Page 31 of The Other Side of Wild
I immediately feel bad when I turn in time to see her cower, wrapping her arms around her stomach as her chin tucks into her chest. “Shoot, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to yell.” Wave upon wave of guilt crashes over me as I watch her tears fall faster.
I move in closer, but she shakes her head before I can pull her into me. “Can’t you see it? I’m meant to be alone.” If her dad weren’t already dead, I’d find him and finish him myself. Who breaks their kid so bad they actually believe they were meant to go through life alone? And screw my brother for making her believe that.
“You aren’t meant to be alone. I’m broken, too; we can be broken together. Don’t shut me out. Let me be the lighthouse I so badly want to be for you. Let me help you rebuild what your dad broke. Let me take every lie he told you and fill it with truth. Just let me in, please.”
She looks up at me, eyes full of hope. Like she can’t believe someone finds her worthy enough to fight for. “Okay, I’ll try. But you’re going to have to be patient with me.”
“I can be patient. I just need you to stop running, talk to me, heck just tell me you need some time to work things out in your pretty little head. Work with me. I spiraled when you left me guessing.” She nods, leaning forward, she presses her forehead to mine.
Tears are still flowing in steady streams down her cheeks. Slowly, I reach up to wipe them away; she gives me a soft whimper followed by “I’m sorry.” I want to tell her it’s okay, that I know she’s hurting, but I can’t. At this moment, I’m terrified even if I don’t show it.
The silence in the face of conflict is a giant, waving red flag. One I'm choosing to ignore. Time will tell if that’s a wise decision or not. The internal battle is in full swing. Is this real, or am I just projecting my hopes and dreams onto someone else? Am I imagining things? Am I willingly looking the other way again?
Once she settles enough to stop crying, I get ready to leave, only to be stopped by her next words. “Do you want to stay here? I can sleep out here. If you’re tired, I don’t want you to drive; it’s 1:30 in the morning.”
“I’ll sleep out here, only if I can keep Harley.” She nods and gives me a quick kiss on the cheek.
“What time do you need to wake up? I’ll set an alarm so I can be up to hug you before you leave.” My heart is no longer my own. She owns it; I just pray she doesn’t shatter it.
“I have to be on the plane by eight, so I need to leave at about six thirty.”
“See you then, Wilder. Goodnight.”
“Night, Kitten.” She starts to walk away, but I grab her wrist and pull her emo self into my chest; I gently touch her lips with mine, wanting her to know I still want this. I want her. “I’m gonna miss you.”
“Ditto, Grey”
She brought me an actual pillow instead of a decorative one and the blanket she used the first time I was here. She lowers herself until her face is level with mine, leveling me with a stare that is filled with affection and wonder. “Thank you for trusting me.” She gently kisses my lips before pulling away, meeting my gaze. She squeezes my shoulder and walks toward her room before I can say anything.
I’d like to say sleep evaded me, but the emotional hurricane I went through earlier took a lot out of me. With Harley lying on the couch by my head and the blanket that could be mistaken for a polar bear, I pass out. Even on a couch, it’s one of the most peaceful sleeps I’ve had in a really long time.
“Grey.” I’ve started dreaming of her; it’s like she’s here with me. I can feel her, hear her. “Greyson.” Her hand on my shoulder feels so real. “Wilder, it’s 6:28. I don’t want you to miss your flight.” Her words act as ice-cold water. Shooting up off the couch, she barely has time to move before I narrowlymiss smacking her head with my own.
She smiles; it's soft and warm. “Good morning. I got you coffee and a blueberry muffin.” My eyes go wide as I take in the bag from Beautiful Pour. She got up extra early to get that. She did that for me.
“You went to Beautiful Pour? At this hour?” Her smile grows, and I swear my heart sprouts wings and takes off.
“I did; I asked Natalie for your usual order. I hope she got it right.” She hands me my extra-large iced coffee, taking a sip. A groan leaves my throat; it’s deep and low, almost sounding like a growl.
“It’s perfect, Kitten, thank you.” Putting the coffee down on the table, I wrap my arms around her waist and pull her into me. She giggles and wraps her arms around my neck, nuzzling into the space under my chin. I take a moment to breathe her in.
“You had a sleepover and didn’t invite me?!” A shrill voice calls from around the corner.
“I brought you coffee, too, Abby.” She darts the rest of the way into the room clapping her hands with a huge smile on her face.
“I guess you’re forgiven. Morning Dozer.”
“Hey, Abby.” Harley is still curled up in a ball next to the pillow I was sleeping on, completely ignoring the insane amount of energy these two women have this early in the morning. “I should head out; I don’t want to be late.” Before I can take my eyes off Harley, Hannah is in front of me, taking my hand in hers.
“I’ll walk out with you.” I give her a sharp nod and say bye to Abby, who calls “Good luck, Bulldozer” from halfway down the hall.
As we walk to my car, Hannah keeps my hand in hers, rubbing small circles over the top with her thumb. The silence is comfortable; there isn’t a need to fill the space. It’s weird. I don’t usually like silence. That’s when my mind starts to drift. It’s why I keep myself busy, or if I’m alone, there’s always music on.
Before I know it, we’re stopped outside the door of my car. She looks up at me and looks almost shy. “Are you okay, Kitten?” She reaches her hand inside the pocket of her sweatshirt and rocks back on her heels, her eyes not leaving the ground. Pulling her lip between her teeth, she finally looks up at me. I, however, can’t keep my hands to myself.
I pull her lip from her teeth and then replace my thumb with my lips. It’s soft and tentative, but she returns it. When I pull away, her eyes stay closed for a few seconds; there's a small smile on her face. As her eyes open, she pulls her hand out of her pocket, bringing it up to chest level, then opens it. There on her palm is an anchor, but not just any anchor. Nope, there’s a circle where the cross bars meet, and in that circle is the picture of us at the lighthouse. I freeze.
When I finally get my head straight, I look back up at her. Uncertainty coats her features: her eyebrows are pulled low, a small downturn at the corner of her lips, and her eyes look dimmer than they did a few seconds ago. That won’t do; I hope she didn’t take my silence as me not liking it.