I loved Cash. Of course, I did. But I was tired of trying to fit a square peg into a round hole. I didn’t want to go to Baltimore. I didn’t want to spend a lifetime trying to ignore Fanny’sinsensitive remarks and Archibald’s licentious ways.
There’s no way I would have moved for Cash. But for Wilder? I’d live on the moon if he needed me to.
That’s the difference.
I didn’t want a life with Cash. Maybe some part of me did. Some shallow, naïve part.
I want a life with Wilder. Messy. Complicated. Hard.
He’s worth it.
And the way I feel about him? That’ll never change.
My eyes land on my lightning bolt tattoo.
Rare. Electric.
He’ll always be my bottled-up lightning.
“What are you going to write?” Cash asks me as he stares straight ahead.
“I’m not sure,” I reply.
“Margot’s dead,” Cash says as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to blurt out.
“I know.”
He turns to face me. “What about Elowyn?”
I sigh. “I’m sure she’s devastated.”
“I should definitely call her, right?”
I frown. “Why would you call her?”
“We’re… friends.”
Something about that sits strangely in my chest, but I don’t poke at it.
“Does Wilder know about this?” I raise a curious eyebrow.
“Yeah,” Cash says. A little too quickly.
If there’s something going on between them, I’d rather not know.
In this case, ignorance is bliss.
“What are you going to write?” I change the subject.
“Something about us,” Cash says. “About the three of us.”
“Interesting choice,” I return.
Cash shrugs. “We’ve come a long way, Ingrid. Not many guys would still be friends with their ex-girlfriends after they slept with their best friend.”
“I doubt it happens very often.”
“You’d be surprised,” he chuckles.
