by Nina Levine
Jesus, is that the best I can do?
I want to smack myself in the face.
This is why I don’t do small talk. I suck at it. Also, it’s a waste of time. Seriously, I doubt he even cares whether I like his brother or not.
Wilder smiles.
It’s unlike any smile he’s ever given me, and it stops me dead in my tracks. It’s the kind of smile that tells me he loves what I just said. “I’m fairly fuckin’ certain he really liked you too.”
“You two are close, aren’t you?” I’ve no clue where this question comes from, but I’m acutely aware of how much I want to know the answer to it.
He nods. “Yeah, we are. We always have been. He’s two years younger than me and I’ve always kept an eye out for him.”
“You were the protective older brother.”
“You could say that.”
“Especially with those wooden spoons.”
He laughs. “Yes, especially then.”
“So, wait, Paul was the naughty one and you weren’t? I find that hard to believe.”
“Truthfully, I taught him all he knows. I was just better at getting away with my shit. He always got caught.”
“And then you took the blame?”
“Yeah.”
“Aww, look at you all nice and shit.” I cock my head. “What happened to nice Wilder?”
“I can be nice, Scarlett.” His voice turns to gravel, causing a whoosh of desire to pool low in my belly. “Any time you want me to show you that, I will.”
“You should definitely show me your nice,” I say a little breathlessly, my body deciding that now would be a great time to just lean on in closer to him while my mouth has decided to allow a whole lot of thoughts out that should stay on the inside.
His eyes lock onto mine, refusing to let go. “When?”
Holy fuck and fuck me dead, the rasp in his voice is everything it should not be. And those green eyes of his that I only really noticed for the first time last night? They need to be removed from his head. I don’t want to look at them anymore. Not for even a second longer.
When I don’t reply, because while my mouth had all the words to share a moment ago, it has not one in it now, he moves closer, his body touching my body. His hand brushing against my hand. His space stealing my space.
“I’m not fuckin’ imagining this, am I?”
I want to throw out a snappy answer and tell him he is, but my mouth suddenly finds a word and decides all on its own to share it with him. “No.”
His thumb curves over the top of my hand.
My breathing slows and speeds up all at the same time as I struggle to handle the sensations his touch causes. I’m unable to latch onto any of my thoughts. It’s too much and it’s not enough, and I’m completely overwhelmed.
“Breathe, Scarlett,” he says, his voice softer than I’ve ever heard.
We’re stuck in this moment when J’s voice sounds from behind me. “Madison will probably kill me for this later, but I’ve had a few drinks, and I can’t keep this news to myself any longer. It’s taken me a while, but I’ve knocked her up again. We’re having another baby.”
“J,” Madison mutters, but I struggle to focus on what else she says because Wilder’s looking at me with an intensity that reminds me of the way he looked at me when he told me he was serious as fuck about me using the bathroom to get changed.
“I have to go,” I say, taking a step back. “I have, umm, stuff I need to do.” It’s a lie and there’s no way he’ll buy it. Not with the way I delivered it.
His eyes search mine like he’s trying to figure me out. I hate it when people do that. With a burning passion. Don’t try to figure me out. I can’t even figure myself out half the time.
“Don’t do that,” I snap.
“Do what?” He doesn’t even bite back like I expect him to. “Try to understand you?”
“Yes. I’m just saying I have shit to do. That’s all.” It’s not all, and we both know it, but he needs to let it go. I’m not going to explain myself to him. I wouldn’t even know where to start. I need to go home, make a huge pot of tea, and contemplate how to get us out of this situation we should have never gotten into.
He nods. “How are you getting home?” At my frown, he says, “You can’t drive.”
Shit, I can’t. I’ve had too much to drink.
“I’ll Uber.”
“I’ll organise you one.”
“I’m quite capable of organising my own.”
“I’m aware, but humour me for once.”
I pull out my phone and scroll to my Uber app. “I’m a big girl, Wilder. I can work an app all by myself.”
I tap away madly, ordering an Uber and trying to do it fast. Wilder waits silently, having given up on trying to boss me into letting him take charge.
Once it’s ordered, I pick up my jacket and say, “I’ll see you at work tomorrow.”
The elephant in the room is wide awake.
I want to tranquilise the fuck out of it.
I suddenly don’t like elephants.
This one can fuck off and die.
“I’ll wait for the Uber with you,” he says.
“No.”
“Yes.”
I grip the strap of my bag. “I don’t need you to.”
He slides his hand over the small of my back. “I know you don’t, but I’m going to anyway.”
With that, he guides me out of the clubhouse and waits with me in silence for my Uber.
I’ve never been so excited to see a car in my life.
Wilder opens the door for me, and once I’m settled in the back seat, he places his hand on the roof and leans his face down into the car so he can say, “Let me know when you’re home.”
I nod. Mostly so he’ll let me go, but also because I know he’ll insist on this.
He closes the door, and the Uber pulls away from him.
I sink back into the seat and exhale a long, trapped breath.
What the hell have we done?
8
Wilder
I’ve never been good at ignoring the feelings coursing through me. I’ve also never been good at using my brain when a chick’s got me feeling all kinds of shit. I run on those feelings and neglect to think it all through first.
Like I did with Scarlett tonight.
There’s something between us and I can’t deny it any longer. And that right there is a shitshow in the making.
If we never had to be in the same room, I could ignore it. I could think about her mood swings, her attitude, her love of arguing over every damn thing, and her stubborn-as-fuck ways, and I could happily choose to disregard my attraction to her. But put me near her and I can’t do it. Something has shifted for me, something that causes my body to take over when she’s around. It allows those damn feelings that thrum in my veins to lead the way.
“Penny for your thoughts,” Harlow says, dropping down onto the couch in the clubhouse bar next to me, her son asleep in her arms. Fuck knows how he’s sleeping—there’s a party in full swing around us.
“They’re a mess.” I’ve been sitting here for the last hour after I put Scarlett in an Uber, going over what happened between us, getting nowhere fast.
“That’s pretty standard for everyone.”
I suck in a long breath and then push it back out as I run my fingers through my hair. “I’m sitting here wondering why the hell I keep fucking up with women.”
“Are you seeing someone at the moment?”
“I was. It wasn’t serious. But it was a bad choice, and bad choices seem to be my flavour of the month.”
“How do you know she’s a bad choice?”
“Trust me, she is.”
“But she’s a new choice, right?”
I’m fairly sure she knows who I’m talking about, but I like that she’s not voicing it. The only reason I’m sharing this with her is because Harlow’s talked me through some female drama in the past and helped me sort my thoughts out. Maybe sh
e can get them in a straight line over Scarlett. “Yes.”
“So it’s probably too soon to be able to tell for sure.”
I slant my head to the side and give her a look that says we both know who this is about. “You can’t tell me you don’t see trouble ahead if this goes further. We fuckin’ work together, and we have enough issues to last us ten lifetimes. That’s a recipe for more hell than I know how to handle.”
She smiles, acknowledging we’re both on the same page. “From the first day I met you, I saw your heart, Wilder. You never hid it and you never do. It’s one of my favourite things about you. Someone, somewhere along the way, taught you how to live with your heart wide open. Scarlett never learned that, but I’ve seen her heart too, and it’s beautiful in its own prickly way. She just needs someone with the patience of a saint to love that heart for what it is and to help her trust she’ll survive opening it up. I’m sure there will be some hell to begin with, but she just needs to know you’re a man willing to walk that hell with her. Once she trusts that, she’ll love you like no other. Scarlett might not think she knows how to love, but she does. She loves better than half the people I know.”
“What makes you think I’m that man?”
“Oh, that’s easy. You two spark.”
“We spark?”
Her smile grows. “Honestly, you two are the only ones who don’t see it. The spark between you is a wildfire in the making.”
Keaton stirs in her arms, crying and fussing. At the same time, her phone rings.
“Goodness, everything always happens at once,” she says while trying to soothe her son and reach for her phone that’s in a pocket of her jeans.
She manages to retrieve the phone but drops it when Keaton’s little arms fling out and knock it from her hand. The ringing stops but starts up again almost instantly.
I reach for it and pass it to her as she cradles Keaton on his back, rocking him.
Glancing at the caller ID, she frowns before answering it with “I’m sorry I missed your earlier calls, honey. Is everything okay?”
She listens as the person on the other end speaks, but Keaton grows louder and more insistent for her full attention. She grimaces at something that is said and quickly says, “No, don’t go. I’ll…” She stops talking and looks at me. “Ugh, she hung up, but I think something bad has happened. She was rambling and not making much sense, and—”
“Who was?” I demand. Her tone sounded a hell of a lot like the way she talks to Scarlett.
“Scarlett. I need to call her back.”
“I’ll do it.” I pull up Scarlett’s number on my phone and call her. She never did let me know she got home safely, and she didn’t reply to my text checking on her.
The call goes to voicemail.
“Fuck,” I mutter as I eye Harlow. Motioning at her, I say, “Give me your phone.”
She hands it over, and I call Scarlett again.
She answers pretty fast, frustrating me that she didn’t answer my damn call. “I don’t know what to do, Harlow”—yeah, she’s in a fucking panic all right—“he was barely breathing when I got home, and now he’s vomiting and refusing to let me help him.” She stops talking abruptly and gasps. It sounds like she’s having trouble getting breath in.
“This is your brother?” I say with some urgency.
I’m met with a long moment of silence, which I cut into with “Scarlett. Is this your brother you’re talking about?”
“Yes.” I hear the distress clear in her voice. It punches me in the gut; I’d feel the same distress if this was Paul.
“Call an ambulance. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
“Okay.” She surrenders her agreement in a very unlike-Scarlett way. Quickly, easily, and without putting up a fight over me coming over. Fuck, I hate the ache bleeding from her, not only because she’s hurting, but also because it stirs a whole heap of my own hurt up too.
The line goes dead, and I move into action.
Harlow looks at me with worry. “Keep me updated.”
“Will do.”
A minute later, I’m on my bike, roaring out of the clubhouse towards Scarlett’s flat. Thank fuck I didn’t drink much today, even though that had been my original plan.
When I arrive, I find the front door wide open and hear arguing inside.
“I’m not going to the fucking hospital, Scarlett,” Bailey spits at her. Her brother treats her like shit; I’ve witnessed that a few times since she first showed up at the clubhouse and made herself known to us.
“You need to,” she fires back. “Give me my phone so I can call an ambulance.” I’d hate to see a McKenzie family reunion; I suspect these two inherited their tempers and obstinance from their parents.
The thud of my boot as I enter the flat causes Scarlett’s head to whip around and her blazing brown eyes to land on me. They only stay there for a second before she turns back to Bailey, who looks like death warmed up.
He’s lost weight since I last saw him months ago. He’s agitated and looks like he hasn’t slept for days. His face is twitching all over the damn place, his eyes are everywhere, and his sweat has invaded the room. His meth mouth looks to have worsened, as have the sores on his skin. I fucking hate this drug and what it does to people.
His eyes go wide when he spots me. Jabbing a finger my way, he eyes his sister angrily. “You fucking called them?” He then narrows his eyes at her. “You’re in on this, aren’t you?”
“In on what?” She sounds defeated and I don’t blame her. Meth defeats every-fucking-one eventually.
Bailey paces next to the couch in Scarlett’s living room, his gaze jumping between her and me. “They’ve got all the cops on their payroll, Scar. Storm want me out of Brisbane and you just fucking call them over and invite them in. They’ll pay the cops to lock me up. You—”
I move towards him, assessing the state he’s in. “Trust me, we don’t give a fuck if you live here or anywhere else, and we sure as fuck wouldn’t waste time getting the cops to lock you up.”
He steps backwards as I get closer. “Don’t fucking come near me!”
“You got an ice pack, Scarlett?” I ask as I continue towards her brother. “And water. Or Powerade or Gatorade if you’ve got some.” I don’t wait for her response before saying to Bailey, “You feeling numb anywhere or have any pain anywhere?” I need to ascertain whether he actually does need medical help or whether we can take care of him.
“Fuck off,” he says, still with the suspicious eyes. “And I’m not fucking staying here now that you’re here. Cops’ll show up any fucking minute.”
Scarlett comes to him, holding two ice packs, looking done with this entire situation. “The cops aren’t fucking coming, Bailey.”
He scratches at his arm like he’s got bugs crawling under his skin. “I knew I shouldn’t trust you.” He stops scratching and jerks his hand through his hair. “I gotta get outta here.”
When he attempts to push past me, I wrap my arms around his body and hold him tightly. “Outta here is the last place you need to go unless it’s to the hospital. I get it; you don’t trust me. I don’t trust you either, so we’ve got that in common. But your logic is flawed. If I wanted your ass locked up, I’d have made that happen a long fuckin’ time ago, and I wouldn’t have needed to pay a cop to do that. All I want tonight is for you to calm the fuck down. You think we can make that happen?”
Bailey struggles against my hold, but something I’ve said appears to work its way into that drug-addled brain of his. His fight eases as he says, “My landlord kicked me out. The cops got to him. They’ll get to you.”
“Yeah, well, not tonight, they won’t.” Doing my best to ignore the reek of his sweat, I say, “Now if I let you go, will you sit your ass down and let Scarlett help you with this ice pack and a drink?”
He takes a moment to consider that before nodding. “Yeah, but I’m not staying long. I need to keep moving.”
I let him go and Scarlett takes over, shoving
a drink at him. “Where are you sleeping these days?” Her earlier distress appears to have eased. She’s back to her snappy ways.
Bailey shrugs and doesn’t answer her. He does drink some of the water she gave him, though, which is a good thing.
Scarlett slaps one of the ice packs against his forehead. “Hold that there. I’m getting you some deodorant. God knows you need it.”
She stalks out of the living room into her short hall, disappearing from sight for a few moments before returning and thrusting a Rexona can at him. “Put this on.”
Bailey does everything he’s told, but he looks as irritated with her as she is with him.
As he drinks the water, she looks at me apologetically. “I’m sorry you came for this. He wasn’t like this when I called Harlow. I should have waited longer before calling her.”
Scarlett doesn’t hand out apologies easily. Come to think of it, I’m not convinced she’s ever handed me one. And she sure as shit doesn’t need to give me one for this.
I don’t get a chance to tell her that because Bailey walks to the TV, switches it on, and announces he’s going to spend the night keeping an eye on the cops via the news.
“Huh?” Scarlett asks, looking like she’s about to lose her mind.
Bailey points at the news ticker on the TV. “This is how they communicate what they’re up to.”
“Jesus,” Scarlett mutters softly enough that only I hear. “I’ve fucking heard everything now.”
I eye her brother. He looks like he’s settling in for a while on the couch. Placing my hand to Scarlett’s forearm, I jerk my head towards her kitchen. “You need tea.”
“I need a lot more than tea to get me through this shit.”
“Lock the doors so he can’t leave. I’ll put the kettle on.”
Five minutes later, I slide a mug of hot tea across her kitchen counter and say, “Drink this.”
“You don’t need to stay. Bailey’s clearly fine now. I can handle this myself.”
“Bailey’s clearly not fine, and while I don’t doubt you could handle a fuckin’ world war on your own, I’m staying. Sometimes doing shit on our own is hard.”
