Chapter 38
CHAPTER
THIRTY-EIGHT
WILDE
I ’m not sure what last night was, but I carry it with me through the day. I dropped Hudson home earlier, and it’s hard to wrap my head around the way I’ve gone from no one being allowed in my house at all to him staying the night.
I mean, fuck. I can still taste his mouth. Still feel the way it curved under mine. Those tiny sighs that cooled my wet lips.
I should have gone to Wayward.
I’m sitting in the back of my truck, tray down, guitar I haven’t touched in over a decade sitting ignored at my side, looking out past the trees toward where the swimming hole is.
Somehow, even though the view is exactly the way it’s always been, it feels crisper today.
The sun that’s filtering through the trees is hot, and after dropping Hudson off, I got to work checking our land is ready for summer. It’s a demanding job, but I love it.
I love everything about Wilde’s End.
Even thinking that allows a sliver of darkness to creep into my good mood because how long will this be Wilde’s End ?
An engine slowly picks up through the happy insects and birdcalls I’ve been listening to, and it doesn’t take long for the dirt bike to come into view. My immediate instinct is to smile, but I keep it locked away as the bike pulls to a stop.
It’s only been a few hours since we’ve seen each other, and I’m not going to start acting like this is a regular, expected thing for us.
Sleepovers are not on the table, despite last night, because when it comes right down to it, he still wants to destroy my whole life’s work, and we haven’t found a way around that.
The man climbs off the bike, and his size immediately alerts me to the fact that it’s not Hudson. I don’t need him to remove the helmet and set it on the bike for me to know which brother this is.
Kennedy ruffles his damp hair as he approaches, uneasiness crossing his face when he catches my eyes.
“Hey, Wilde. How are you?”
I watch him curiously, eyebrows peaked, but don’t bother to answer the pointless question. Kennedy shifts to his other foot, struggling to keep his happy expression under my unwavering gaze.
“I, uh, wanted to catch you, actually,” he says. “Have a quick chat.”
“About?”
He points to the spot next to me. “Can I …”
I don’t answer, and after a moment, he seems to take that as a yes because he moves closer and pulls himself up beside where I’m sitting. It shouldn’t be a surprise to me, considering how easily Hudson makes himself at home.
He doesn’t say much for a man who wants a quick chat. I study him from the corner of my eye, taking note of all the differences between him and his brother.
Kennedy is less guarded; it’s immediately obvious in his expression and how he holds himself. He’s got a larger build, a mix of muscle and softness, a thick mustache, and normal-length eyelashes instead of the ridiculously long ones that Hudson has.
“You know,” I say, taking pity on him, “conversations usually require words.”
His laugh is edged in nerves as he bites his thumbnail. “Yeah, sorry. Guess I’m not really sure where to start.”
“Instead of stressing about it, give me the reason you’re here.”
For all the differences they have, Kennedy’s eyes are that same speckled green as Hudson’s. “My brother.”
“Figured. And does he know you’re here talking about him?”
“Nope. He’d kill me.”
Good to know that I’m not the only one Hudson has a shit attitude with. “Why risk it?”
“I’m worried about him.” Kennedy casts his gaze away. “I don’t know what he’s told you about himself or our upbringing, so all I’ll say is there was a lot of stuff he shouldn’t have gone through that messed him up a bit.”
My thumb immediately finds one of my scars. I know about being messed up.
He props his elbow on the side of the tray.
“Hudson doesn’t have a lot of respect for himself.
It’s like he always thinks he deserves to be treated like shit.
He’s had boyfriends over the years, who were …
” Kennedy clenches his jaw before releasing it again.
“Not good people. His ex especially was a complete asshole. If you heard the way he’d talk to Huddy, I’d just …
I’d … gah , I hated that guy!” Kennedy rubs at his eyes like he’s trying to push the frustration back inside.
“Hudson always makes fun of me for wanting to find love, but I don’t think he even knows what that is.
All he knows is that any attention is good attention, even when the guy he’s supposed to be seeing video calls him while he gets off with some random because Hudson was too busy to meet up. ”
My gut takes a dive at that. “Is that something that happened?”
“Yes. He was always pulling this manipulative bullshit. Telling Hudson they weren’t exclusive because Hudson had nothing to offer except a pretty face. Whenever they’re back on again, I refuse to go to Hudson’s place in case I run into Sutton.”
That name rings a bell.
“He acts like it doesn’t get to him, but I know it does.”
And as Kennedy’s tone drops, I get a hint of the real reason why he’s here. “You think I’m treating him like shit too?”
The side-eye I get is all attitude. “Aren’t you?”
There’s no good way for me to answer that.
I treat Hudson the only way I know how to treat someone I have mixed emotions over.
He’s taken over my thoughts more than any person has a right to, but that doesn’t change the very real fact that there’s nothing long-term there.
Not only am I an emotional black hole, but Hudson is fast to remind me this is only sex, and we both know his time in town is limited.
I know better than to get emotionally invested in people, and if I can’t even have real relationships with the friends I’ve known for decades, what hope do I have of creating anything meaningful with the man I’ve started screwing?
Even if it’s harder to hold on to everything that annoyed me about him in the past.
Now, when I think of Hudson, it’s less of an angry storm cloud and more like the still water of the swimming hole before it’s disturbed. Calm and waiting, hidden depths there for anyone willing to dive down and find them.
Am I willing? I look around my land, that sharp clarity gone, the view as familiar as the trails I walk.
“There’s nothing between me and Hudson,” I finally say.
“I know you’re fucking.”
“Sex is sex. He’s not looking for more, and neither am I. ”
It’s clearly not the answer Kennedy wants. “Then why is my brother walking around the site, whistling and singing and not rising to Hartwell’s snark?”
“I …”
“He’s the happiest I think I’ve ever seen him.”
Well, that’s a humbling fucking thought.
So why does my gut immediately drop out through my ass like it’s a bad thing?
Knowing that Hudson’s been walking around with that same extra boost I’ve been feeling all day should be good, right?
It should be a sign that whatever path we’ve started down, we’re onto something that could be good for us both.
But whenever I try to mentally follow the path and see where it ends up, I can’t get past the darkness.
Kennedy slides off the truck and turns to me. “I know you don’t owe me anything and that you hate us for what we’re doing. So I get it. I do. But … He deserves a break, Wilde. He deserves to stop hating himself and for someone to show him what a great person he really is.”
“And you assume I don’t do that?”
“I have no idea what you do. All I know is that I’ve seen a few interactions between you both that didn’t look healthy, and now he’s all happy, and I’m scared this is Sutton all over again.
That you’re treating him like shit and he doesn’t even know the difference anymore.
Hudson’s a good person. He deserves to be treated like one. ”
“Right.”
“I’m just saying, if this thing goes on … please don’t be an asshole. If you can’t promise that, then … well, maybe you shouldn’t be around people at all.”
That makes me snort, and I’m not at all amused. “Literally my whole reason for moving here.”
Apparently, Kennedy has said everything he needs to because his expression falls. The disappointment seeps from him into me before he turns and heads back toward the bike.
I still haven’t worked through that conversation by the time he leaves and the bike dulls to a distant hum.
Kennedy wants Hudson to have what he deserves.
And that will never be me.
Where my gut sank earlier, something in my chest follows it. I sit there, trying to rub life back into my sternum, as I figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.
Ignore the warning and enjoy this thing while it lasts.
Or listen to Kennedy. The problem is that I’ve forgotten what not being an asshole even looks like.