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CHAPTER 14

INSIDE OUT

CASS

I t’s been a weird week.

The chapel is a sea of people, quiet other than the pastor at the microphone next to an easel holding a photo of Ashley. She’s smiling, kneeling down with Cricket in a prairie of wildflowers, the Smoky Mountains rolling in the distance, blue and inviting.

Everything about the photo speaks of hope.

The irony is heartbreaking.

The sight of the grinning little girl in Ashley’s arms smashes my broken heart into bits. I’ve never seen that Cricket before, despite having met her.

I understand grief, having lost my father years ago. But it’s unfathomable to me how she must feel after losing her mother so young.

Her hair is pulled half back, pinned with a black bow, her bouncy, dark curls disappearing behind the pew. She’s so small, sitting between her grandparents, still as a statue with that photo of her and her mother standing in front of her.

The impulse to scoop her up and take her away to a happier place overwhelms me. Wilder senses something and squeezes my hand, which has been locked around mine since we entered the church. I feel him looking at me, but keep my eyes on the pastor.

If someone told me a few months ago, when I was in the midst of preparing to marry another man, that I’d be sitting at a funeral for the mother of Wilder’s secret child, holding his hand because everyone thought we were married, I’d have…well, I’d have called 911 out of fear you were having a stroke. None of those words even make sense together.

But somehow, this is my reality.

I’m still not sure how I got here.

I mean, I got here because I was stupid enough to leave eighteen-year-old Wilder to mail the papers. He offered like he was being chivalrous. Who knew he was planning to stay secretly married to me for ten years instead?

As for today, I didn’t plan on holding hands with him like this. But he took my hand as we were walking in, clasping it like I was the only thing keeping him from being swept off into the sea. I still can’t pull away, not with every emotion he feels passing into me.

Today, he needs me for something else entirely. And I’m taking that job very seriously.

It’s an easy role to slip into. If I really think about it, I’m enjoying it.

But today’s too sad for thinking.

His big hand around mine, my foot hooked behind his calf, the warmth of his solid body arm to arm, thigh to thigh with mine feels good. It feels too good. I can imagine everything Wilder and I were talking about before everything went to hell: what might have been. And God, I hate myself for fantasizing about it. Because now is not the time. My heart is not in the right place. What if I cave? What if I rebound? He doesn’t deserve that.

I’m not sure I can trust myself. Maybe I never could.

And living with him is going to make it really hard to figure out how to be alone.

I’ve spent this week on a strict Fuck You diet, avoiding him at all costs. Easy enough, since I’m so busy trying to find my footing at the school. Overwhelmed doesn’t begin to cut it—I did my student teaching six years ago. So much of my knowledge is lost to time. But Cheryl, the other first grade teacher, is a godsend. If it wasn’t for her, I’d come home crying every day.

As it stands, I’ve only cried once, and it had more to do with my stupid truck breaking down than it did with the rest of it. School. Wilder. Recovering from being left at the altar.

You know. Little things.

The funeral ends, and everyone stands to file out of the church. Wilder’s hand fits neatly in the small of my back as we pass the threshold and into jarring sunshine. Neither of us says much on the way to Ashley’s parents’ house where the wake is.

I’ve done a stellar job avoiding him, despite throwing myself into planning for Cricket. Honestly, it’s been nice to have so much to do—between work and preparing for her to come stay with us, there’s been no time to think about anything but the task at hand. It’s only at night that the tsunami of feelings crashes into me, and by that time I’m usually so exhausted I’m asleep before they can do much damage.

Wilder told the baseball team, so obviously now the whole damn town knows. The people who know the real truth are my mom, his dad, and the inner circle—Remy, Jessa, Shelby, and Tate.

Reactions have ranged in temperature from should we call an ambulance to makes sense . I don’t know which is more alarming, the idea that we come across as batshit insane or that any of this madness makes sense.

As far as I’m concerned, we all need our heads checked. Me most of all. But I’ve never felt a calling like I have to protect the sad little girl with the black bow in her hair. At least this way, I can help.

It’s all going to be fine.

Totally fine.

The other day, Wilder dropped off an envelope with Mama containing a key to his house and our marriage certificate in case I need it. Our names on the legal document I thought was null and void was one of the most bizarre things I’ve ever seen. The only thing that tops it is the ring on my left ring finger. It’s simple, a gold band with a fleck of a diamond—but somehow it’s even more perfect than the three carat cushion cut from Davis. Maybe because Wilder gave this to me with his whole entire heart and soul. Davis could only manage half.

The only interactions Wilder and I have had are texting about the things I ordered for Cricket’s room. When I asked about a budget, he said there wasn’t one, which reminded me that he was a simple man with a five-year career with the MLB as a starting pitcher under his belt—and in his bank account.

When he picked me up this morning he told me the DNA paternity results had come back, confirming what we already knew. He was in his head about it through the hour drive to Franklinville, his brows drawn together and eyes on the road, much like he is right now on the drive to Patty and Paul’s house. The street is already lined with cars, but he finds a spot and kills the engine. He doesn’t move to get out. So I don’t either.

I trace the line of his profile as he stares off at nothing, his fists still firmly around the wheel.

“Are you okay?” I ask quietly, knowing he’s not.

Wilder’s broad chest rises and falls. He still doesn’t look at me.

“This is…Cass, I…I don’t know what I am, but I don’t think it’s okay.”

He’s gorgeous in a black suit and silky black tie, tortured as he is.

“Do you want to go home? Regroup?”

He shakes his head. “No. I need to be here for Cricket. For Ashley. For me too,” he admits. When he looks at me, it’s with a depth of sadness and gratitude. “But I’m glad you’re here. Thank you.”

The flush of my cheeks is involuntary. My nose prickles. But I smile. “Of course. I am your wife, after all.”

My joke does its job, and he cracks a little smile.

I should be so fucking mad at him. And I am.

Kinda.

I sigh, feeling exhausted as I turn for the door and we exit the truck.

The house is full of people dressed in black holding plastic plates stacked with casseroles in their hands. I follow the expanse of Wilder’s back through the crowd, and he stops here and there, shaking hands with people occasionally. There are guys he played against in high school here, as well as family members who learned he’s Cricket’s father and that he played pro ball.

So I take my job as wifey seriously and keep us moving until we make it to the table of food.

With a relieved breath on reaching our goal, I’m about to crack a joke about macaroni salad when a deep voice says from behind him, “Didn’t think you’d show.”

Confused, Wilder turns, and he’s nearly nose to nose with a guy who appears to be more wolf than man.

The wolf looks like he hasn’t slept in a year, with dark half-moons under his eyes and bloodshot whites. His scruff is days old, the stubble disappearing into his collar. Beneath the dark beginnings of his beard, his jaw is set.

“Excuse me?” Wilder answers without cowering, meeting the wolf’s energy.

“I didn’t think you’d come to Ashley’s funeral. Never bothered to come around before.”

The wolf smells like bourbon. A few people nearby are looking.

“If I’d known there was a reason to, I would have.” Wilder steps back enough to extend a hand. “And your name is?”

Wolf ignores Wilder’s offer. “Trent Rhodes. We used to play each other in high school. Still play in rec sometimes, too.”

Recognition passes across Wilder’s face. His hand lowers. “You used to date Ashley.”

“I’ve always dated Ashley.”

“I recall it being very off and on. Mostly off.”

God the wolf looks like he might hit somebody.

So I throw on a smile, wondering if I can help. “Hi, we haven’t met—I’m Cassidy. Wilder’s wife.” I slip my arm into the crook of Wilder’s elbow.

He notices me for the first time and blinks. “Wife?”

I nod, still smiling. “It’s the craziest story. We used to date in high school too, and?—”

His gaze shifts back to Wilder. I realize then that he’s very, very drunk.

Paul approaches with Patty in tow, Cricket at her side.

“Trent, son—” Paul starts, squeezing the wolf’s shoulder.

But he shrugs Paul off, looking at Cricket with glistening eyes. “Ashley always said she wasn’t mine, but I never believed her.”

Cricket shrinks behind her grandmother, her eyes big.

That’s all I need to see.

I soften that smile I’ve been wearing and put myself between her and the men. The wolf is still talking. I’ve tuned him out.

“Wanna come outside with me, Cricket?” I ask. “I think I saw a swing in the yard. Is that yours?”

She nods, pale-faced, her eyes on the men. But she takes my hand. And I sweep her into the kitchen and out the back door.

The second we’re alone, I feel better. “It’s this way?” I ask.

She nods, eyes on her shiny Mary Janes.

“I love a good tire swing. It’s been a while since I’ve been on one though.”

“Pawpaw made it for Mama when she was little,” is all she says.

“He’s a good man, Pawpaw.”

Again, she nods.

When we reach the swing, I pause. “Do you need help getting on?—”

She’s already halfway up, and I watch her scramble onto the swing, legs dangling from the middle.

“Hey, that’s pretty good. So, what do you think? Swing or spin?”

“Spin,” she answers without hesitation. It sounds more like thpin because of her missing teeth, and I decided it might be the cutest sound.

“You got it.”

So for a minute, I occupy myself with twisting the swing until it’s so tight, I can’t wind it anymore.

“Ready?”

“Ready.”

When I let go, I make sure to spin the tire a little extra, really see if I can get her to puke. Cricket’s curls fly as she hangs on for dear life, and she’s grinning in a blur as she goes by. When it finally begins to slow, she squeaks and giggles. Behind her glasses, her eyes are tracking back and forth.

“Again!”

Laughing, I twist her up again. This time, she throws back her head so she’s looking at everything upside down.

“Careful, girl—you’re gonna ralph.”

But she just laughs. And I can’t help but keep laughing too.

This time when she slows, she’s wavering a little, her cheeks pink.

“How about we swing this time?”

“Okay.”

I start to push her, and as the adrenaline fades, I watch her shrink again, her gaze sinking.

“D’ya think Trent’s okay?” she asks.

I choose my words carefully, keeping a levity about me. “I think Trent’s really upset and doesn’t know how to talk about it. Do you know him pretty well?”

She nods. “Sometimes he lives with us.”

“That makes sense, since he’s your mama’s boyfriend.”

“They fight a lot, then I don’t see him for a long time.”

I give her a good push, ignoring the fatigue in my noodle arms. “Has he been staying with y’all lately?”

“Just sleepovers sometimes. He’s my friend. Sometimes we go get ice cream or go to baseball games.”

That makes me feel a little better. “Well, that’s good. I love going to baseball games.”

“Me too. I wanted to play the rec league, but then Trent never signed me up.”

“We have a rec league in Roseville, and I bet Wilder would love to teach you how to play. Did you know he used to pitch for the LA Dodgers?”

She lights up. “That’s what Pawpaw said.”

“Do you have a glove and bat?”

She shakes her head.

“Well, we’ll take care of that.”

Cricket smiles up at me. “You’re nice, Cass.”

I wink. “Hey, thanks. You’re pretty nice too.”

Grass crunches behind me, and I look over to find Wilder heading toward us. He tries to smile, but it’s thin.

“Hey, there y’all are,” he says when he reaches us. “Psh, is this the best you can do, Cass? I can push her higher than this.”

Cricket giggles and kicks her feet. “Higher!”

I gesture to the swing. “Be my guest.”

Wilder’s already shrugging out of his coat and tosses it to me. With a determined look on his face, he bends to shove the tire like it’s a car he’s trying to push out of mud.

She screams in the happiest way as she goes dangerously high, the branch shaking hard enough that leaves drift down around us.

“Wilder!” I chide, but I’m laughing too. “Be careful!”

When he winks at me, wings flutter in my belly.

And I wonder if I should take my own advice.