Despite my best efforts, heat builds behind my eyes as I put the car in drive.
I hold back the tears, wondering why Wilder's behavior feels so much like rejection.
The miles of tree-lined highway stretch on for what feels like a lifetime. Every hill, every bend makes the silence feel heavier.
I can't handle Wilder sitting behind me, sunglasses covering his hazel eyes, while Cash sits next to me, focused on the stupid Road Trip playlist he's been perfecting for the past three hours.
Torture.
This is torture.
And it's worse than any punishment Queen Isla has ever doled out. I can handle my sister upturning our lives at every turn. I can even handle her trying to turn my room into her nursery. But I can't handle Wilder blatantly ignoring me. I can't handle him sulking because I did what he asked—which was to get along with Cash.
This is so stupid.
I thought I understood Wilder. Thought Iknewhim. Thought I knew how much he loved me and how important I am to him.
Maybe that's not the issue.
Maybe the issue is that he doesn't trulyknowme.
My heart throbs.
I really hope that’s not what’s going on here.
Should I confront him?
There's a sign for a rest stop in one mile. I could stop there and force Wilder to talk to me.
Will he, though?
I have to try. I won't spend this road trip on good terms with my ex-boyfriend and on bad terms with my current one.
“I have to pee,” I announce loudly as I point to the rest stop sign.
Cash crosses his arms over his chest in the passenger seat. “And I need to stretch. Your car isn't made for long legs.”
Wilder scoffs from the backseat, refusing to look anywhere but out the window.
I ignore them both as my palms begin sweating. When it comes to confrontation, I don't have a problem engaging my family. I've been confronting Isla for years and it's become second nature.
Confronting Wilder, though, still scares me a little. He's stubborn, and I know he won’t bend unless he really wants to mend things between us.
And if he won't do it, then where does that leave us?
Cash hops out of the car before I even have it in park. I guess he can feel the tension bouncing between Wilder and me. Can't blame him for wanting to escape whatever's about to go down.
“We need to talk,” I say to Wilder as I stare at him in the rearview mirror.
“About?” He snaps as he pushes the sunglasses further up his face.
Itwist to face him. “We'll walk and talk.”
“Fine,” he grunts as he pushes open the car door.
I forgot how much I love dramatic, infantile Wilder.
Oh wait, I don't.
