Wild Child

by A. S. Green

  “He said…” I shake my head like I still can’t believe it. “He said, ‘I’ve got a lot of work to do. Maybe we could get going.’”

  Kate drops her hands, and her eyebrows pull together. “That’s it?”

  “That’s it,” I say with a defeated sigh.

  She takes a half step back. “Nothing like ‘small world,’ or ‘sorry for never calling you,’ or anything like that?”

  “Kate, he doesn’t remember me. Not even a little.” This is fucking humiliating.

  “But…but that’s impossible.” Her surprise tells me I didn’t leave out any of the toe-curling, panty-soaking details when I told her the story. My stomach does a little roll. If he was that amazing a lover at twenty-four, what would he be like now?

  “He’s got to be faking it,” Kate says. “Maybe he’s embarrassed about how he handled everything.”

  “Why would he be embarrassed? He’s a guy. He acted like a guy. More than that, he’s supposed to be a professional badass. Remember what the bride said? He’s supposedly got some high-tech lair in Gotham.”

  “New York City.”

  “That’s what I meant. All this is, is a case of him meaning more to me than I meant to him.” I glance toward the forest, unable to look Kate in the eye. “It was a long time ago.”

  “You’ve got to go in there and say something to him.”

  “Yeah…no. Not going to happen.” I’ve made my choice. Amnesia it is. There’s no going back on it now.

  “Why not?” she asks.

  I give her a look that should explain the obvious, but apparently it doesn’t do the trick, because she gets a very determined look of her own and says, “Well, I’m going to go in there and—”

  “No!” I lunge forward and grab her arm before she makes a bad situation worse. Then I clear my throat and smooth my hands over my skirt. I want Kate to think I’m totally chill with the whole thing. “It’ll cause too much conflict and awkwardness. You need the reception to go smoothly tonight. I’ll get over being pissed. And after tonight, I’ll never have to see him again.”

  Kate chews on her lip, caught between professional responsibilities and her eagerness to have the whole world get the same storybook romance she’s been living for the last two years. After another moment of consideration, she exhales because she knows I’m right. I let go of her arm.

  “Fine,” she says, looking toward the door again. “If you’re sure.”

  “I’m sure. He’s dead to me.”

  Jax walks out, forehead furrowed as he stares down at his tablet and flips through something he’s reading. He doesn’t seem to be aware of us standing here, not ten feet away. He rubs his hand over his trimmed beard, slips the tablet under his arm, then looks up to find Kate and me watching him.

  He stares back. Then he lowers his eyebrows and heads for his SUV.

  “Too bad he’s dead to you,” Kate says as she turns to watch him go. “Because, Nat honey, that is one good-looking corpse.”

  Chapter Seven

  Natalie

  The bride arrived an hour ago and is hidden away in what we’re calling “the bride’s room.” I got to bring in the fruit platter she ordered and watch as her stylist lowered a shimmering ivory satin number over her head. I couldn’t help but think that it was too bad she swore off all tabloid photographers, because her dress is the shit. Doesn’t she know most of us live vicariously through people like her? The world should not be deprived of that amount of awesome.

  My own dress is nothing to sneeze at, either. I may only be the hostess, but I’m decked out in a purple Stella McCartney sheath—with the price tags tucked inside. They’re scratching the hell out of my rib cage, but I could never afford something this spectacular.

  As hostess for the evening, my job is to pass champagne and help the guests find their seats for dinner. Right now I’m in the kitchen, checking the glasses for spots and pulling bottles out of the refrigerator.

  Half the kitchen staff is behind on their tasks because they’ve had their noses pressed to the windows ever since the shuttle bus arrived with the guests.

  I join them at the windows when the harpist starts playing Coldplay’s “A Sky Full of Stars,” and we all take a collective inhale when the bride walks past the kitchen windows and then down the white runner that leads to the gazebo where her groom is waiting.

  Unfortunately, we don’t have a good view of what happens once she gets there, but we’ve got a good angle on the guests.

  “Oh my God,” Tanya gasps as she leans over the sink and toward the window. She’s got one hand wrapped around the handle of a serrated knife and her other hand practically crushing a green tomato that was supposed to end up breaded and fried. “I think that’s Hayden Panettiere.”

  “Shut…the front…door!” Danielle squeals, pushing Tanya aside so she can get a better look.

  “Tanya!” the chef barks. “Danielle! A little more attention on the tomatoes. Keep the slices three-eighths inch thick.” He’s fit to be tied with the level of distraction among the kitchen staff. He’s been barking out orders to finish the salad dressing, heat the oil, start the hors d’oeuvres. We’re all working, even if we’re only half listening to him.

  “Are you sure that’s Hayden?” Danielle asks. “She looks different on TV.”

  “Anyone else you recognize?” Matty asks. He’s checking on the arctic char in the sous-vide cooker.

  “I’m trying to— Ooh, there’s that one guy from that one show,” Danielle says as she hands over a plate of tomato slices to the sous chef who’s coating and frying them.

  “What guy? What show?” I ask. I can’t see anybody famous, only a bunch of the bride’s and groom’s families. Someone in the audience shifts in his seat, and I get a view of who’s behind them. “Oh my God. That’s both of the Hemsworths!”

  The chef groans and places his hands wide apart on the edge of the prep table. “Has anyone made the fucking salad dressing yet? Tanya. Danielle. Get slicing.”

  “On it,” Tanya says. “Oh! Oh Lord, it’s Brad Paisley. Ow!”

  The sous chef chuckles as she flips the tomatoes. “Ow? Or do you mean like ow-ow-oww?” She tips her head back and howls.

  “No,” Danielle says, her voice rising. “She means ow as in Ow!”

  My head jerks around to look. Tanya has stepped back from the counter. She’s holding her left hand out in front of her and the knife in her right. There’s a deep slice between her thumb and forefinger, right through the soft spot, and blood is spurting all over the floor.

  “Somebody call Dr. Tom,” Danielle cries, sounding panicked. Dr. Tom’s office is on the mainland. He’s got a speedboat, but it’ll still take several minutes for him to get here.

  “Already on it,” someone calls from the back corner of the kitchen.

  “Christ,” says the chef. “I told you two to pay attention.”

  I rush over and take the knife from Tanya, tossing it into the sink. Then I hold her hand under the water. The cut’s too deep. The blood keeps coming.

  The kitchen door swings open. I don’t take the time to see who’s come in.

  Whoever had called the mainland says, “Good news. Doc is already on the island. He’s on his way up the hill.”

  “Someone get me a towel,” I yell. A second later there’s one in my hand, and I’ve got Tanya’s hand wrapped and held above her head.

  “It’s okay, Tanya. Stay calm.” My eyes glance around the kitchen. “Where’s the first-aid kit?”

  Before anyone responds, Tanya’s eyes roll back in her head, and she crashes to the floor, taking me and two aluminum mixing bowls down with her. It’s an incredible clatter. The towel drops, and the blood starts gushing again. My hand slips on the blood-slick floor, and everyone else backs away. Somehow I manage to get Tanya’s head in my lap.

  “New towel,” I say, looking up at Danielle. She stares down at me and does nothing. “Now!”

  Matty throws me a clean one, and I wrap Tanya’s hand again.
My hair is starting to tumble out of its pins, and I wipe the back of my hand across my forehead. “Where’s that first-aid kit?”

  Someone throws up in a wastebasket.

  “Found it!” Matty says, rushing over.

  “Is there any medical glue in there, by chance? It’s too deep for a regular Band-Aid.” Thank God I volunteer at the hospital. I’ve seen this done a million times. Works like a charm, even though I didn’t believe it at first.

  There’s a swish and slam as someone opens and closes a kitchen drawer. Within seconds Matty is crouched beside me with the glue in his hand. “There was superglue in the junk drawer.”

  I rip open an antiseptic pack with my teeth and clean the wound. Then I hold Tanya’s sliced skin together.

  “Glue it shut,” I tell Matty, and while he draws a line of glue along the two-inch slice, I pray he doesn’t also glue me to Tanya. When it looks like it’s going to hold, I let go and rip open a giant bandage and wrap it around the side of Tanya’s hand, finishing with some first-aid tape. “That should do it.”

  When I look up again, everyone else, besides Matty, is still standing back, mouths open like they’re watching a slasher movie. My poor Stella McCartney dress is covered in blood. There will be no returning it now. I reach inside and rip off the tags.

  Tanya groans and tries to sit up. “What happened?”

  “Well, a couple famous people got married,” I say, amused—despite everything—by her wooziness. “How’s your head? Do you think you could sit?”

  Tanya nods, and I help her into a chair. That’s when there’s a pounding on the back door and someone opens it for Doc. He quickly surveys the gruesome scene and purses his lips. He sees me, and his shoulders relax.

  “Hey, Doc,” I say, giving him a bloody wave. “What took you so long?”

  “Natalie,” he says instead of hello. “I can take it from here.”

  I grab a tablecloth from the cabinet to wrap around myself before heading for the ladies’ room. I don’t want to freak out the guests. That’s when I notice Jax standing in the doorway, looking so goddamn sexy in his dark suit. How long has he been there?

  He’s studying my face like he’s reevaluating his opinion of me, which—if I cared—would be kind of nice.

  Kate slips in behind him, so I guess the chaos has been heard outside the kitchen. Her face is a mixture of confusion and horror.

  “It’ll be another minute on the hors d’oeuvres,” the chef deadpans.

  Jax turns to go but then stops dead in his tracks. He’s staring at my purse, which is hanging open on a hook inside the kitchen door. My giant pack of Red Vines is poking out of the open section. He continues to stare at my bag with his eyes narrowed in concentration.

  “What?” I ask. It’s not often I don’t have a pack in my purse. Is that weird? “Got something against Red Vines?”

  His eyebrows lower, and a muscle flexes in his jaw before he exits the kitchen without answering my question.

  “Seriously?” I yell after him. Kate holds up her hands to quiet me. “Who doesn’t love Red Vines?”

  I head into the bathroom to change out of my horror-show clothes and into my backup dress, which I only brought because I wasn’t sure which one would fit in best with the Hollywood people.

  I wash my hands, arms, and the swipe of blood off my forehead. I fix my hair, then tie the halter top of my backup dress behind my neck. Long black satin ribbons hang down from the bow, tickling my bare back. When I step out of the women’s bathroom, Jax is standing against the opposite wall.

  His eyes graze down over my new dress, then ascend to land on my lips, hovering there for a second too long. It’s enough to have my mind spiraling backward, and suddenly I’m not standing outside the bathroom in the Little Bear Event Center. I’m that eighteen-year-old kid again, standing outside a convenience store in bum-fuck Iowa…

  “We probably shouldn’t sit in the back of the van together anymore.”

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “Because you look sweet when you’re sleeping, babe. Your mouth goes soft and… Anyway, I should warn you. I keep getting these intense urges to kiss you.”

  My chest squeezed with a mixture of terror and excitement. “And exactly how strong is your self-control?”

  “Usually it’s for crap, but I’m pleased with my showing so far.”

  “So I suppose I shouldn’t dare you to do it?”

  “Dare me? No. I don’t— What? Are you saying I should kiss you?”

  I leaned back on my hands against the building and looked up at him.

  “Right.” He exhaled. “Can I please kiss you?”

  His question was so formal it made me laugh. “I don’t know. Can you?”

  “Christ,” he muttered. “I absolutely can.”

  “Are you okay?” Jax asks. “That was a pretty intense kitchen scene.”

  His question snaps me back to the present. “Oh, sure. No feathers ruffled.”

  He nods as if he expected nothing less, then gestures down the length of my body and states the obvious. “New dress.”

  I swallow hard and try not to let everything hurt so much. Jax isn’t dead to me. How could he be with the memory of his kiss so easily back on my lips?

  “Can I take that for you?” he asks, reaching for my balled-up dress. I hand it over. “Save or toss?”

  “Save.” It’s probably hopeless, but it’s too expensive to toss without first giving the poor thing a chance.

  “They can soak it in the kitchen.” Then he adds, “That was resourceful of you, bringing a spare. Are you used to getting bloodied up at weddings?”

  I stare at him, stone-faced. “Plan for the worst, hope for the best.”

  He frowns. “I live life like that myself. Came by that the hard way, babe.”

  Then he disappears into the kitchen, and I’m left standing there wondering what the fuck just happened, and…um…excuse me, but…babe?

  Chapter Eight

  Natalie

  The dessert dishes have been cleared. Kate’s crew is cleaning up. The waitstaff has moved the dinner tables to expose the dance floor, and now fifty famous and not-so-famous people are standing around the edges, half-empty champagne glasses in hand.

  The music starts, and two of the most beautiful creatures I have ever seen softly sway in the center of the dance floor. When the bandleader croons, “Stars shining bright above you…” white rose petals rain down from the ceiling. The guests all make a collective “Ahh.”

  Kate has done it again, pulled off the party to beat all parties. She’s standing in the corner with Bennet; his head is bent toward hers. The way they look at each other…it breaks my heart. They always made falling in love look so damn easy.

  Two couples walk onto the dance floor. Others quickly join them, and soon the floor is swaying with bodies drunk on love, champagne, and good food.

  The band slips from “Dream a Little Dream of Me” into “It Had to Be You,” and I choke on the sudden and surprising emotion that clogs my throat. I’m on the edge of it all, watching so many amazing lives dance by. Such is my life. I’m stuck. Stuck here. Stuck in a rut. And I did it to myself.

  I sense a dark shadow in the corner and find Jax standing against the wall. His eyes are alert, his arms folded.

  Kate is suddenly beside me. “Go,” she says. “Talk to him.”

  “He’s working. And anyway, why do you keep pushing me?”

  “Two reasons. One. Because I know you. Natalie O’Brien always speaks her mind. It’s going to drive you nuts leaving something unsaid. Two. Nat…you should see your face. That man is in no way dead to you.”

  I bite my lip and consider what she’s saying. Then I shake my head. “Not now. Maybe later.” Maybe never, I tell myself.

  “What’s this?” Bennet asks.

  “Him,” Kate says, indicating in Jax’s direction. “Natalie and the head of security had a thing when they were younger.” Kate explains this to Bennet like it’s some
kind of illicit scandal.

  Bennet’s eyebrows go up. “No shit?”

  “She’s exaggerating,” I say, my eyes still locked on Jax. “It wasn’t a thing.”

  “You told me you lost your virginity to him,” Kate says.

  “Oh my God, would you shut up?” I turn toward her, arm swinging. “Seriously? You’re going to say that in front of Bennet?”

  Kate rubs her arm where I smacked her, but she looks up at Bennet with a knowing smile. “See? I wasn’t exaggerating. It was definitely a thing.”

  Bennet folds his arms and smiles down at me while I roll my eyes at Kate, silently giving her the go-ahead to blab the rest of my regrettable confession. I’ve really got to learn to lay off the tequila.

  “So after high school graduation,” Kate launches in, “Nat went on a road trip with Bruce and Ryan and Elise and Aaron. They were going to follow their favorite indie band…who was it, again?” she asks me.

  I squirm and close my eyes. “The Mers.” Then I add, “The Sonic Mermaids,” in case their nickname isn’t familiar anymore. The band had been on the rise, once upon a time, but they broke up about two years after they started getting noticed in LA.

  “Oh, I remember them,” Bennet says, sounding reminiscent.

  “Aaron stopped to pick up a hitchhiker…” Kate inclines her head in Jax’s direction.

  “Wow,” Bennet says. “Small world. Wait. High school? You were with that guy when you were eighteen? He must have been…”

  “Twenty-four.” I look over toward Jax, whose eyes—alert and darting around the room—lock with mine for a split second before moving on. “I might have led him to believe I was a teensy bit older at the time.”

  Bennet rakes his hand through his hair and murmurs Jesus’s name.

  “They were inseparable for weeks,” Kate says, her enthusiasm contradicting Bennet’s obvious disapproval.

  “Kate,” I say in a tone that says enough is enough. We can drop this conversation any time now.

  Jax’s body jerks as if someone has called his name. He turns his head and reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his cell phone. He looks at the screen, then puts it to his ear as he quickly exits the room.