by Nina Levine
“Scarlett,” Paul says, coming into the room as I put the last thing in my suitcase. “I need your advice.”
I zip up the suitcase. “Okay, but if it’s anything to do with clothes, you know I am not your girl.”
“That’s definitely not fake news, but this has to do with dating.”
“Jesus, I’m not your girl there either.”
“No, this is something I think you’ll be good at.” He shoves his phone at me. “Tell me which guy I should choose for a date on Tuesday night.”
My eyeballs are assaulted by hot-guy muscles when I glance at his phone, and I suspect he’s right. I can definitely help him choose a hottie for tomorrow night.
“Holy hell,” I say as I scroll through the app he’s using. “Why didn’t I know about this app when I was dating?”
“Because not one of those guys would ever look at you,” he says like I just asked the dumbest question.
“Oh, right. I don’t have a dick.” I stumble across the most beautiful blue eyes and tap the screen before passing his phone back. “This one.”
“Why this one?”
“Seriously? You say that like you think I’ve got special mystical powers or some shit.” I roll my eyes. “He has hot muscles and sexy eyes. It’s a very technical skill I possess when it comes to selecting guys from apps.”
“It’s definitely time for you to go home. You need a good dicking.”
“That is the fucking truth,” I say.
He heads for the door but turns back and says, “Thank you for last night. I’ve never had a friend like you before.”
Paul knows me well enough to understand I’m not good with dragging out a conversation, especially not a deep one, so he says what he has to say, and then he slips out of the room leaving me alone again.
One of the things I like the most about him is that we don’t need a lot of words to express how we feel.
I finish up packing and head out into the house to find Wilder. I find him in the lounge room with his mum. Well, actually, I don’t go into the room and find them, but rather I hear them as I approach and what I hear them discussing slows me right the hell down.
“Do you see a future with Scarlett?” Susan asks.
“Yeah, I do,” Wilder says.
“That makes me so happy, darling.”
“We’re taking it slow, though, Mum, so you need to get a handle on that.”
“I’m not going to say anything. I promise. I can tell Scarlett needs to take her time with this. But just knowing you want to build a family with her is good. I think she’ll make you happy.”
“Don’t push this, Mum.”
“I’m not, but I know you want kids one day and I, for one, am glad you’ve found a woman to do that with. I hated watching your uncle’s disappointment of never finding a woman to share his life with and have children with.”
I can’t listen to any more of this.
I turn and flee back to my room, my heart racing and my thoughts smashing into me like a tsunami has taken over in my head. It’s wild and hectic and scary up there.
How did I not think about Wilder wanting kids? Like, he’s so family-oriented, I should have thought about this.
I mean, I know how it happened.
I let my guard down.
I let Wilder muddle me.
I let myself want someone I shouldn’t want.
A knock sounds at the door before Wilder says, “Scar, you naked?”
I swallow down all my thoughts and tell my heart to stop racing, knowing full well that he’s going to open that door and come in, that he’s only asking if I’m naked because that’s sure to be an ongoing joke between us.
Sure enough, he opens the door and shoots me a smile before entering. “You ready for lunch?”
“Yes.”
He eyes my suitcase. “This good to go?”
“Yes.”
He frowns. “You okay?”
“Yes. Actually, no. I have a headache. Have I got time to lie down for a bit before lunch?”
More frowning, which isn’t unexpected; I never suffer headaches.
I make a mental note: the next time I want to lie to Wilder, fucking make it convincing.
“Yeah, you lie down. I’ll get you some Advil and water.”
He exits the room in search of those things before I can stop him.
I lie down and wait for his return.
I am the world’s worst human.
Jesus, I am also a drama fucking queen.
People lie about this kind of stuff all the time. This doesn’t make me the world’s worst human.
Except, I don’t ever lie like this. Then again, I don’t get myself into relationships with men I shouldn’t get myself into relationships with. Men who want children.
Jesus, now really is the time to take the wheel.
43
Scarlett
“Did you forget to take your happy pills this morning, Scar?” Paul asks as he hits me with an exasperated look.
We’re an hour into our flight home and I’ve managed to successfully argue my way through that hour with both him and his brother. Wilder has way more patience than Paul, so he’s still putting up with my shit, but Paul appears to have reached the end of his patience.
I don’t blame him.
I’m annoying even myself and as much as I’m trying to keep myself contained, I’m struggling worse than I’ve ever struggled.
I can’t get the conversation between Wilder and his mother out of my head.
I know you want kids one day.
Somehow I got through saying goodbye to Wilder’s parents, and in particular his mother. She reminded me about Father’s Day, and I smiled my way through agreeing to try to make it. If she noticed any change in my enthusiasm, she didn’t acknowledge it, but it was there.
I can’t go home with him for Father’s Day.
I can’t let this thing between us go any deeper than it already has.
And fuck it, we went deep this weekend.
I am so stupid for forgetting myself and getting all caught up in him.
“Scarlett,” Paul says, all snappy when I don’t respond to him.
“Clearly, yes I forgot them,” I snap back. “Swap seats with me so I can have a sleep, and you two can talk.”
Paul has the window seat while I’m in the middle and Wilder’s on the aisle. At my suggestion to switch seats, Wilder places his hand on my leg and says, “You can sleep where you are.”
“No, I want the window seat,” I say.
“I’m just gonna swap seats,” Paul says. “I can’t go on with this crankiness.”
I quickly pull my legs up onto my chair and we switch seats before Wilder can stop us. I know he doesn’t want me to move away from him, but I need the space. I need it to think more than anything. And also so I don’t end up in a huge fight with him, because at the rate I’m going, I will piss him off at some point. That’s a given. Hopefully some space will help me calm the hell down and figure out my next step.
I angle my body towards the window, rest my head, and close my eyes. I don’t fall asleep, but I do a good job of pretending.
I spend the rest of the flight dredging up childhood memories, replaying shitty times in my mind. Reminding myself of what bad parenting does to a child and the fact that bad parenting runs in my family. I also remind myself of how fucking hard it is to lose a child and that I vowed never to go through that again. There will only ever be one London in my life.
“Scar,” Paul says, gently shaking me like I’m asleep. “We’re home.”
I look at him and find Wilder watching me with concern. I quickly look away and gather my belongings.
This is going to slay him.
Hell, it’s going to slay me too.
We file out of the plane, collect our bags, and locate the Uber Paul booked.
Paul takes the front seat while I sit with Wilder in the back.
“What’s going on, Scar?” he asks as the Uber pu
lls out into traffic, those green eyes of his boring into mine like he’s trying to actually read my mind.
“I still have that headache,” I lie.
“Bullshit.”
“It’s not bullshit,” I lie again. I’m surely going to hell for this, but that’s okay. I’m going to deserve it after this is all said and done.
The Uber jerks to a stop, and my head flings forward while my entire body slides towards the front seat. Wilder instinctively extends his arm in front of my chest to protect me. The driver lets out a string of swear words and winds his window down to abuse the driver of the other car.
My heart pounds hard against my chest, but it has nothing to do with the fact we were almost in an accident and everything to do with the man sitting next to me, watching me like he knows something bad is happening but can’t quite figure out what or how to slow the rollercoaster down.
Paul mutters something while the Uber driver continues to rant at the other driver.
My head swims with thoughts I can’t catch.
Wilder says something to me, but I can’t catch it either.
There’s too much air in this car.
Like, it’s thick and gluggy and I. Can’t. Breathe.
“Fuck,” I blurt and madly reach for the button to wind my window down.
The car takes off again with another jerk as the driver plants his foot.
Jesus, are we even going to survive this ride home?
He’s driving like a maniac now.
Still ranting about that other driver.
And Paul has started ranting at him to slow down.
And I still. Can’t. Breathe.
I lean my head out the window and attempt to suck in air.
“Jesus, Scarlett,” Wilder says. “Get your head back in the car.”
When I don’t do as he says, he leans across the car and tries to pull me back in.
I slap him away. “I need air.”
“You also need your fuckin’ head. You leave it out there and it’s gonna get taken off.”
I continue to not do as he says, and he continues to fight me.
Finally, he thunders, “Scarlett! Pull your fuckin’ head in,” and I know he’s not just talking about getting my head back inside the car. This is Wilder finally losing his patience with me.
I pull my head in.
I wind the window up.
And I look at Wilder.
“Can we not do this here?” I say.
“If I knew what the fuck we were doing, I could give you an answer to that.”
“Arguing over my headache.”
“The fuckin’ headache you don’t have?”
“Yes,” I say softly. “That headache.”
His eyes search mine for the longest, most excruciating moment. “Fuck,” he says, and then with more force, “No, we’re doing this here, Scarlett. Tell me what the fuck is going on so I can get to work fixing it.”
My beautiful man.
The one I didn’t even know I wanted.
The one I didn’t know I already loved.
The one I don’t know how to be with when everything he wants is something I can never give him.
“You can’t fix this, Wilder.”
“I can fix anything I put my mind to, but I can’t fuckin’ do that if you won’t tell me what it is.”
I look away from him for a moment before looking back. “I know you think you can do that, but sometimes life gets in the way and shit can’t be fixed.”
“Scarlett,” he starts in his bossy voice, but I cut him off.
“We’re not doing this in the back of an Uber.”
“Fucking hell,” he growls, and I hear all the frustration he’s feeling, but more than that, I hear the strain.
I look out the window, hating that I’m stretching him to the extreme like this.
We travel in silence the rest of the way to my place. It’s the longest fifteen minutes of my life.
Wilder gets our bags out of the boot, we say goodbye to Paul, and I steel myself for the conversation we’re about to have.
The front door is barely shut behind us when Wilder demands, “Now, Scarlett. Start talking. I’m not waiting a second longer.”
I look at him, tracing my gaze over every inch of his face, committing it to memory even though every inch is already locked away tight. “I heard you talking with your mum about us and about the fact you want kids.”
“This is about that?”
“Yes.”
“Fuck.” He comes my way. “Did you hear the bit of the conversation where I told her we were going slow? I didn’t mean I want kids right fuckin’ now.”
I hold out my hand to slow him down. “Yes, I heard that too.”
He frowns and waits for me to continue.
Jesus, why is this so hard?
Ah, maybe because yesterday you were declaring it a national holiday for Wilder Day while spending time in Wilder World and now you’re trying to eradicate Wilder from your life.
Fuck.
“Scarlett,” Wilder says, his tone letting me know he’s almost reached breaking point with me.
“London isn’t a bucket list destination for me,” I blurt out as all the thoughts in my head smash together, a mess of the ugliest kind. He looks confused for a moment before I see him connect the dots all the way back to the night he asked me about my London tattoo. “London was my daughter.” I stop talking as my heart races so damn hard I actually think it might race out of my chest.
“Fuck,” he curses softly.
I gulp my way through the pain as the memories become an onslaught I don’t think I’ll survive.
“Scarlett,” he says, but I hold my hand up and stop him.
Shaking my head, I force out the words I need to say. “Give me a minute. I want to tell you this, but it’s just gonna take me a bit.”
Wilder gives me the space I need and once I’ve got myself to the point where I think I can share the story with him, I begin.
“When I was sixteen, I met a boy who became my everything. Marty. We met at school and he slowly showed me what love was. He helped me believe it wasn’t true when Mum told me I was a worthless piece of shit. He protected me when one of the boys at a party took to me with his fists because I refused to sleep with him. He brought food to school for me when he knew we didn’t have any at home because Mum had spent all the cash on drugs. And he stood by my side when I got pregnant with our child.” I suck in a long breath and try not to process the way Wilder’s looking at me like every word I’m saying hurts. Every word kills me, but I don’t want them to hurt him. God, how I don’t want them to do that. “We had London and lived with his parents who were supportive at that time. She lived for three months, the happiest three months I’d ever known. And then one morning, I found her in her cot not breathing. I’ll never ever forget that day.”
Wilder’s arms are around me before I even realise it.
Tears stream down my face as the memories refuse to relent.
My beautiful baby girl.
She should have had more than three months.
I should have been able to protect her better.
I should have made sure she didn’t come to any harm.
That’s a mother’s job and I failed.
I bury my head in Wilder’s chest as his arms tighten around me.
He holds me for a long time before I finally look up at him and say, “She died of SIDS. They said it wasn’t something I did, but I should have done better. I should have—”
“Fuck, Scarlett, there’s nothing you could have done.”
I push out of his arms, angry. He knows nothing about what happened. “I didn’t breastfeed. I tried, but I had a lot of problems with it, and in the end I used formula. Breastfeeding can lower the chances of SIDS. I should have tried harder.”
I should have done more.
Wilder deserves a mother for his child who would do more.
Someone who would go to the ends of the earth for her
child.
Wilder comes closer to me, compassion blazing from him. “You remember how you told me you have flawed thinking the other night?” At my nod, he continues, “This is flawed thinking.”
“It’s not.”
“It is, Scar. You weren’t to blame for her death.”
When he reaches for me, I yank my arm away from him. “I didn’t tell you this to get in a fight with you about it. That’s all in the past, and I can’t go back and change any of it. What I can do, and what I am doing, is making sure it doesn’t happen again.”
His brows furrow. “What are you saying?”
“I’m saying I don’t want children. I won’t have children.”
“Scarlett—”
“No. This isn’t up for discussion.” I step back, away from him. “This, us, we’re over. You need to go find another woman to have those babies of yours because I am not that woman, Wilder.”
“I don’t want another woman. I want you.”
My breaths come faster. “You can’t have me. I can never give you what you want.”
“How do you know what I want?” When I try to look away, he demands, “Don’t look away from me, Scarlett. I asked you a question.”
“I heard you tell your mum what you want!” I throw back, all anger and pain and regret for putting him through this. For not being careful enough with his heart.
“This isn’t something you just decide on the spot. This is something we need to talk about.”
“I’m never changing my mind.”
“Fuck.” He shoves his fingers through his hair. “Last night you told me you were glad you went home with me and met my family. Now you’re telling me we’re done. That’s not how this fuckin’ works.”
“Things change.”
“Not this fuckin’ fast they don’t!”
“They do. You don’t get to decide this just because you want something.”
“And you don’t get to fuckin’ decide to just walk away without working through shit with me.”
I stare at him.
He’s going to fight me to the end on this.
His brother was right; Wilder’s a fighter, through and fucking through.
“I’m leaving town.”
His eyes bulge. “You’re not fuckin’ leaving town.”
