Page 53 of Made for Wilde

The comparison to my ex makes me flinch.

“This is different.”

“Exactly my point.” Dana leans forward, all business now. “Look, I’m not saying you should propose to the girl. But if she makes you happy—which, judging by the fact that you actually combed your hair for the first time in five years, she does—then maybe you shouldn’t be so quick to throw it away.”

“You didn’t see Jason’s face when he talked about her on the phone. The trust in his voice when he said she was in good hands with me.” The memory turns my stomach. “I betrayed him, Dana.”

“You slept with a consenting adult who happens to be his daughter.” Dana’s voice is gentle but firm. “That’s not betrayal. It’s complicated, yes. But it’s not a crime.”

“It feels like one.”

“Only because you’re determined to punish yourself for being happy.”

She stands and crosses to the small fridge in the corner of her office. She pulls out two water bottles and tosses one to me.

“When was the last time you actually let yourself have something good, Koda? Something that wasn’t boxing or this gym or that cabin you hide in?”

I crack open the water, suddenly parched.

“This isn’t about me.”

“It’s entirely about you.” Dana’s eyes are sharp. “You’ve spent the last five years convincing yourself you don’t deserve happiness. That it’s safer to be alone. And now someone comesalong who makes you feel something, and you’re running scared.”

Her words hit too close to home.

I stand, needing space, needing air.

“I’m not having this conversation.”

“Fine.” Dana holds up her hands in surrender. “But answer me this. If she wasn’t Jason’s daughter, would you still be walking away?”

The question stops me cold.

I know the answer immediately, but saying it out loud feels like admitting defeat.

“No,” I finally mutter. “I wouldn’t.”

Dana’s expression softens.

“Then maybe it’s time to start thinking about what you want, instead of what everyone else wants from you.”

I leave her office without another word, her question echoing in my head like a challenge.

What do I want?

I want Charlotte. I want her smile and her laugh and the way she fits against me like she was made for my arms. I want mornings in my kitchen and nights in my bed and every moment in between.

But wanting isn’t having. And some wants come with prices too high to pay.

The next fivedays are absolute torture.

Five days of checking my phone every two minutes, of driving past the beauty school “on my way” to places I don’t need to be, of lying awake staring at the ceiling where I swear I can still seethe outline of her body from when I threw her down on the bed and made her mine.

Now it’s Friday night, and my cabin feels emptier than it ever has.

Like she took something vital when she left, something I never knew I needed until it was gone.

I toss another log in the woodstove, watching the flames lick up the sides.