Wilde About Dylon: The Brothers Wilde Series — Book Four

by Faircloth, Cate

  I’m expecting better luck here.

  The gym I use is a hole in the wall. Whoever owns it is never around, and anyone can get inside. But I don’t care much since it gets the job done and has what I need to tear my muscles and pump my heart to its limit. Huge mainstream gyms aren’t my thing since half the people there take up space and do nothing with it. Plus, the conglomerates overcharge. This gym is always empty too. It has one of everything so it wouldn’t make much sense if there weren’t. I run for thirty minutes, lift weights to train arms and chest, and go home pulsing and sore.

  My flat is above an old fire station, not commissioned. I wanted to be a firefighter growing up, but Mom wasn’t too happy about that, so I changed my mind. Imagine my bad luck when Grayson decided to go gung-ho and join the Air Force as a combat pilot, safe as that is.

  The privacy here is what I like most—nothing below and nothing above. The less than thousand-square-foot flat is one large room, the only separation is the bathroom. It’s simple, the best way to live.

  I shower, eat a pre-made meal, and turn into bed early. Same routine. Always the same.

  * * *

  “Why don’t you hug her, she likes you. Just hold her for one minute.” Brant is offering up his daughter like Simba in a sad reenactment.

  I stare up at him from the chair shivering in my snowsuit. He does the same, and little Malia looks like a snowball herself in the white baby snowsuit she has on.

  “Should she even be out in the cold?”

  “She’s a baby not a geezer with pneumonia.” Brant smirks. He looks older, must be the kid and wife. He hasn’t been on tour since the last stint he did before he married Cora. He took on the stay-at-home-dad role like a pro.

  “Fine.” I untuck my hands from my pockets and take the chortling kid.

  She’s always smiling and laughing, at what I don’t know, unlike Alec’s kid, Timothy, who only makes noise when he cries. Brant sits next to me on the porch we’re settled under. Malia shrieks for no reason, and I give her a funny look, not that she would notice. Her eyes are big, bright, and hazel. She’s got long lashes that bat storms away when she blinks, and her cheeks are insanely rotund, two dimples in the center and under her eyes. She swings her head back and forth as she hurdles out some syllables. At thirteen months old, she’s closer to talking than not. I think. I don’t know much about babies.

  “Why does she smell like…” I sniff Malia’s head, “… honey?” I ask Brant.

  He shrugs refilling our mugs with coffee from the thermos. The rest of the family is on the skyline heading back up from the ski track minus Cora and Mia, they’re still asleep. It’s only eleven though. Since I rolled my ankle on the slopes yesterday, I opted to stay in, and Brant doesn’t like to ski at all.

  “Her shampoo. For the curls.” He gulps the hot coffee down. I give him a weird look, and he laughs.

  “What?”

  “Nothing.” I shake my head at him. “You’re domesticated now.” I almost smile when Malia tugs at my beard. She starts patting on my face, her fingers are chubs of more baby flesh. I see why people like them so much. The softening feeling is new to me, and it only comes around when I’m forced to hold one of them.

  “Yeah. It’s not a bad look for me.” He coughs, drinking too fast. “Let her play with you.” He waves his hand at me as I’m tugging Malia away from picking at my beard.

  “She’s grabby.” I bounce her on my knee and make sure she doesn’t fall. She can hold her head up now, but not her body.

  “Because she likes you. She cries and tries to jump out of everyone else’s arms except her mother and Mom.” He laughs.

  I chuckle once. “It’s the fluffy face I have.” Just as I say it, Malia uses both her hands to tug at my face. This time I let her. It’s not so bad, at least someone likes me. When she starts crying, I manage to shush her down in less than ten seconds. I guess she does actually like me.

  “Mom told me she is worried about you.” Brant cuts the silence. I wait until I take a few sips of the coffee he brought out. It’s good.

  “Mom worries. It’s in her nature.”

  “She meant it, though.”

  “I’ll talk to her when they get back. I can’t believe she can still ski.”

  We both laugh.

  “She goes to make sure no one fights,” he says.

  “True,” I murmur.

  Malia starts shouting a ‘u’ sound that Brant is convinced means ‘uncle,’ but that’s still up for debate. Timothy is quiet, but Mom says Alec was the same way. He didn’t talk until he was three. Jeffrey was the same way, so no one is too worried about it. I’ve fallen under her spell. I get up and swing her around pacing the porch.

  “How is work?” Brant asks.

  “Are you my wife?”

  He makes a face. I side-eye him.

  “It’s fine. Mostly. We’re buying another holding so we can go global, it’s a headache.”

  “Isn’t it always?” He laughs.

  “Yeah.” I get sidetracked when Malia burps. I know enough to mean spit-up might follow suit, so I stop moving her around.

  I sit back down next to Brant tucking Malia to my chest. Babies are a psychological trip. I’m less inclined to avoid talking. She yawns—I didn’t know babies could yawn—and then goes back to picking at my beard.

  “I’m sure it will all work out. You people are smart.” He chuckles.

  “Yeah…” I scoff, “… we make all the money so your kids can have a bigger inheritance.”

  “Your kids, too.” He nudges my boot with his. I shrug, it’s no secret that Dad’s business turned family business is where most of this money comes from. But it just so happened that outside the four of us who work there, they all have shit-earning careers. Alec’s an engineer for the Pentagon now, Brant’s an international rock star, Fletcher is a football superstar of some sort, and Jeffrey is a surgeon. I don’t know about Grayson, but for now, he is a patriot, and Isaac is probably in a ditch somewhere, but I wouldn’t know. Short of that, we’re all lucky.

  Malia is less than twenty pounds and already worth half of Brant’s inheritance. Lucky kid.

  “You want to know a secret?” Brant smiles. I stare at him, blank-faced.

  “Are we five?”

  “Okay.” Brant laughs. “You’re the only one I can tell because you barely talk. And secrets make me itch.”

  “You sleep with a groupie or something?”

  He laughs. “No. Never mind. It’s nothing. Enjoy the kid. I gotta use the bathroom.” He stands and leaves before I can protest.

  It’s freezing, and Malia’s cheeks are bright red, so I go inside too. The cabin is huge, the only thing that makes it a cabin is the architecture. The living room has four different couches and a coffee table the size of the rug. Everything is brown or dark in some way. Nothing has changed over the years. We’ve had the cabin since I was fifteen. Malia starts crying again, and it takes longer to calm her down than last time. I frown to myself knowing it was too good to be true.

  “That’s the hungry cry.”

  I turn to find the origin of the voice. It’s Cora coming down the stairs. I stop pacing and nod at her forcing a closed smile since she isn’t aware of my tendency to be a stale piece of bread. She smiles at me coming across the landing in a matching purple sweat top and pants. Brant really knows how to pick them.

  “I can’t help with that.” I try to hand her off as the cries get to an annoying frequency, but she continues walking into the kitchen, and I follow her.

  “I’ve been trying to wean her off breastfeeding, but she is not having it.” Cora opens and closes the fridge coming around the counter with a bottle.

  “Sounds difficult.” She tries to hand me the bottle, and I give her a look.

  “Are you and Brant plotting to soften me up?”

  “Only if it’s working.”

  I take the bottle. She sits at the counter leaning on her arm and watching. I only know how to do this because of my
younger brothers. It’s easy enough. Malia turns her cries to sucking down the bottle. Babies are odd. I don’t remember milk tasting this good.

  “How have you been?” I ask Cora. I’m mostly civil.

  “Good. I went back to work a few months ago.”

  I nod, stifling a chuckle. She tilts her head at me in response. I turn Malia, so she leans on me with her head.

  “I was thinking of Brant staying home while you bring home the bacon.”

  “He technically works.” Cora giggles.

  Malia finishes her bottle. I pick her up and drop the bottle in the sink. Going over to the island where Cora sits, I kiss Malia’s cheek before I hand her off. She’s half asleep now. They’re like machines—cry, eat, sleep.

  “Take your kid back. She was well enjoyed.”

  Cora laughs at me and takes Malia. “You have something to ask me?”

  I turn on my heel. “No?”

  She shakes her head paying attention to Malia as she undoes the heavy jacket.

  “Oh, come on, I’m a lawyer. You talk with your eyes.”

  “I guess you’re a good lawyer.” I lean over the counter.

  She arches her brow tucking Malia against her neck. Even with the kid, she doesn’t look like she is only good for hormones as most people assume when they see moms with their kids. And she’s right, Brant warned me about that. The whole sister-in-law thing works in theory. I don’t see Mia or Cora much.

  But these kind of things—girl problems—my brothers don’t know about even though they pretend they do. And Mom would drive me crazy with questions.

  “Okay, it’s not a big deal. My brothers would come up with something stupid. But it’s nothing serious either. I’ve been trying not to think about it too much.” I glance at the door like someone will come through.

  “I’m guessing this is about a woman?”

  I nod. “Sure.”

  “You’re so weird,” she murmurs, patting Malia’s back like I didn’t hear her. “What’s the damage?” she asks.

  “Not much. She doesn’t like me.”

  “What did you do?”

  “Nothing, we just met.”

  She giggles. “Okay. So…” She stares at me.

  I have half a mind to forget about it—the thought seems foolish now. I’m not supposed to care. I keep telling myself that.

  “Sounds pretty fifty-fifty to me. You actually did something, and her feelings are valid.”

  “And the other half?” Forbes refuses to tell me otherwise or admit to anything.

  Cora smiles at me and looks me over once before she turns Malia around, keeping her from playing with the plastic fruit display.

  “She’s mad at herself for wanting you. Projection is usually always the easiest answer.” She shrugs her shoulders like it’s nothing.

  “Hmm. Thanks. That mostly helps.” I push off the counter and see what’s in the fridge, but I don’t expect to find much.

  “No problem. You should keep asking until you figure it out. That is, if she’s worth it.” She sidetracks dancing Malia’s hands in hers.

  “That I don’t know,” I say when she pays attention to me again. She laughs once and makes a face at me.

  “You guys are so odd.”

  “You married into it.”

  Her retort is stopped short when Brant comes around the corner from wherever he disappeared to for so long without the heavy jacket and snow boots on. His black sweater matches mine when I take my jacket off and toss it on the bench by the window.

  “Married what?” Brant walks behind Cora, hugs her and Malia from behind and kisses them both.

  “Nothing.” Cora smiles at him, and he sits down next to her. I settle for a bottle of water and lean on the counter and watch them. If happiness were a picture, they would be it.

  “Mom said they’re almost here. We’re going to brunch at that lodge,” Brant says.

  “Okay. Sounds good. Come find me when they get here.” I trash the bottle and rub Malia’s head on my way out of the kitchen.

  Back in my room, I start reading to pass the time, but my brain is like a sieve to the story running back to Forbes and what she might be doing. The unsettling I get comes from thinking she’s alone, and I’m not sure why the thought even passes. I’ve lost control over my senses, over some woman I barely know. That might be how it happens, but I wouldn’t know.

  It’s all a complete first for me.

  I spend the holiday with my family enjoying their presence for the first time in a while. Besides Mom, I distanced myself from everyone else for reasons I now can’t remember. They seem lost to me now, and I’m not inclined to find them again, for the time being.

  I still have secrets, shit to work through. At one point, that was all I had to worry about. Now it’s taken a back burner to whatever Forbes has going on—with herself, with me.

  Either way I look at it, I’m more involved than I ever planned to be.

  12

  Forbes

  I may be in the less than one percent of the population that is happy for a break to be over so that I can go back to work.

  Tasks keep me busy, routines.

  When I stick to them, I don’t have enough time to stray away from them and let my thoughts run amuck. Growing up, I had that habit. I had to be kept busy, boredom feels like sound discomfort. I hate it.

  When the New Year’s office break ends, I get ready to be back at work which includes dry cleaning pick up, prepping dinner meals for the week, and finishing my laundry. I enjoy my own company, so errands are like the highlights of my week sometimes.

  Recently, it’s been the only thing I can count on not to change with everything else being so up in the air.

  Everything else being Dylan.

  For days, he has lingered in the back of my mind, pressing me to recognize him as a person and not as the figure of the person I spent the better part of two years despising. It’s unnerving, and the shift is too dramatic for me, so I choose to ignore it until it gets pushed back in my head by the lawyer, Reed, calling again.

  “Hi, Ms. Walters, it’s Reed Kelly.” He’s too cheerful.

  “Forbes is fine. Hi, Mr. Kelly.” I sigh, sitting back in my chair at the kitchen counter pushing my empty coffee cup away. It’s the only thing I can stomach this early in the morning, but it has to be decaf, so it’s for the flavor.

  “Reed is fine.” He chuckles, and I force a laugh. “I’m following up with you about what we discussed last week.”

  “Uh huh.”

  “And I’m afraid I have bad news.”

  I’m not surprised.

  “Your father’s life insurance was canceled.”

  “I don’t… I don’t understand.” I swallow hard. My temples pound with the invitation of a headache, my chest pattering with my skipped heartbeat. I’m used to that feeling, but it still manages to surprise me.

  “You are still the beneficiary, and you’ll get the premiums back. But unfortunately, the death benefit is voided because of the cause of death. As I’m sure you know, the suicide clause takes effect here. In most states, it’s one year, but here in Maryland, it’s two years.”

  I absorb what he says, but I feel like a sieve to half of it. I never expected it to happen this way, and I don’t think my dad did either. He was pushed to the breaking point and somehow managed to think of me in the end.

  With the ultimate sacrifice, he gave me his heart and soul. Literally. He had every reason to fall in on himself and leave me behind after everything that happened, but he didn’t.

  “Forbes, you there?” Reed clears his throat.

  “Oh, yes, I’m sorry. That is bad news,” I murmur.

  “I understand it can be very difficult, especially when you are probably still mourning. But I’ll see what I can do for you.”

  “Thank you.” I sigh. “How much did he leave behind? To pay,” I ask. I only have a faint recollection from my bills that are still piling up.

  “With the insurance payoff
already through, that leaves about two hundred grand still owing.”

  Jesus…

  “Okay,” I squeak out, trying not to freak out too much.

  “I’ll see what I can do with the company your father took out the policy from. Sometimes they will allow complete resolution, especially in cases like this.”

  “Cases like this?” I gravel.

  “Yes, your father was an organ donor, and you’re young. Sometimes insurance companies are nice and realize someone your age can’t possibly handle that large sum on their own.” He chuckles nervously.

  “I hope so.”

  “I wouldn’t worry too much. I’ll email you the statement if you want to see it. But otherwise, I can handle everything from here.”

  “Thank you. I appreciate it,” I say, even though it’s not like he’s doing it for free or something.

  “No problem. Talk soon.”

  “Thanks.”

  I hang up exhaling sharply as I lay against my cold counter. The headache is officially here. When all this happened, I thought I could get it under control. I was just out of college, and barely had any help with it. I could hardly help myself once I got out of the hospital, but I was used to that. The only difference is my dad wasn’t there that time. I had to use the last of his savings to pay for the funeral, which was fine because I had scholarships and loans, and I’m debt free in that department. Law school took me a year because I did a joint program in undergrad, and Dad’s savings took care of that. Now, it’s my heart transplant that is running the mill, and without Dad’s full life insurance, I don’t know how I’ll manage to take care of that. Hopefully, Reed is as good as he sounds. Otherwise, I’m strapped for life.

  It was never supposed to be this way. Not even when things got bad before college and once shortly after graduation when Dad passed away, and my world was turned upside down.