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“I left you a letter,” I say meekly, unable to meet his gaze as guilt and remorse threaten to tear me to shreds.
“I didn’t want your excuses and apologies,” Wilder cries, his voice breaking as he storms closer, using his hard chest to drive me backward until my body hits the wall. “I wantedyou.”
Tears are streaming down my face now, and I shake my head, not wanting to accept how royally I fucked everything up for us. “What difference would it have made if I’d said yes to your summer plans? Whether I left right after school ended or at the end of summer, it would have been the same outcome. Only our feelings would have then been even more hurt.”
“It would have changed everything,” Wilder snarls, spittle flying from his mouth and landing on my cheek.
“How?” I question, my voice catching. Finally finding the courage to raise my eyes to meet his, I say, “I was never going to change my mind about Halston.”
“No, but I would have gone with you!” he roars, stunning me into silence as he slams his palm against the wall beside my head. “I would have fucking gone with you, Emilia.”
All I can do is blink up at him, watching as he unravels before me. I’m unraveling, too, our broken parts on display for each other to see. There’s no pretense, no barriers—just raw, cutting pain.
“But, Wilder, that would have been insanity. We hardly knew each other. We’d only just…”
“That’swhy I asked you for the summer. To give us more time. To make certain.” His features darken, and he pulls that pain back behind its shield as the cruel uptick of his lip appears once more. “But you chose to go fuck those Spice Boys instead.”
“Wilder, I—”
“Forget it, Emilia.” Any hint of his hurt is gone now, his tone chilling as he shoves away, turning his back on me as he moves toward the door. With his fingers wrapped around the handle, he says in a quiet voice, tinged with disappointment and anguish, “What’s done is done. It’s too late for us.”
Before he can slip into the hallway, I speak up. “Is it? Too late for us? Because you just put a tracker in my neck and called me yours.”
“Not in the way you once were. Don’t read too much into it. We’ll never have what we once could have,” he counters without turning around.
“That’s your hurt talking, and I’m sorry for what I did to you, Wilder. But this time, I’m not going anywhere.”
I’m not entirely sure exactly when I made that decision. Right now, I guess. However, it feels like the right choice. I don’t care about my job or my apartment. I’ve barely given either a second thought since leaving it all behind. I can feel it in my bones that here is where I belong. I’ve done more living in the last few weeks than I have since leaving Pac.
Sure, it’s been messy and complicated. I’ve cried and felt like I’m coming undone at the seams, but I’ve also laughed and smiled and just lived in the moment. And at the end of the day, isn’t that crazy chaos what life is all about?
Life is for living, and I’ve decided it’s past time I start doing that. And here is where I want to live it. With Wilder, Hawk, and Kai, but also Hadley and her guys. Here is where I’m meant to be; where I belong. Maybe it’s where I’ve always belonged, or maybe I had to lose myself in order to truly find my way home. Whatever the reason, I’m here now, and I’m here to stay.
So, Wilder will just have to get on board with that.
“It doesn’t matter what you do to me,” I continue when he remains silent. However, he’s still in my room, so that’s got to count for something, right? “Give me all your pain, Wilder. Let me carry it for you. I can take whatever punishments you dole out. I’ll accept whatever parts of you I can have. I’ll hold them close and protect them, and maybe one day, I’ll earn back your trust and love.”
He stands there for one, two, three heartbeats, staring at the door no matter how much I will him to turn around. To say something. To do something. Anything.
Except he doesn’t.
And after a moment, he slips out into the hallway and disappears into the night.
Chapter7
EMILIA
I’m waiting for my toast to pop up from the toaster the next morning while I absently stroke the tracker in my neck with the pad of my index finger. It’s completely fucked up that instead of being furious with Wilder, I feel all warm and giddy over what he did. I shouldn’t be looking at it as a sign that he still cares—in his own over-the-top, crazy-ass way.
I mean, most men—normalmen—would give a woman they liked jewelry or flowers. Not implant trackers beneath their skin without their consent.
The pop of the toaster pulls me out of my thoughts and, sighing, I reach out to grab the warm slice of bread. Perhaps that is why I never felt content with Richard or any other man. Since I’d rather have my men imbed me with a tracking device to protect me from a crazy stalker than bring me red roses.
When did I veer away from the idea of the perfect man being someone kind and gentle? Who would never raise his voice or get angry with you. Who surprised you with flowers and nights out and made slow, sweet love to you.
Was it when I met Wilder? Before then? Maybe I’ve always been this way, and that image was one ingrained by society. One that I just assumed I wanted because I was taught that it’s what Ishouldwant.
At eighteen, the thought of being with someone as volatile as Wilder was unnerving. Not that I ever felt scared of him. Not really. Nonetheless, you could see in his eyes that he wasn’t like everyone else. And when I was around him, I felt as though I had no control. Like I was on a merry-go-round with no way off—I was simply along for the ride, clinging on and hoping I didn’t go flying. It was exhilarating, yet also terrifying.
