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"Yeah, you did," he says quietly. "No one may give a shit about me, but I didn't spend four years of my life begging the Allreds to like me."
"That's fair," I lift my chin.
"Oh, I'm not done," Wilder shakes his head. "There's a bunch of stuff you still don't know. You didn't know about the secret Snapchat account Cash used to talk to other girls. You didn't know about all the times he used me to get out of hanging out with you. He didn't want you, Blondie. He left the country to get away from you. So, yeah, people might not give a shit about me but at least I don't waste my time on people who don't even like me."
My lower lip trembles as I listen to Wilder.
"You're not going to cry, are you?" he pouts, mocking me.
"No," I decide, willing the tears away. "I'm going to play a round of golf and I'm going to kick your ass."
I take a sobering breath and slip into the front seat. I don't know if Wilder's telling the truth about Cash, but I can't think about it right now. I can't let myself fall apart here. Not on Cash's turf. Not in front of Cash's best friend.
"What are we waiting for?" I plaster a smile on my face and say to Ian.
"You sure you're okay?"
"Never better."
Fake it 'til you make it, Ingrid.
This faking thing isn't so bad. Then again, I've had lots of practice.
Chapter 13
The Same Wound
Don't cry, Ingrid. Don't cry, don't cry, don't cry. You picked a fight with him. You knew it was a sore subject. You knew he'd lash out. You said it anyway. Doesn't make what either of us said right. But I started it, and Wilder? He finished it.
Did Cash really have a secret Snapchat account, though? And what did Wilder mean when he said Cash used him to get out of spending time with me? Did Cash not want to be with me before his Europe trip? If so, then why didn't he break up with me? To spite his mom, perhaps. Did he stay with me just to stick it to his parents?
"You're up," Ian reminds me as I squeeze the life out of the putter I'm holding in my hands.
"Right," I clear my throat. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Wilder drape his arm over Hendrix's gloating shoulders.
Ignore, ignore, ignore.
I inhale slowly, trying to keep my breathing even. I'm focusing on this shot. Nothing else. I have three feet. Three feet to sink the ball into the hole. I've got this.
I apply enough pressure to push the ball forward. It glides slowly along the turf before effortlessly dropping into the hole.
"Yes!" I hear Ian behind me. He's fist-bumping the air when I look over my shoulder.
Wilder, however, is too busy chatting up Hendrix to notice. I frown as I swing the golf club back and forth. Things are starting to feel like they did before Cash left. Before Wilder and I became cohorts. Back when we traded insults like soldiers on a battlefield. Every sharp jab of the tongue was a swift stab to the extremities.
I don't want to go back to that. I don't want to spend all my free time hating Wilder. I like being his friend. Even if he might not feel the same way.
Hendrix saunters past me to her ball stuck in the sand pit.
"Good luck," I offer.
She scoffs as she tosses her platinum blond hair over her shoulder. "I don't need luck."
So much for us being friends. Then again, making friends has never come easy for me. Most girls at school hated me because I was Cash Allred's girlfriend. And now that Cash is gone, I guess I've become friends with Wild Cox. He may not hold the keys to the Allred Empire, but he has a legendary dick everyone is waiting in line to get a turn with.
"Are you sure you've never golfed before?" Ian says in disbelief.
"I have never golfed before," I proudly proclaim.
