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"Wh-what happened this summer?"
The words hang in the air like a rancid smell. Hot, overwhelming, and putrid.
I quickly swoop my phone up off the ground but the sounds of moaning and hushed words slip out of the speaker, alerting Wilder to the shit show that's about to unfold.
His hazel eyes fill with trepidation as panic races through my body.
"What happened this summer?" Cash demands an answer.
Wilder stands frozen in place.
"Is someone going to tell me what that was?" Cash's chest rises and falls as he points to the phone in my hand.
I'm not sure what to do. I want to wait for Wilder to respond, but I know he can't. He can't even move his limbs let alone his lips. So, it's up to me.
"Cash," I say quietly as I hold the incriminating evidence against my chest, "it sort of just... happened."
Cash's cheeks turn red. "I wasn't asking you."
I take a step in front of Wilder, protecting him from Cash's rage. "It was me. All me. Wilder was—"
"Get out of my way, Ingrid," Cash's nostrils flare.
I quickly step back, putting myself right in front of Wilder so close I can hear his heart pounding against his ribcage. "You left me. You walked away when things got too hard."
"You know why I couldn't stay." Cash's knuckles turn white as he grips the golf club in his hand.
"Yeah, but I didn't know why you left," I try to reason with him. "You didn't tell me what was going on. You made it seem like you were done with me and wanted a summer of freedom."
I reach behind me and find Wilder's hand. It's clammy and hot. I hold onto it, reassuring him that I'm not going anywhere.
"Move out of the way, Ingrid," Cash raises his eyebrows. I know he wants to hit Wilder, but I'm not going to let him.
"No," I stand firm.
"Get out of the way," he tries again.
"You're not punching him," I lick my lips nervously. "He didn't do anything wrong. It was me. All me. I pursued him. I-I talked him into doing—"
"He's Wilder," Cash angrily interjects. "You can't force him to do something he doesn't want to do. I saw that video. Or some of it. I saw. You didn't hold him down and force him to fuck you."
I glance around as a few passersby notice our tense exchange. "No, but I didn't give up. I didn't stop until I got what I wanted. And I wanted him."
It's not exactly what happened, but Cash doesn't need to know that. If I can somehow salvage Wilder and Cash's friendship, I'm going to. Whatever Cash and I had, it's over for good now. Cash can barely even look at me. But Wilder and Cash have a history that's long and deep-rooted. I'm not worth giving that up over. Am I?
"Get out of the way, Ingrid," Cash warns.
I shake my head. "You can get in your truck and go home. I'm not moving."
"I don't have a home," Cash says, exasperated. "I have nowhere to go. Not now. So, move out of the way and let me give him what he deserves."
"No," I lift my chin, fighting against years of giving in when Cash demanded I do so. "I'm not moving. Stop telling me to."
"You weren't like this before him," Cash exhales as he tosses an annoyed hand at me. "You didn't treat me like this before you let him—"
"I wasn't like this before you left me," I clarify.
Cash nods. "You can hate me all you want for leaving, but he knows how much I love you. He knows I'd never leave unless I had to. Ask him!"
