Chapter Twenty-Two
The Defcon One
Ingrid
My phone vibrates on the table at a small café in the middle of somewhere. California, maybe. All the highways are starting to look the same.
“You should talk to your mom,” Wilder suggests as Cash puts down another card, winning whatever game they’ve been playing for the last ten minutes. “At least let her know you’re alive.”
“Yeah,” Cash agrees as he shuffles the cards. Not that I asked him, but whatever.
Against my better judgment, I pick up my phone and click on her message.
911 INGRID! LEFTCON TWO! CALL IMMEDIATELY.
I run a hand over my face and murmur, “It’s Defcon One, Mom.”
“That doesn’t sound good,” Wilder says.
“She wants me to call her.” I pause before adding, “Immediately.”
He gives me a small smile. “Call her.”
I take a sobering breath before sliding out of the booth and making my way to the door.
The heat hits me like a brick wall when I walk outside.
I hit the call button on my phone and Mom picks up on the first ring.
“Thank God, Ingrid,” she exhales. “Things are—Jason! She has a hammer! She’s… Oh no!”
“Mom?” I groan. “What is Isla doing now?”
I hear commotion, then Isla screaming that she’s going to break down my door if it’s the last thing she does.
Good to know my absence doesn’t make things less dramatic for all of them.
“Harvey left,” Mom whispers into the phone.
I inhale sharply. “What?”
“He said she’s too much,” Mom continues, voice hushed. “He doesn’t want a child. He wants to go back to teaching and his quiet life.”
I smack my palm to my forehead. “You’re serious?”
“Why do you think I sent you that text?” Mom returns as Dad starts yelling in the background.
Thankfully, I can’t make out what he’s saying.
“It’s Defcon One,” I try explaining. “Not Leftcon Two.”
“It was a play on words, Ingrid,” Mom retorts. “First, Frank left her. Now, Harvey. Get it? Two men have left her.”
I pause. Did Mom just use a pun?
“I’m proud of you, Mom,” I tell her. “That was very clever.”
“I’m not a complete idiot.”
“How is Isla doing?” I ask, swallowing hard.
I already know the answer. I can hear her hysterical meltdown in the background.
“She’s determined to turn your room into a nursery,” Mom says with a long sigh. “I don’t know what to do, Ingrid. Her bedroom is bigger than yours. She’s just going to have to deal.”
“Agreed,” I say.
She exhales, and I can hear the exhaustion she’s going through.
“Isla has a broken picker.”
I frown. “What does that mean, Mom?”
“It means,” she laments, “she’s not like you. She picks people who don’t really like her. She thinks because they stick around for a little while, they must care for her. But they don’t. Not really. When they get tired of her, they just leave.”
I’m not sure what’s going on at home, but is Jill Winthrop actually making sense?
“Sometimes, I don’t think Cash liked me very much,” I say quietly into the phone.
“No,” Mom returns. “He didn’t always act like it. But Wilder does. You picked right this time, Ingrid. You picked someone who likes you and won’t get tired of you.”
“How do you know?” I ask her.
“His actions speak louder than his yapping.”
I laugh. “Words, Mom. His actions speak louder than his words.”
“You know what I meant.”
For the first time in my life, I miss my mom. I miss the sound of her voice and the chaotic way she moves through life and how she can’t ever get a single adage right.
“I miss you, Mom,” I say to her.
“I miss you so much, Ingrid.”
But then, Dad starts yelling again and I can hear Isla sobbing uncontrollably.
These are my people. I wouldn’t choose them. But somehow, they’re still mine.
And I miss them.
Even Isla’s deranged sense of entitlement.
What if she gets my room?
I don’t think it’s the end of the world, really. Wilder should go to NYU, and I should go with him. I can do online classes and work.
Isla and her terrible picker can have my room.
“How is your trip?” Mom asks.
“Good,” I tell her. “We’re only a few hours from our destination.”
“I should let you go.”
“I’ll text you when we’re heading home, okay?”
“Drive safe, Ingrid.”
“I will.”
Mom hangs up and I take a sobering breath. I don’t care about my room or Isla’s selfishness or the fact that Wilder concealed the truth.
I want to go to New York. I want Wilder to chase his dreams. He’s always taking care of everyone else. He should do something for himself for a change.
I know he’s worried about the money, but we’ll figure it out.
Money isn’t the end-all be-all. We will find it one way or another.
The moment I slide into the booth across from Wilder and Cash, our food arrives. French Toast, fruit, pancakes, bacon, sausage and the fluffiest biscuits I’ve ever seen in my life.
“Does everything look good?” the waitress asks.
I nod my head as the boys dig in.
“Everything looks great,” I tell her.
“What did your mom say?” Wilder asks me, his mouth full of food.
Shrugging, I say, “Harvey left Isla.”
Wilder pauses mid-bite. “Are you serious? Grandpa Harvey left her?”
“Leftcon Two,” I say.
“What does that mean?” Cash interjects.
“It means Frank the Fornicator left Isla last summer.” I exhale. “And Harvey the Hobbling Senior Citizen left her this summer. Two men left her.”
Wilder eyes me, his face hard to read. “Is she okay?”
“I don’t know,” I tell him honestly. “She sounded pretty disturbed in the background. Something about a hammer and trying to get into my room.”
“That can’t be good,” Wilder says quietly.
I want to tell him that we should seriously consider New York, but I don’t want to have that discussion in front of Cash.
So, I change the subject.
“Are you nervous or excited to meet Britta?” I direct to Cash.
He blows out a long breath. “Both?”
Wilder nudges him with his elbow. “You’ll be fine. You’re Cash Freaking Allred.”
“Yeah,” I say. “You’re Cash Freaking Allred.”
Cash rolls his eyes. “Stop.” Then, his face pales. “I think I need to use the restroom.”
Wilder slides out of the booth to let him out.
“It’s been a while since Cash has gotten the nervous shits,” Wilder says as he slides into the booth next to me and kisses me quickly on the lips.
“It’s hard being Cash,” I say.
He snakes his arm around me and pulls me closer. I watch as his eyes roam my face.
“What’s wrong, Ingrid?”
What’s wrong? I want to move in with him. I want him to go to film school. I want things to be easier than they are right now.
“Nothing,” I lie.
He misses nothing. “You can tell me.”
I exhale. “I just was thinking about how… nice it would be to go to New York.”
I wait for him to freak out, but he nods slowly.
“Yeah?”
“It’s just,” I start as I shift to face him. “I could do online classes and get a job at some cool little art studio or a busy coffee shop. You could go to school. We could live in a city together where no one knows us. I just… it sounds nice.”
Wilder tilts his head to the side. “You’d do online classes?”
“I would,” I answer as I reach for my cup of coffee.
“Tempting,” he says with a low whistle. “But I still don’t have the money to go.”
My shoulders roll forward, defeated. “I know.”
“If I can figure out a way,” he says as he inhales sharply. “We’ll go.”
I sit up straighter. “Really?”
He gnaws on his lower lip. “I don’t want to promise something I can’t afford.”
“Bah humbug,” I groan.
He kisses the side of my face. “If I can’t come up with the money, we’ll figure something out.”
My hand slides along his black shorts, heading straight for Defcon One territory.
“Does that mean we can let our wager go?” I ask him as my fingers trace the outline of his dick.
He glances around, making sure no one is paying us any attention.
“I think we’re at a stalemate,” he says, low and rough.
“I’m not giving in,” I warn him. “I want to live with you.”
“Why?”
My face involuntarily whips back. “Why what?”
“Why do you want to live with me?” he asks, as if it’s the most reasonable question in the world.
Why? So many reasons. I want to go to bed with him every night and wake up beside him every morning. I want to start a life with him that isn’t wrapped up in Cash or Isla or Jason and Jill.
I want him all to myself, as selfish as that sounds.
My hand leaves his shorts, and I cup his warm cheek in my hand.
“I want to live with you because I hate saying goodbye or being interrupted,” I tell him honestly. “I want to be alone with you. Really alone. We’ve, uh, never had that.”
We don’t even have it now. Any minute, Cash is going to return from the restroom.
“We had that last summer,” Wilder returns.
“Barely,” I say, laughing softly.
I don’t find it even remotely funny, but if he rejects the idea, it’ll sting.
“You don’t think it’s too fast?” Wilder asks me.
My heart dips. Too fast? It’s been a year.
Maybe it is too fast.
Maybe I’m trying to push something that’s not ready.
I spent years waiting for Cash to make a decision about our future—about me.
I don’t want to waste any more time.
“I know I love you,” I say. “You can tell me we have all the time in the world to live together or to go to New York, but I’ve been there.
I’ve waited and told myself I was just biding my time.
” I pause and swallow hard. “But I have a lot of regrets about the time I spent waiting. I don’t want that with you. ”
He nods. “You’re right.”
“I am?” I say, my voice cracking at the end.
Wilder smiles, then kisses me.
But it’s interrupted.
By Cash.
And his unwelcome presence.
“I think we should stop at a historical marker,” he announces as he slides into the booth across from us. “We could add it to the bucket list.”
“No,” Wilder and I say at the same time.
“Once the bucket list is set,” I begin.
“You can’t change it,” Wilder finishes.
Cash holds up his hands in defense. “Fine. Don’t add it to the bucket list. But I want to see it.”
“See what exactly?” I ask him.
He holds up his phone and Wilder groans.
“A tower?” Wilder lets out a long sigh.
“It could be fun,” Cash offers as I look at the name of the historical marker. Desert View Tower.
“Yeah,” I try to sound chippy. “Looks cool. We can stop there.”
“I’ll pay and we can head out,” Cash says as he hops out of the booth and heads to the front of the diner with his card in hand.
“I want to be alone with you,” Wilder grumbles as his fingers find my bare thigh and he squeezes lightly.
I laugh as he buries his face in my hair.
“So, you can lose our bet?”
“Who said anything about me losing,” Wilder whispers as his lips find the shell of my ear. “I plan on winning.”
“And how do you plan on doing that?” I ask him.
He smirks, his lips still on my ear.
“With you underneath me,” he coos. “Begging me to call a truce.”
My core clenches as my teeth dig into my lip.
DEFCON ONE.
This is DEFCON ONE.
I don’t know how much longer I can hold out, but I just have to make sure it’s longer than Wilder.