Chapter Twenty-Eight
The Three Amigos
Ingrid
We aren’t stopping to stay the night anywhere. We’ve all been taking turns driving and sleeping in the backseat. Wilder wants to get home. He hasn’t said it out loud, but we both know why.
He wants to say goodbye to Margot.
Or, at the very least, be there for Elowyn when she has to.
I reach for his hand. He’s fast asleep in the passenger seat, but some part of me needs him. Needs to feel the warmth of his skin as the sun starts to rise on the horizon, coloring the sky gold and garnet.
I wish there was a way to slow time down. So that I could live in this moment as long as possible.
Right now, everything is fine. Margot is still alive. Elowyn hasn’t lost her mom yet. Archibald and his illicit affairs are miles away.
When we get home, reality hits. Hard and fast.
Who even knows if I’ll have a room.
Cash stirs in the seat behind me, and I take a sobering breath.
“Coffee?” he says as he sits up and stares at me in the rearview mirror.
We pass the Cadillac Ranch sign and I nod. “How do you feel about a little detour first?”
Cash groans. “Fine.”
Like he even has a choice.
I take the exit as the sun starts to rise higher.
Wilder shifts, his body reacting to the car slowing down.
“Wh-where are we?” he asks, groggy.
“We are making a stop at Cadillac Ranch,” I tell him. “We have some leftover spray paint. I thought we could write something.”
“Something like what?” Cash scoffs.
I roll my eyes as I park. “We could write a word or a name or something that sums up this trip.”
Wilder stretches and puts on his sunglasses. “Sounds good to me.”
We get out, Cash mumbling under his breath the whole time.
I grab the spray paint from the trunk. Wilder’s waiting, but Cash is walking a few steps ahead.
“Thanks for driving while I rested,” Wilder says before a long yawn.
“How are you doing?” I ask him as we start walking.
He laughs. “Why are you saying it like we’re acquaintances?”
“I didn’t mean to,” I return with a smile. “I just wanted to know if—”
“I’m with you,” he says. “I’m good.”
I wish I believed him.
A part of me does. I’m better when I’m nearer to him, too. But there’s so much going on—so much on the line—I know he’s not fine.
So, I change the subject.
“Have you heard from Elowyn?”
He shakes his dark head. “No. I should probably check in with her.”
Suddenly, his phone starts buzzing. When he pulls it out, he frowns. “It’s Elowyn.”
He keeps one arm around me as he puts the phone up to his ear.
“Hey,” he says.
I can’t make out the words, but Elowyn sounds somber. Maybe even defeated.
My stomach knots as Wilder’s body stiffens beside mine and he stops walking.
I turn to face him and watch as he runs a hand through his hair.
“I’m so sorry, Elowyn.”
The warm morning air feels suffocating as I reach for him. To my surprise, he doesn’t pull away.
“Is there anything you need?” he asks his half-sister.
She responds, but I still can’t make out the words.
“I’ll be home tomorrow,” he tells her. “I’ll stop by as soon as I can.”
They end the call and Wilder shoves his phone back into his pocket as he takes a deep breath.
I want to ask him what she said, but the sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach knows.
Margot is gone.
He holds me tighter, his heart beating faster as I lay my head on his chest.
And even though I know he’s hurting—for his sister, for the part of him that’s human and cares deeply about the people in his life—I’m grateful that words don’t need to be spoken here and now.
“Margot passed this morning,” Wilder whispers, as if he needs to hear the words as much as he needs to say them.
“I’m sorry,” I say as we stand there, lost in the moment.
“It’s okay,” he mumbles. “We knew it was coming. I just… wanted to be home when this happened.”
He wanted to be there for his sister.
“I know,” I say as I glance up at him.
He swallows hard. “There’s nothing we can do. Not until we get home.”
“You’re sure you’re okay?”
“I’m fine, Ingrid,” he says, his voice rough and raw. “I can’t process this right now. I just want to get through the next five minutes.”
“Okay.”
Cash is up ahead, waiting for us. I know I should warn him, but he’s on his cell phone, and by the way he’s reading whatever is on the screen, I’m guessing Elowyn texted him.
Or someone did.
We don’t talk as we head over to Cash. When we reach him, he doesn’t say anything, but he gives Wilder a long look.
The kind that says he’s giving his best friend space, but he’s not going too far.
When we reach the Cadillacs, I hand out the spray paint. Cash immediately steps forward and starts writing.
But Wilder hangs back.
Torn between staying next to him and letting him have room to breathe, I hesitantly follow Cash.
I’m not sure what to write. How to sum up this trip.
I wouldn’t call it life-changing, but I wouldn’t call it boring either.
The last time we came through here, we were getting ready to head into the eye of the storm.
All of Wilder’s secrets came out.
Maybe I forgave him a little too fast. But maybe that’s what you do when you understand someone the way I understand Wilder.
He’s not a bad person who was hiding NYU and Margot because he wanted to hurt me. He just hadn’t processed it the way he needed to.
I still don’t think he’s processed it fully.
People like Fanny and Isla expect perfection. They want everything tied up neat and shiny, even if they aren’t.
But that’s not life. People are human. They’re going to make mistakes. They’re going to make the wrong decision sometimes.
Cash did.
Wilder did.
I’m sure one day down the line, I will, too.
I didn’t offer Cash the same forgiveness I’ve offered Wilder. I didn’t let him off the hook the same way.
And I think I’m finally ready to admit—at least to myself—why.
I wanted out.
I loved Cash. Of course, I did. But I was tired of trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I didn’t want to go to Baltimore. I didn’t want to spend a lifetime trying to ignore Fanny’s insensitive remarks and Archibald’s licentious ways.
There’s no way I would have moved for Cash. But for Wilder? I’d live on the moon if he needed me to.
That’s the difference.
I didn’t want a life with Cash. Maybe some part of me did. Some shallow, na?ve part.
I want a life with Wilder. Messy. Complicated. Hard.
He’s worth it.
And the way I feel about him? That’ll never change.
My eyes land on my lightning bolt tattoo.
Rare. Electric.
He’ll always be my bottled-up lightning.
“What are you going to write?” Cash asks me as he stares straight ahead.
“I’m not sure,” I reply.
“Margot’s dead,” Cash says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to blurt out.
“I know.”
He turns to face me. “What about Elowyn?”
I sigh. “I’m sure she’s devastated.”
“I should definitely call her, right?”
I frown. “Why would you call her?”
“We’re… friends.”
Something about that sits strangely in my chest, but I don’t poke at it.
“Does Wilder know about this?” I raise a curious eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Cash says. A little too quickly.
If there’s something going on between them, I’d rather not know.
In this case, ignorance is bliss.
“What are you going to write?” I change the subject.
“Something about us,” Cash says. “About the three of us.”
“Interesting choice,” I return.
Cash shrugs. “We’ve come a long way, Ingrid. Not many guys would still be friends with their ex-girlfriends after they slept with their best friend.”
“I doubt it happens very often.”
“You’d be surprised,” he chuckles.
I don’t even want to know.
For a second, I glance over my shoulder at Wilder. Just to make sure he’s still there.
He is.
I’m not even surprised to see him watching me. Like he doesn’t know whether to stand still or run to me.
So, I do what we came here to do. I shake the spray paint can and in bright orange I write THE SUMMER OFF GRID.
Cash steps forward as I step back. In green paint, he adds The Three Amigos – C, W and I.
I guess that’s better than being called a throuple.
Wilder appears beside me, somber but solid.
His fingers graze mine as he takes a spray paint from me.
Then, in blue he writes RIP Margot.
And even though this isn’t the summer we planned, it’s been the one that’s broken and healed all of us.
Cash snaps a photo of our spray-painted words. Then, he turns the camera.
Wilder groans, but I don’t.
We should take pictures and document our lives.
They’re short and fleeting.
We only get so many trips around the sun.
And maybe Wilder gets it, even though he’s pretending a photo is torture. Because he drapes an arm over my shoulders and smiles. It doesn’t quite reach his eyes, but Cash snaps the photo as I gaze up at Wilder.
I can’t lose him.
That’s the only thought that pops into my mind.
It’s not the desperate kind that used to dominate all my thoughts about Cash.
This is entirely different.
I don’t want to miss a moment with Wilder. Especially the hard ones.
“Should we grab a bite to eat, then head out?” Cash proposes.
“We should,” Wilder agrees. “We have at least another twenty hours on the road.”
Slowly, I let out a breath I’ve been holding.
“You’re sure?” I press.
Wilder nods. “Yeah. I mean… we don’t know what shit show is waiting for us when we get home. We should enjoy our last day or two, right?”
Cash looks worried. Maybe I should be, too.
But this is Wilder we’re talking about.
He processes slowly, quietly, and in his own time.
“I’ll drive,” Wilder offers.
And he does.
Right up the road to a cute little diner.
We all get out and find a cozy booth in the back.
Wilder lays a hand on my thigh as we look over the menu.
I’m not waiting for the next storm.
It’s a nice feeling.
“What are you going to get?” Wilder asks me.
“Pancakes,” I answer.
“What about you?”
“Same,” Wilder replies as he sets our menus aside.
Maybe it should feel odd to have a normal conversation in a normal diner on a normal summer road trip.
But it doesn’t.
“I’m getting the ham and cheese omelet,” Cash volunteers. “Since no one asked me.”
“He’s so sensitive,” Wilder whispers in my ear.
“I heard that,” Cash snaps. “I am not sensitive.”
“Testy?” Wilder offers.
I laugh. “He has his moments.”
“I am perfectly fine,” Cash lies as the waitress appears.
Tomorrow, we’ll pull into the driveway and all the problems we’ve been avoiding for a week will take center stage.
But for now, we’re just three amigos sitting in a diner.
Not fixed.
Not finished.
But still here.
And somehow, that feels like healing.