Page 105 of The Illicit Play

“Okay, well, uh…” I point at the trail ahead and start walking.

The silence is fucking killing me. I can’t go the whole day like this. Despite my grumpy demeanor, I force myself to talk, to ask, to peel back the layers keeping her trapped in this “I have to be perfect” world.

She reluctantly tells me a few stories from her childhood, then starts to relax and open up, filling our morning hike with tales about Wily and her growing up together, the pranks they’d pull on their cousins, the dares they’d give each other to do.

She fractured her arm when she tried to learn skateboarding, then got told off by her parents for being so reckless.

“My talents lie in the classroom, apparently,” she muttered before continuing on about all the clubs and student councils she’s been a part of.

Geez, she was pretty damn busy in high school. It still surprises me that she didn’t lose her head then. But under the watchful gaze of her parents, she probably didn’t even think to get a little crazy.

“Every Friday night was football, of course.” I can practically hear her eye roll and spin to catch the tail end of it.

“You don’t like football?”

“Of course I like it.” She flicks her hands up. “I’m a Wilson, so I have to be obsessed with it. Didn’t you know?”

I snicker and shake my head. “I’m pretty sure your dad has never missed one Cougars game.”

“I assure you, he hasn’t. There was one time Mom had to get her appendix out—emergency surgery—and Dad watched the game on his phone. Honestly, he’s a lost cause.”

“I take it you’re thoroughly over the sport.”

“I was never really into it, to be honest. If I’m gonna spend a few hours watching something, I want it to be amovie or…” She stretches her arm wide, indicating the vista on our right.

We reached the top of the ridge about an hour ago and have been hiking west. The trail’s pretty flat and easy. It’s a nice reprieve after that climb we puffed our way through. Blake kept on telling stories, though, stopping for breaks and sips of water before forcing her body to keep going.

She’ll be aching tonight, but I know she can handle it. She’s not some delicate petal.

I pause to study her smile, stoked by how much she’s loving this view. She really appreciates it, and that means so much to me. I don’t even understand why. I guess it’s just nice to be with someone who totally gets it.

My insides simmer and squirm, so I look away from her, drinking in the stunning vista. “My dad loves this spot.”

Blake turns to watch me, her nose wrinkling as she shades her eyes from the sun. “You and your dad seem close.”

“Yep.” I nod. “We’re real tight.”

“What about your mom?”

I pause, trying to figure out what I’m supposed to say. I end up expelling a sigh, and she nods.

“So it’s like that.” She saunters toward me, her hiking boots clomping along the dirt. “Come on, then. Spill the tea, baby.”

With a soft snicker, I’m about to shake my head, but she gives me this arched-brow look that says it all:I just spent the last two hours spilling my family history. It’s your turn, buddy.

And so I do.

I tell her about Dad’s indiscretion and Mom’s hardline over the whole thing.

I tell her about the rift between my brother and the relationship I’m trying to maintain with my half-brothers.

I tell her about Dad’s girlfriend and how much I like her.

“But you only put up with your stepdad?”

I shrug. “I don’t have that much to do with him. He focuses mainly on his kids, leaves Mom to focus on hers.”

“Blended families always sound so tricky.”