Page 29

CHAPTER 28

HOLD THE LINE

CASS

W ilder moans, and my attention snaps to him. His eyes are closed, his jaw working as he chews. I clench my thighs at the sight, the squeeze of my clit sending a pulse zinging through my core.

Maybe I should spend the evening in the bathtub where it’s safe and quiet and I can masturbate in peace.

I turn my attention to my food, cutting the chicken breast with every scrap of my attention in an effort to master myself .

“Damn, Cass—where’d you learn to cook like this?”

“The internet.”

He’s already scooped up another forkful of chicken, sauce, and rice and shoved it into his mouth, groaning again.

I chuckle. “Get a room.”

“I can’t help it. The fanciest meal Dad could make was Hamburger Helper. The best I can do is roast a chicken. This feels gourmet.”

At that, I full on laugh. “You should get out more if this feels gourmet.”

He gives me a look. “I was a pro pitcher in LA. I’ve been to legit gourmet joints more times than I can count. Doesn’t hold a candle to this.”

“Well, now you’re just kissing my ass,” I point out.

He eyes me a little too seriously. “If I knew that was on the table, we wouldn’t be talking.”

Again I laugh, though the sound is nervous, betraying my heart, which is currently beating between my legs. “I have the hardest time picturing you at a fancy LA restaurant. I bet you were surrounded by supermodels.”

“Sometimes.”

I laugh to cover the sting, imagining him with objectively perfect women fawning over him. “How’d that work? Is there like…some rich people’s dating app or something?”

“Well, yeah. But a couple of my buddies were like into it . You know, the life. The parties, the girls, the bars. For a while, I did it because I thought that’s what I was supposed to do. It’s what so many people dream about, which…after living it, feels weird to me.”

“How come?”

“Because it was empty. Like your lists of errands and books and recipes. It served me and no one else, and I didn’t like how that felt.”

There’s not a single ick in the universe that could stop me from wanting to throw myself at him. I take a bite of food, wishing I’d put more garlic in it. Maybe if I had toxic burps, it’d be easy to keep my mouth to myself.

“Other than playing ball, it all just felt kinda empty. Like I was biding my time, waiting for something. I dunno. It felt that way for a long time.”

“What changed?”

“You came back.”

Boom, there it goes. My defenses are washed away by the tsunami in my panties.

I deflect as best I can with zero wits. “Didn’t stop you from those girls you left with at the game.”

“I didn’t go anywhere with them. I left them in the parking lot and went home and thought about countries where I could hide if I killed your fiancé.”

That’s it, I can’t take anymore. It feels like it will take a crowbar to redirect this conversation, but God help me, I try.

“So, how did it go playing catch with Cricket?”

Blessedly, he lets me have the subject change. “She’s gonna be good. For such a cute little shrimp, she’s got an arm on her.”

“She’s got that fire in her belly. I like it.”

“Reminds me of you a little. Anyway, I wish we could have played longer. Hopefully this weekend I can finish the batting cage.”

Smiling at him, I say, “You’re so good with her.”

He shrugs, a touch of sheepishness on his face. “Honestly, I was afraid she’d hate it here. That she’d cry and want to go back to Patty and Paul’s. She told me she loves being here. That you were great and I was okay too.”

I can’t help but laugh. “Ouch.”

He chuffs a laugh. “I mean, she’s not wrong. You’ve done so much, given so much already. Everything you did with her room? Like, wow. Helping her with her homework. Driving her back and forth to school, cooking—you’re running circles around me.”

I try not to blush, but fail. “It’s nothing. I just want to make it easy for her, you know?”

“I do. It’s all I want, too.”

“Well, you’re great at it.”

“I don’t know about that. But I definitely thought it would be weirder. Harder. Like I’d stumble around and fuck things up, say the wrong thing, do the wrong things. But I think…well, I don’t know. I wonder if it went okay because my priority was to make her happy, keep her safe. Take care of her. That’s the best I can figure.” He watches his fork move his food around the plate, his voice tight with emotion and wonder when he says, “She called me Daddy.”

Unexpectedly, tears prick the corners of my eyes, my hand moving from my fork to my tight chest as it fills with sweet heat. “Wilder…that’s…are you okay?”

A nod, a small smile. “Yeah. I’m just…I don’t know. Thankful, I guess, that she sees me that way. I hope it’s not just because she’s young, you know? That she’s feeling like that’s what she’s supposed to do.”

“I’m sure that’s part of it. But I’m also sure she wants a daddy. And so far, you’ve done a bang-up job. You’ve already started to earn her trust, and that’s huge.”

He’s quiet for a beat. “And how about you? Have I earned yours?”

I’m unprepared for the question. Unprepared for him. I fumble around for an answer that doesn’t give me away.

“You’re getting there,” is my final answer, and I praise myself for keeping my cool.

Wilder’s shoulders relax, his eyes softening with his smile. “Hmm, maybe I need to work harder. Did the kiss at the ballpark help me or hurt me?”

“No comment.”

“Seemed like it helped,” he continues. “You don’t have any trouble pretending we’re together.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I say, taking a theatrical bite with hard eye contact.

His gaze slips to my lips. “You need me to say it out loud? I’ll bite.” He sets his fork down, all of a sudden serious, and my heart stops. “There’s something between us, and it’s anything but pretend.”

Heat slips across me, slow and delicious, pooling in my belly, sinking lower. “Of course there’s something between us—once upon a time, we loved each other so fiercely, we got married knowing we couldn’t be together. I remember how it felt. We’ve been through too much for there to be nothing between us. But we can’t do anything about it.”

Wilder inches forward in his seat, pinning me with his eyes. “Tell me why.”

I swallow hard, not so sure of myself with him looking at me like that. “Because I said so,” I answer, not wanting to talk about it.

“Are you still mad at me?”

“No,” I admit.

A triumphant fire ignites behind his eyes. “What else do you want me to prove?”

“It’s not you.” He’s calm, still, so intense I squirm under the weight of his gaze while he waits for me to spill. “What if I’m not ready?”

“What if you are?” When I scoff, he says, “Look, if you weren’t ready, you’d know. You’d feel it in your gut like a kick drum. And if the thing that sets off the drum is the big stuff, the deep stuff, then it doesn’t have to be big and deep. There are a hundred different ways we could be together, and it only has to be as serious as you want it to be.”

“Oh, really?” I set down my fork and fold my arms. “And you’d be okay with that?”

“You know what I want, Cassidy? What I really want?”

I’m terrified to answer, so I just keep glaring.

“I want to take care of you. I want to keep you safe and make you happy, whether that means getting you a snack and tucking you into bed or fucking you stupid.”

Blood rushes to my cheeks. “Wilder.”

“Tell me something, Cass—when was the last time you were fucked?”

My mouth pops open. “Wilder!”

Not only does he not back down, he leans in.

“Cassidy. When was the last time you were truly fucked? Fucked stupid and useless and feral. Fucked so hard, so real, you forgot where you existed in space-time. When was the last time he needed you and you needed him with the kind of desperation that breeds bad decisions?”

It’s a thousand degrees, and my panties are ruined. The last time I was truly fucked it was by Wilder, and he knows it. I don’t know how he knows, but he does.

Somehow, I find my tongue and am able to successfully use it. “This sounds more like it’s about you getting what you want than me.”

“The only way this is about me is because your happiness will make me happy. What I want comes second to that. If all you want is for somebody to fuck a decade of frustration out of you and tuck you into bed with a snack, let me be the first to tell you I am here for that.”

It’s the hottest thing anyone has ever said to me. I hate him for it. “And what? You intend to be that somebody?”

“I was born to be that somebody. You spent ten years with that fuck, turned yourself into everything you thought he wanted. You lost yourself because he didn’t want you. One of the many ways in which I am not him.”

The warning thud of a kick drum reverberates in my belly, summoned by the audacity of his certainty. “You don’t know everything, Wilder. Or maybe you do. But I was with him ten years. You and me? We were together when we were literal children. The version of me who loved Davis was me, just like the one who loved you. Just like the person I am right now. And right now I am hurt and exhausted and still processing a decade-long lie, a ten-year game.” I cannot cry. I will not cry. “You make it sound so simple when you reduce it to neat little points, but it’s not. The right thing to do is ignore whatever is between us because your life and mine is sticky and complicated, and your child is involved. It doesn’t matter how we feel—you and me can’t happen. Because if one card falls, the whole thing comes down. The kick drum is banging, Wilder. Loud and clear. So I am asking you to respect that boundary. I am begging you to cool it. I know you think you know what’s best for me, but if you don’t let me decide, you’re just as bad as Davis.”

His face fell in increments as I laid it out. Now he’s quiet, still, somber, all challenge gone. In its place is apology.

“You’re right,” he says gently, glancing down. “I’m sorry, Cass. You’re right. I shouldn’t have pushed you like that. When you look at me like you do sometimes, when we’re out and your hand is in mine, when we kiss it feels like…” He shakes his head. “It feels like it used to. I figured you were just being cautious. But this isn’t the first time I’ve had to get checked—just because I’m ready for you doesn’t mean you’re ready for me. Despite my behavior, I really do want what you want. I’m sorry. Whatever you need, it’s yours.”

“Thank you,” I answer, my heart thundering.

“But promise me one thing.”

“What?”

“Let me know if you change your mind.”

I nod once and pick up my fork, though I’m not hungry anymore. I don’t want to deny myself anything , least of all the comfort of someone so familiar, someone who I loved and loved me so deeply. But it’s my last defense, the only thing I have control over, and it’s paper thin at best.

So I hang on with both fists and hope to God I don’t let go.

There will be nothing left of me if I do.