the air.
When I reach for his hand, I let out a sigh of relief as Wilder twines our fingers together.
Thankfully, Cash noticed we needed some space, so he stayed back at the motel to watch a baseball game, completely abandoning the first item on our Road Trip Bucket List. Not that I'm complaining.
I'd rather be alone with Wilder for a few hours.
I can't help but wonder, though, if Wilder would much rather be holed up in a small, dank room with Cash watching sports than meandering down Beale Street at night with me.
When did I become this insecure in our relationship?
“Are you hungry?” Wilder asks me, distracting me from the full-blown meltdown I was internally heading for.
I shrug. “Only if you are.”
“There's a BBQ place up ahead,” he points out.
“Sounds delicious,” I try.
He doesn't say anything after that, and I find myself running through a checklist in my head.
Did Wilder tell me he loved me today? Yes.
How many times? I don't know. Maybe twice.
What am I doing? Wilder loves me. And he doesn't have to constantly remind me. It's not fair to him. He's not the keeper of my self-worth and self-confidence and self-assuredness.
I am.
Wilder loves me. I know this.
Why, then, do I keep doubting him?
The BBQ place is packed when we enter, and Wilder suggests taking our dinner to go. My heart sinks when he mentions bringing Cash something, too.
“This is a bucket list item,” I let out, begrudgingly. “We're supposed to walk Beale Street at night.”
“We are,” Wilder responds. “We have.”
I run a hand over my face as we get in the long line. “I thought the point of the bucket list was to bond?”
“We are bonding,” he says with a shrug.
I know I shouldn't say anything, but I've never been great at keeping my thoughts—and feelings—to myself. At least, where Wilder's concerned.
“You've been distant since the expensive sensor fiasco,” I inhale sharply.
“I'm not trying to be distant,” he defends himself.
“Then why can't we go back to how things were?” I ask. “Before I let Cash pay.”
Wilder shakes his head. “I'm trying to.”
“I know I hurt your feelings,” I begin.
“Whoa!” Wilder holds a hand up as we take a few steps closer to the register. “You didn't hurt my feelings.”
“Oh, boy,” I groan. Here we go.
“My pride took a hit. My feelings are fine,” he scoffs.
He's lying. I know he is.
“Are you sure about that?” I roll my eyes.
“Blondie,” Wilder lets out a playful chuckle, “don't make me laugh.”
Ugh. We're back to Blondie.
“Can you please try being serious?” I leave the begging out of my tone. “This is serious.”
“I am being serious,” he replies.
“No,” I say as I step in front of him and place my hand on his chest. “Be my Wilder. The one who spent all last summer marking bucket list items off with me.”
“I am,” he reiterates quietly.
My heart stings. Cash left me last summer to traipse around Europe after setting himself free from me. This summer, Wilder's traipsing the United States and I can't help but wonder if he'll set himself free from me, too.
“Okay.” I give in easily before turning and facing the menu.
To my surprise, Wilder snakes his arms over my shoulders and pulls my back against his front. Then, his lips find my ear and he whispers, “I love you.”
It's enough to melt the worry away. Enough to give me hope that tomorrow things might be better for us.
Oh, what am I saying? As long as we're cross-country road-tripping with Cash, things are going to be tense, uncomfortable, and weird.
Wilder's phone vibrates and he keeps one arm hooked around my shoulders. He fishes his cell phone out of his pocket. I try not to look at his screen, but I make out the name Elowyn and curiosity pricks my chest.
As soon as the message window appears with his half-sister's name, Wilder quickly shuts it out.
“You're not going to see what she said?” I ask him.
His fingers splay across my chest. “No.”
“Why not?”
Wilder shoves his phone back into his pocket before wrapping his arm back around me, holding me tight. “Because I'm here with you.”
That doesn't really sound like a good excuse to ignore his sister.
“What if it's an emergency, Wilder?”
He tenses, and I wonder what I've said now that's set him off.
“Then, she can find someone else to help her. I'm not even in the same state right now,” Wilder snaps.
I chew on the inside of my cheek, wishing I knew what to say anymore.
“I'm sorry,” he blows out a tired breath, holding me tighter. “This road trip hasn't been what I expected.”
Yeah, it hasn’t been what I expected either.
We move with the line, but Wilder keeps his arms around me and I lean back into him.
“What did you expect?” I press.
He shakes his head, his chin grazing the back of my head. “I thought things would be... easier.”
“Do you remember when we went to prom senior year and Kerrigan Lewis puked all night?” I fondly smile.
“How could I forget?” he grumbles. “She missed the bush at one point and puked on my shoe. I had to pay a cleaning fee when I returned them.”
I’m starting to see a pattern here with Wilder. Kerrigan at Prom and Hendrix, the blond we golfed with last summer, puked on his shoes, too.
That’s not the point, though.
“You rented shoes for prom?” I twist to look up at him.
“I wasn't going to shell out a ton of money on shoes I'd only wear once.” He furrows his brow as he stares down at me.
“I didn't want you to dance with us.” It comes out hoarse and rough.
“I know,” Wilder admits.
“But it wasn't because of you,” I clarify. “It was because Cash was different with you. He treated you better than he treated me. When you were close by, all you did was remind me that he was capable of treating someone well, but that he refused to treat me that way.”
“Maybe he was secretly jealous of me,” Wilder jokes.
“Wilder.” I swallow hard.
“I'm sorry,” he apologizes. “I couldn't resist.”
“I'm nervous that if Cash wants to dance with us, you'll prefer him.”
“I'm not in love with him,” he says as he forces a smile. “I'm in love with you.”
“But what happens when you get tired of me?” I question.
Wilder's face scrunches with confusion. “Why would I get tired of you?”
“Cash did,” I argue.
“Cash also let me dance with you at prom,” he says, smacking his lips together. “If that had been me, I'd have made Cash find someone else to spend the night with.”
“Is that supposed to make me feel better?”
“I'm saying,” Wilder coos as his lips find my ear. “There's no way in hell if you'd been my prom date that I would have let anyone else dance with you that night. Not even Cash.”
“Not even if Kerrigan Lewis had puked all over his shoes?”
“Nope,” he says, popping the p. “I'm not going to get tired of you. I am tired of Cash, though. I live with him, sleep in the same room as him, and now we're stuck in a car together.”
“We could remedy that situation,” I challenge with a raised eyebrow.
Wilder sighs. “I've been thinking about that.”
“About?” I tilt my head to the side as he quickly presses his lips to mine.
“About living together.”
Oh. My. Gawd. Don't freak out, Ingrid.
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he says as he walks us forward. We're next in line to order. “I haven't figured anything out yet, but I'm thinking about it.”
“Okay,” I inhale sharply, trying to play it cool. “Can we eat here?”
Wilder raises an eyebrow. “You don't want to bring Cash dinner?”
“There's no salad,” I say. “He won't eat anything on the menu.”
“True,” he agrees.
We order ribs, chicken wings, and coleslaw. I don't say anything when Wilder pulls his wallet out and pays. I don't even say anything when he makes a comment about not ordering Cash something.
We manage to find a small table by the window, and I slide into the seat across from the love of my life, desperately wishing things didn't feel so strained.
“You look lost in thought,” Wilder notices.
I hitch my shoulder and look out the window. “I guess.”
“What are you thinking, Ingrid?”
I shrug. “I wish things weren't so complicated.”
“Are they?” He asks.
“You once told me I was a great communicator,” I remind him. “But I'm starting to wonder if I was only a great communicator because you were willing to let me be.”
Wilder runs a hand through his hair, making my insides ache. He's so handsome it physically hurts.
“I'm not trying to keep you from communicating what you need to,” he admits, shaking his head. “A lot is going on right now.”
“Like what?” I frown. “Other than traveling cross country with Cash, there's nothing going on.”
“There's school and living together,” he counters. He goes to say more, but quickly shuts his mouth.
“You've already figured out how you're going to make the money stretch for school, and you said you'd only been thinking about living together.”
“It's still pressure, Ingrid,” he replies coolly.
I exhale heavily. “Alright.”
Wilder reaches for my hand. “What's wrong?”
I resist the urge to roll my eyes at him. “Obviously a lot is going on right now.”
He smirks. “You're avoiding the question.”
“I learned from the best,” I retort.
“Touche,” he grins.
For a moment, the walls come crashing down and there's a lightness to Wilder that hasn't been there in days.
“You wanna make out after this?” I bite my lip.
“I'm sure there's a dark alley close by,” Wilder plays along.
“I expect some boob action,” I state pointedly.
“I will definitely be feeling you up,” he promises.
Our food arrives, and I take a sobering breath. Wilder and I have a complicated history. One twined with Cash and the scandalous Allreds.
But even when it's messy, I'm grateful we can still find moments like these.
“If there's ever anything bothering you,” I say to Wilder, “you know you can tell me, right?”
He scratches the back of his neck, his eyes shifting to his lap. “I know.”
“Good.” I smile. “I don't want you to feel like you have to hide things from me. Even if it's me who's putting pressure on you.”
Wilder swallows hard. “It's not you.”
My mouth parts and I want to ask more. I want to ask what he means it's not me. Is there someone else?
“These ribs are good,” he says as he licks the sauce off his thumb.
I take a sip of my water, my appetite suddenly gone.
It's not you.
Then who? Cash? Elowyn? Another girl?
Just when I thought I could relax, he drops three little words into my lap that make me want to crawl out of my skin.
“I love you.” I force a smile.
“I love you, too.” Wilder winks at me.
But Cash loved me. And look how that turned out.