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He exhales heavily. "It's already ruined. When are you going to accept that?"
"You're saying we have no future?"
"I'm saying," Wilder's eyes open, "stop trying to make this something it's not. I can't be with you. I've told you that from the beginning."
"You also told me you don't," I pause to see if Mom's paying attention. In true Jill Winthrop fashion, she's too worried about Gerardo enjoying himself in her front seat to notice. "You wouldn't fuck Cash's ex, but you did."
"I didn't fuck you," he inhales. "That wasn't what we did."
I want to tell him I love him for the millionth time even though I know he won't say it back. I know I shouldn't. It hurts every time he refuses to say it back. So, instead, I stroke his Blondie tattoo with my thumb, memorizing the sharp, jagged edges of the text and the soft feel of his skin.
"If you want me to leave you alone," I let out a shaky breath, "then I will." But I don't want to.
He doesn't respond right away as he sits up straighter and peers over at me. He reaches for my hand, and I feel my chest shake and shudder and stumble. Whatever he says next is either going to make my heart soar or shatter.
"I don't see a way this could work," Wilder reveals. "Either way, you lose. Cash will destroy your name and reputation, along with mine, if we keep doing what we're doing. If we stop, maybe we can convince him not to."
I want to argue and tell him that I spent the last four years living in fear of what everyone would think. Did they think I was pretty enough to be Cash Allred's girlfriend? Did they think I was rich enough? Worthy enough? Smart enough?
I'm tired of living in the Allred’s shadow, but Wilder isn't there yet. He's still bound to Cash in ways I'm not. In ways I never have been. I've outgrown whatever it was we had. I've outgrown who I used to be.
"If that's how you feel," I give in, waving a white flag in surrender, "then I understand."
We hold hands as Mom pulls into the driveway and unloads Gerardo to finish their jaunt around the neighborhood. She was mid-walk when she ran home to grab the car and pick us up.
We stay seated in the backseat as the sun disappears behind the trees, knowing the moment one of us opens the car door, what we are—what we were—becomes a thing of the past.
Wilder lets my hand go first as a tear falls down my cheek. I know there will be more. Lots more. I'm not going to cry once for Wilder and move on the way I did for Cash.
No, this is going to be an earth-shattering heartbreak. The kind that I'll never get over.
I don't think I'll ever get over Wilder.
Another tear falls. Then another. They keep falling onto my lap and soaking into my shorts.
"I'm sorry," Wilder mutters before he opens the door and gets out.
I know I should get out, too. Maybe ask for a hug or watch him walk home. But I can't move. Can't breathe. Can't feel.
I'm immobilized by pain.
I lay down in the backseat and close my eyes as teardrops cascade down my cheeks, over my ears, and onto the cloth seat. I reach for my phone, my limbs heavy with sorrow, and turn on the thunderstorm app on my phone. The weather understands me better than most people do.
"Ingrid," I hear Isla as the car door opens. "What's going on?"
"Hurt," I tell her.
"What's hurt?" Her eyes frantically search for the wound.
"Here," I point to my chest.
My selfish sister kneels on the concrete driveway and runs her fingers through my hair. "Ing, you have to come inside. If you suffocate in the hot car and die out here, I'll never get over you leaving me alone with Mom and Dad for a lifetime."
"I-Is that s-so?" I hiccup as a fresh wave of tears soaks my face.
"I will find every medium and psychic I can to haunt you into the afterlife," she promises. "We are Winthrop's. We're survivors. Now, get up before I call 911 and have you committed."
I slowly push myself up and feel my head sway from side to side.
