Page 16 of The Summer of Wild

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." He keeps saying it, but I'm not sure what he's sorry for. His parents, or his inability to make up his mind.

"You should go," I say, trying to hold in tears.

Cash kisses my cheek before wiping the tears off his face. "I love you, Ingrid."

I want to say it back, but I can't bring myself to.

"Have a good trip."

Cash shakes his head. "I'll try."

I watch him go, my heart a battered, beaten, bloody mess.

He gives me a small wave from his truck before driving off.

And because I refuse to cry in front of Mom and Isla, I walk down the stone pathway to the curb. As I sit down, an imposing figure appears like a bad dream that won't stop haunting me.

"I'm not in the mood, Wilder."

He sits on the curb beside me. "At least he said goodbye to you."

I turn to look at him. He's wearing his blacked-out sunglasses, but they don't hide the pain he's in. Pain I'm in, too.

"He came by to break up with me," I flash my eyebrows at him.

Wilder pulls a silver flask out of his back pocket. He takes a long swig before passing it over to me. "At least you know where you stand with him."

I bring the flask up to my lips and take a sip. It's strong. Too strong. I cough as I hand Wilder back the alcohol.

"You were right," I admit. "I'm not going to Baltimore. He's going to find someone who fits into his world better than I do."

"I'm sure he'll find a new best friend, too."

"I don't know."

"Turns out we're in the same boat, Blondie. Both rejected by Cash Allred."

"Want to hear something sad and pathetic?" I smile sadly as Wilder removes his sunglasses.

"Uh, yes," he nods. "Maybe it'll cheer me up."

"You are my only friend now," I admit out loud. "And I hate you."

"So, does that make us frenemies?" Wilder proposes.

"I don't know," I shrug.

"Wait," Wilder grins. "Are you asking me to be your bestie with testes?"

I pretend to gag myself. "Hand me the flask."

Wilder places it in my open palm. "You wanna jump out of the tree at the creek?"

As I swallow another mouthful of whatever Wilder's drowning his sorrows in, I smack the back of his head and say, "Hell no."

Chapter 5

The Bucket List

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