Chapter Twelve
The Breakfast Convo
Ingrid
I fill up a cup of orange juice when I hear someone clear their throat behind me.
I turn, and Cash is standing in front of me, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
His blond hair falls across his forehead and I remember—for a brief moment—that I used to love him.
Not the way I love Wilder. No, that’s different. Loving Wilder is like bottled-up lightning—rare and electric.
I loved Cash the way the trees always remember to bloom in the spring and shed their leaves in the fall. Simply, and only for a season.
“What’s up?” I ask him as I pick up my plate and motion to a free table in the hotel dining hall.
He exhales and follows me.
“I’m sorry about last night,” he starts as I plop into a chair across from me.
My orange juice sloshes around the plastic cup as I bring it up to my lips and take a sip.
“It’s fine,” I say, waving him off with a flick of my wrist before digging into my strawberry yogurt.
Cash shifts uncomfortably in the seat across from me. “I know how it looks,” he starts.
I raise a curious eyebrow. “It looked like you were having a great time, Cash. Really, you don’t have to apologize.”
“Oh good.” He sighs in relief. “I was worried you thought I was still hung up on you.”
That’s an odd thing to say.
I set my yogurt down. “Why would I think that?”
Cash shrugs, and says a little too quickly, “No reason.”
I’ve known Cash for a long time, and I know there’s something else going on.
But right now, I have an even bigger problem.
Wilder.
He’s been acting weird this whole trip, and I really hope it’s not because he’s hiding something from me.
I wouldn’t even know what it is.
We spend every waking moment together. If there was something going on, I would know about it, right?
“So, we’re good then?” Cash interrupts my mental spiral.
Speaking of spiraling, why is Cash keeping this pen pal under wraps?
“When did you meet Britta?” I ask him. No, meet is not the right word. “Connect?” I try again. “Start talking?”
He runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t laugh, okay?”
Now, I’m intrigued.
I lean forward. “I won’t laugh.”
“I met her through this online group,” he says quietly, his eyes shifting to the table.
That’s it?
“What group?” I press.
“Parents Incarcerated Anonymous,” he answers.
I blink. “That’s a real group?”
He shrugs. “I guess so. I mean, I’m in it.”
“What do they do exactly?”
“It’s a forum to help kids who have a parent—or both parents—in jail,” he explains. “Sort of like a support group. But online. It’s mostly message boards,” he continues. “People venting. Asking questions. Talking about stuff they can’t really say anywhere else.”
“Like what?”
Cash shrugs, but his voice softens. “Like how to explain to people you start dating why they can’t meet your parents. Or what it’s like when your friends ask how your parents are and you don’t know what to say.”
My chest tightens.
I never asked him about that stuff. Not once.
I nod my head. “I’m proud of you, Cash.”
And also feeling a little guilty.
I didn’t realize Cash was struggling.
Would he have told me if he was?
“Please, don’t tell Wild,” he rushes to get out. “He’ll wonder why he’s not a good enough support system, and things will get weird.”
After last night, they’re already weird. But whatever.
“I won’t tell him,” I promise.
“Thanks, Ingrid.”
“Now.” I clear my throat and narrow my eyes. “Tell me everything about Britta.”
Cash hitches a shoulder. “Not much to tell. She goes to UCLA, and her dad murdered some guy fifteen years ago.”
My mouth drops open. “Why did he murder someone?”
He shrugs. “No idea. Haven’t asked.”
“You don’t think that’s important?” I counter.
“I don’t,” Cash answers, honest and sincere. “She hasn’t asked about why my mom is in jail.”
I would ask.
But it’s not really my business anymore.
“What’s going on with Wild this morning?” he changes the subject.
“I don’t know,” I reply. “He told me he was going to call his mom and would meet me down here when he was done.”
Cash’s eyes flash with guilt. Which leads me to believe he knows something I don’t.
“What’s the deal with the ring?” Cash asks me, pointing to the ring Wilder gave me at the end of last summer.
Deflecting. Definitely deflecting.
“A promise,” I answer.
“About?” he pushes.
“Everything,” I reply just as Wilder appears.
“What’d I miss?” he asks before kissing the top of my head.
Cash and I say, “Nothing,” at the same time.
Silence falls across the table.
“Well,” Wilder says, clearing his throat. “I’m going to get some food.”
“I’ll go with you,” Cash tells him.
They leave just as my phone vibrates on the table.
It’s a text message from Mom.
Call. 911. Emergency.
Another text comes through.
I just sent it Jason. I’m sure she’ll call when she has a… Oh shoot! The text to voice is typing everything I say. How do I stop it? Well, how would I know? You set it up on my phone.
I leave for a few days and they can’t even keep it together.
Picking up the phone, I call Mom.
She answers on the first ring.
“Thank goodness, Ingrid,” Mom whispers into the phone. “We have a Code Purple.”
“You mean Code Red?” I ask.
“I like purple more,” Mom says.
I resist the urge to roll my eyes as I take a sip of orange juice. “Anyway,” I exhale. “What’s going on, Mom?”
“Isla is trying to kick in your bedroom door,” Mom says quietly. “Your dad is standing in front of it, and they’re arguing.”
Of course, Queen Isla would stoop this low. She thinks she’s entitled to literally everything that’s mine.
“What do you want me to do?” I ask, my eyes drifting to Wilder and Cash at the waffle maker.
They’re laughing about something—something dumb and boyish—and Wilder bumps Cash’s shoulder the way he always does when he’s teasing him.
It’s easy between them. Effortless.
Sometimes I forget they’ve known each other their entire lives. Before me. Before all of this mess.
“What do I do, Ingrid?” she asks me.
My pulse races.
“I’m not sure, Mom,” I say. “Tell her no. Make it clear that you have a child who still lives there. I mean, you and Dad told me if I got pregnant, you wouldn’t take care of my kids. Why are you taking care of Isla’s?”
“That’s an excellent point,” Mom whispers. “I’ll replay it to your dad.”
“Relay, Mom,” I groan.
“That’s what I said,” she replies. “Love you, Ingrid. Don’t drink and drive.”
The phone clicks and the line goes dead.
I shake my head.
Jason and Jill Winthrop really need to get it together.
“It’ll take us about seven hours to get to Oklahoma City,” Wilder tells Cash as they both sit down. Beside one another. Across from me.
My throat burns.
Why didn’t Wilder want to sit next to me?
No, we’re not doing this today. I slept all night in Wilder’s arms. Cash can have him for breakfast. I don’t have to monopolize every moment of his time.
But damn, I really want to.
I finish my yogurt and stand. “I’m going to head back to the room.”
Wilder frowns. “Why?”
Because you don’t want to sit next to me, duh.
“Just have some things to do,” I say with an awkward roll of my shoulder.
Wilder eyes me suspiciously. “What kinds of things?”
“Just… stuff,” I return.
He grins. “Stuff like we caught Cash doing last night?”
I scrunch my nose. “No. Unlike you two, I can go more than three days without an orgasm.”
Cash chokes on his bacon. We both ignore him.
“Oh, I can go more than three days,” Wilder lies.
I smile cruelly. “I propose a bet then.”
“No,” Cash groans.
Wilder smirks. “A bet?”
“No orgasms until we reach California,” I say.
Cash mumbles, “Sounds good to me,” under his breath.
Wilder leans back in his chair and studies me like I just handed him a puzzle he’s determined to solve.
“You’re really confident about this,” he says slowly.
I shrug. “I know you.”
His grin widens. “Blondie, you’re forgetting something.”
“What?”
“I like winning.”
Wilder crosses his arms over his chest and I resist the urge to admire his biceps.
“What?” I raise an eyebrow as the corner of his lips tips up.
“Deal, Blondie,” he agrees.
I smile, pleased with myself.
“What are we wagering?” Wilder asks.
“Depends,” I quip. “What do you want to wager?”
Wilder’s teeth sink into his lower lip. “Skinny dip in the Pacific Ocean.”
I smirk. “Is that what you want?”
He gives me a devilish look. “Yes.”
Cash clears his throat. “I don’t have to—”
“No,” Wilder and I say at the same time.
Cash looks relieved. “Oh, good.”
“We saw enough last night,” Wilder adds. “Don’t make it weird.”
Despite myself, I laugh a little.
“Your turn, Blondie,” Wilder says. “What do you want to wager?”
What do I want? I want a lifetime with Wilder.
I know how that sounds. We’re young. We’re still figuring things out.
But I spent four years with Cash thinking I knew what I wanted. Turns out, I didn’t.
I didn’t want the Country Club dinners or the fancy parties.
I just wanted Wilder.
And now that we’ve been together for a year, I want more.
“We move in together,” I say to Wilder.
Cash’s eyes widen as Wilder looks at me like I’ve grown a second head.
“You’re serious?” Wilder asks.
I nod. “Dead serious.”
He exhales heavily, his face flashing with a thousand different emotions—apprehension, stress, and maybe a little terror.
“So?” I raise an expectant eyebrow.
Wilder’s hazel eyes—green with tiny flecks of gold in them—find mine.
“Deal, Blondie.”
I smile triumphantly. Wilder is never going to win this bet. He can barely last three days as is. He’s almost on day three now.
He’s going to cave.
He’s going to cave so bad.
And when he does, we’ll get a cute little one-bedroom apartment on Main Street.
“Well,” I say, hitching a shoulder, “I have things to do. I’ll meet you in the room.”
But as I turn to leave, Wilder shifts uncomfortably, and he and Cash share a look. An awkward-staring-too-long-at-one-another look.
There’s something about it that makes my heart dip.
He’s worried about money. School. The future.
But that can’t be all of it.
I head back to the hotel room, resisting the urge to glance over my shoulder. The one telling me that Wilder is obviously hiding something.
Something he told Cash but won’t tell me.
My phone vibrates in my hand and I look at it, fully expecting a text from Wilder.
But it’s not from him.
It’s from Mom.
Dad has managed to keep Isla out of your room for now, but I don’t know how long it will last. Are you sure you can’t come home, Ingrid? It might make things easier.
I blow out a tired breath. This should be a non-issue. The room is mine. Jason and Jill need to grow backbones and lay down the law.
Then again, when I win this bet with Wilder, I’ll have my own place.
But as I zip up my suitcase, the hotel room door opens and Wilder saunters in, a delicious smirk on his face.
“Wh—”
I swallow the words as his mouth finds mine and he walks me back to the bed, his heart pounding against my hand on his chest.
He lowers me on the bed, his fingers slipping beneath the hem of my shirt.
He kisses me, his tongue sliding against mine, as he hovers above me.
I’m so lost in the moment, I don’t notice his fingertips trailing to the button on my jean shorts.
With deft fingers, he undoes it, his palm sliding along my lower stomach, under the waist of my jean shorts.
I stop kissing him, my eyes opening wide.
“Wilder,” I say against his lips.
He kisses me again, his fingers trailing lower.
“You’re cheating!” I say and he just laughs.
“You never said I couldn’t seduce you, Ingrid,” he murmurs.
I sigh. I love when he says my name.
But not enough to lose the bet.
“We have to get on the road,” I remind him.
Wilder shakes his head, his body still warm against mine.
“Yes.” I laugh.
He sits up, pulling me with him.
“I’m going to wear you down,” he warns.
I give him a cruel smile. “Not if I wear you down first.”
He smirks. “Good luck.”
He grabs my suitcase, then his, and opens the hotel room door.
“Let’s get these in the car, then we’ll check out.”
I nod, my heart pounding in my chest.
Maybe betting Wilder wasn’t the best decision I’ve made.
At the very least, this road trip just got more interesting.