by Serena Bell
I try to say hey back, but my voice fails me. I try again. “Hey.”
“I want to be part of the plan,” he says.
It’s slowly dawning on me that Brody Wilder has just flown across the entire country to tell me he wants to be with me. My heart is pounding, my pulse beating in my throat. My hands are icy.
“I’ve spent my whole fucking life feeling like I wasn’t invited to the party, when the truth is that I was too busy blowing off the party so I wouldn’t feel shitty if I didn’t get an invitation.”
“Oh,” I say, because this makes perfect sense. In fact, it makes everything about Brody make sense.
“I did it with Justin, with Gabe, with you—and I’m not fucking doing it anymore. There are things I want, Rachel. I want Justin in my life. I want to be Gabe’s partner—like, for real. And—”
Brody is looking at me with the full, unfiltered force of those green eyes, and they are wrecking me. Or maybe it’s the longing and the hunger in them.
“I want you. And I have a plan. For the first time in my entire life, I have a plan.”
I start laughing.
“Jesus, Rachel,” he says, taken aback. “That wasn’t exactly the response I was expecting.”
I stop laughing immediately, but of course I have to explain. I step back, opening the door wider so he can see my two suitcases, sitting there.
“I was coming back to Rush Creek. Without a plan.”
“Oh,” he says. Just that. And then his arms are around me and his mouth is on mine, and it’s—
Well, honestly, it’s perfect. The real, messy, complicated, imperfect kind of perfect.
It takes a humongous effort of will to stop kissing him long enough to say, “I just booked an Uber to the airport. Give me thirty seconds to cancel that and my flight.”
I have barely hung up the phone when he starts kissing me again, and I lead him down the hall to my bedroom, in which, sadly, the bed is unmade because my sheets are packed in my suitcase. But maybe that’s for the best because it turns out that standing-up sex is a perfectly good way to show someone how much you missed them and how much you want them to be part of your plan, or not-plan, as the case may be.
Afterwards, once we get our clothes all restored to their rightful places and the condom disposed of, Brody describes how things went without me. First, he tells me about his conversation with Connor, then about his conversation with Gabe.
“I love that you gave yourself a promotion.”
“Yeah,” he says, pleased. “I guess I did.”
I frown. “I still need to have a talk with Connor. I’m still really pissed that he went off on you like that. Like I needed protection from you or something. It’s insulting to both of us.”
Brody strokes my cheek. “Don’t be too hard on him. He told me he was jealous, which I don’t think was easy for him to say.”
“I’ll only yell at him a little bit.”
He grins.
“So, after you talked to Gabe, you bought a plane ticket and flew out here?”
He gets a slightly sheepish look his face. “Well, yes, and no. I bought a plane ticket. But it was two days out, because holy shit summer flights fill up fast. I had some time to kill. So I called a lawyer.”
“You—what?”
“I called a lawyer. About Justin. And custody.”
I guess I give him a dirty look, because he hastily says, “I’m not using the lawyer against Zoë. It was her idea, actually. We talked about Justin, and—here’s the thing. He’s not mine genetically, but the birth certificate does have my name on it. Because… well, Zoë technically committed fraud. Theoretically, I should have my name taken off and Len’s put on, but when I suggested that to Zoë, just to, you know, straighten everything out so it’s legal, it started us both thinking. So she reached out to Len. And he’s willing to waive paternity.”
“Oh. Wow.”
“Yeah. What the lawyer said is that if Len waives rights, the court might very well be willing to grant them to me, because they tend to be sympathetic in cases where the petitioner has lived with the mother and child for a period of time.”
“Which you did, with Zoë and Justin.”
“Exactly,” he says. “If Len waives his rights and I ask for them…”
“You have a really good chance of getting them.”
“That’s right. And Zoë is open to it, even though theoretically I could use my new powers to try to get fifty-fifty custody—”
“But you won’t.”
“But I won’t. And she gets something out of it, because I’ll have to pay child support. Which, God, Rachel, I’d do in a heartbeat.”
“I know you would,” I say, and lean my head on his shoulder. “Brody, that’s so, so good. I’m so happy for you.”
“I wanted to be able to come here and tell you I’d move to Boston for you,” he says quietly, stroking my hair. “Like Gabe did for Lucy. Give up everything, move to the East Coast. And if that’s what it took, I would, I swear, but because of Justin, I felt like I had to ask you if you’d move to Rush Creek.”
“Apparently you didn’t have to ask me,” I say.
And tell him my story. About how nothing felt good or right (let alone perfect) in the weeks since I’d been back. About how much I missed Rush Creek, Amanda, Lucy, Hanna, Connor, my parents—Brody’s brothers, even. About how much I missed the groups of women on the boat, and their unexpected frankness, the way something that was silly and fun and sexy could unlock changes in lives.
“And I felt like you and I weren’t done,” I say.
“We’re not.” Brody ducks his head and kisses me. “We’re definitely not done. We’re just getting started.”
That makes me smile.
“So I decided I would just walk up to the edge and jump. See what happened.”
“And this happened.”
“Yeah,” I say happily. “This happened.”
39
Brody
The sweet spot between a plan and no plan is what Rachel and I do next.
First, we help her abuelita, Caridad, pack up her Washington Heights apartment, get her belongings loaded on a moving truck, and drive her to the airport. Rachel’s mom will meet her on the other end.
While we’re doing that, Caridad plies us with endless Cuban cooking. She speaks to Rachel mostly in Spanish. Sometimes Rachel sends me apology eyes since I understand about twenty percent of what they’re saying, but the thing is, I kind of love it. I especially love it in the evening when they watch telenovelas together and talk back to the characters while I tie flies at the coffee table. From time to time, I catch myself just watching Rachel smiling and laughing.
Once Caridad’s things are packed and we get her on a plane, Rachel and I rent an RV and drive back across the country.
First, of course, I recruit Kane to run Brody’s Boat for a couple of weeks. I promise him I’ll make it up to him by helping him plan the winter festival, Tinsel and Tatas Gala & Games, this winter.
I check in with Gabe to make sure he can do without me for those two weeks. He tells me to check in occasionally and to keep an eye out for some trip ideas to assuage Lucy’s unending hunger for new concepts. (I’m getting the feeling Gabe’s sexual fortunes rise and fall depending on whether he can satisfy that hunger of Lucy’s. Though I don’t think he minds, as long as he’s satisfying Lucy somehow or other.)
I let Zoë know the travel situation, too, because I know she’s been hoping for some Justin coverage. Both my mother and Amanda have been talking about nothing other than the fact that Justin has started turning his head when you say his name, so I don’t think Zoë will have any trouble getting the childcare she needs.
All this checking in with people and making sure I’m exactly where I need to be feels extremely weird and foreign.
And really fucking good.
Meanwhile, Rachel has absolutely zero responsibilities, which she says feels really “dang good.”
We decide to
follow the Oregon Trail, of course, mostly because I want to show Rachel Yellowstone, which she’s never seen, and because the best fly fishing is along that route. And yes, I have my gear with me. I don’t leave home without it, because you never know when you might stumble on a quiet river.
We spot many of them, and Rachel looks beautiful in all of them, sun glinting off the hidden highlights in her dark hair and turning her skin an even deeper tan.
Her casting is getting really good, and one night, she makes me teach her how to tie a simple fly. We sit for a long time with all my materials spread out. Her fingers are smaller than mine, and even though she has less experience, she gets good at it quickly.
She says she understands why I like it so much, why I think it’s such good meditation.
We never know where we’re going to stop or stay until we get there, which scares the shit out of Rachel. And also, she loves it.
We sleep out under the stars most of the time. The RV mostly gets used at night for the pre-sleep activities we engage in, frequently and vigorously.
Our last stop is Tierney Bay on the Oregon Coast, where we treat ourselves to a night at Beachcrest Inn. The proprietors there, Auburn and Trey, tell us all kinds of hidden places to visit, and we thoroughly enjoy ourselves in the town, at the Inn, and on this secret beach they hip us to, hidden away from prying eyes.
We also made a deal with Auburn and Trey to swap promo—Wilder Adventures will keep an eye out for people on the move who are headed toward the coast, and they’ll keep an eye out for visitors looking for other great destinations.
On the last night, parked in the RV at Tierney Bay State Park, which has got to be the most beautiful campground on the whole Oregon coast, I say to Rachel, “So. When I suggested this cross country trip, I had ulterior motives.”
She turns in my arms and runs a finger down my chest. Even though I just finished making love to her, my body stirs, ready to go another round. It’s like that with Rachel. We’ve both been insatiable. “Getting me naked in an RV every night?”
“Well, that, yes, but beyond that. I figured if the two of us could live for two weeks together in an RV, I could make a convincing case that we’d be happy together in an 900-square-foot apartment.” I shrug. “Oh. And some of the time we’d have an infant who still doesn’t always sleep through the night? I promise not to make you change diapers.”
“Brody. Are you asking me to move in with you?”
Her eyes glitter in the low light.
“Are you crying?” I ask, with wonder.
“Can I tell you something?” she says, sniffling. “When I was a little kid, and I played all those games? Library, wedding, house? Do you know who the groom was? The daddy? The man in the plan?”
I shake my head.
“You, Brody. It was you. It was always you.”
Epilogue
A Year Later—Rachel
Brody’s big boat is bursting at the seams.
We’re celebrating his official adoption of Justin, and the boat is full of Perezes and Wilders, a few friends from Rush Creek, Zoë and Zoë’s mom, Rena, because family is family even when it’s complicated.
I’m pretty sure it was the happiest moment of Brody’s life when he put that pen to paper and signed his name, making it official, although when I suggested that, he frowned. He said it was tied with when I stepped back from the door of my apartment in Boston and showed him the suitcases sitting there. “That was when I knew you were mine. And now I know Justin’s mine, too,” he said.
On the day Brody signed the papers, we got to take Justin home with us, where we fed him cake and ice cream and danced him around the apartment and let him fall asleep in the bed between us before we lowered him gently into the real, actual crib that we’d set up in the brand new nursery.
Now Justin’s running around the boat, talking up a storm to whomever will listen (everyone) about the boat and the birds and the elk and the pika and the cake—he’s all about the cake—and his cousins, who are already his biggest heroes.
After a while he runs out of steam and wants Zoë, and she takes him and sits with him while we bring him gifts.
Justin’s grandmothers—Barb and Zoë’s mom—and his honorary abuela and bisabuelita—my mom and grandmother—are clustered around him with their gifts like the magi. Ever since Brody and I came home, the four of them have been competing for most-favored grandma status, and it’s a fight to the finish, with each of them desperately trying to one-up the others—gifts, activities, food, sweets. Brody and Zoë and I do everything we can to hold back the flood of excess so Justin won’t become totally spoiled.
But it’s a lost cause.
Like now, for example, Caridad has a giant pink stuffed pig for him and Barb has given him a bright-colored plastic garbage truck, and Rena found shoes that squeak and light up when he walks, and my mom gave him one of those handheld kiddie computers.
Brody is watching the cluster of hovering women with amusement, and when I drift to his side, he puts his arm around me and squeezes me close.
“Happy?” I ask him.
“Yeah.”
As if it’s not totally obvious from the fact that I haven’t seen him scowl in weeks. I know some women would miss the bad-boy scowl… but I don’t. Seeing Brody happy melts me inside. And there’s just enough bad boy left to Brody—motorcycle included—to meet my needs.
(Plus I know exactly how to get him to scowl. It involves putting on teeny tiny black lace panties and bra while he watches, then layering on a thick sweater and jeans. “Wait!” he says. “You’re wrapping all that up?” “Yup.” “Can’t I lick it first?” “Busy, later!” Lots of scowls. And then, when I get my fill of grumpy Brody, I give in. Because, the licking.)
He ducks his head and nuzzles my neck, as if he can read my thoughts. “Are you exhausted?” he asks.
I was up late last night, studying for an exam. I’m getting my MSW—master of social work—degree online, as well as a certificate to be a licensed sex educator. It’s basically taking the work I did helping my mom to the next level, so I can offer women even more support. And as part of that, I’m also starting my own business, selling sex toys—but not through another reseller. No, I’ll be my own business, curating and choosing only the best.
When Brody heard that we’d need to do a whole bunch of testing and experimenting to find only the best, he was not at all bummed out.
It’s been tons of fun, and the perfect counterpoint to way too much time spent hitting the books.
Amanda scoots close to me on my other side and drapes an arm. “Need a third wheel?”
“Doesn’t everyone?” I ask fondly. She and Lucy and I—and Hanna, when we follow the rules—have become thick as thieves and spend loads of time together. Lucy’s not here today, though, because she hates boats, and she hates them extra much now that she’s pregnant and has morning (read: all-day) sickness. We found out about the pregnancy a couple of days ago—at the same time we learned that she and Gabe are engaged. Needless to say, we’re all over-the-moon excited.
“Did you hear the big news?” Amanda asks.
“Wait, there’s more besides Lucy being pregnant and engaged?”
She nods, eyes gleeful, and lowers her voice. “Clark has a girlfriend.”
Brody’s shaking his head. “No way.”
“He does. I saw it with my own eyes.”
Brody’s eyebrows are drawn together so tight they form a monobrow. I’m with him—even though Clark no longer seems quite as stricken as he did when I first came back to Rush Creek, he’s said on more than one occasion that there’s no way he’s ready to get back in the saddle. His brothers are super respectful of that, and I’ve never seen any of them try to fix him up. Amanda and his mom, not so much.
As Amanda moves along, possibly to share her gossip even further, Brody’s puzzled expression smooths out a bit. “Do you think…?” he begins, then stops. “No. He wouldn’t.”
“What?” I demand.
“He wouldn’t.”
“Brody, you know that’s not fair! You have to tell me.”
“Well, I just—I’m just remembering this one time we talked about it and he said something…” But then he shakes his head again, and returns his attention to watching his son scoot the garbage truck along the bottom of the boat. Needless to say, Barb is preening like a peacock about the fact that her gift has “won.” Until Justin grabs the shoes and shakes them and demands to have them put on his feet.
“I just have a feel for what little kids love,” Rena tells her competitors proudly.
It’s going to be a long sixteen-and-a-half years with this crew, and I’m going to love every minute of it.
Once I finish extracting intel from Brody.
I punch him in the arm. “Tell me what Clark said. Right this second.” He’s still a man of few words, and sometimes I have to pry every one out of him.
“He said…” Brody lowers his voice. “If I thought it would shut Mom up? I’d get a fake girlfriend. Let me know if you find anyone who’s in the market for a pretend relationship.”
“He was just kidding,” I say. “Right?”
Brody and I look at each other. “He had to be. It was a long time ago, anyway. It doesn’t mean anything.”
But he still doesn’t look sure.
It’s going to be an interesting next few weeks in the Wilder family.
Not that there’s ever a dull moment.
But wait, there’s more! Want more Brody and Rachel? Download a bonus scene!
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Grab your WALK ON THE WILDER SIDE BONUS SCENE here.
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Can’t wait to find out what happens when Clark follows through on a threat to start a fake relationship? Keep turning pages for an excerpt from Clark and Jessa’s book, Wilder With You.
