Page 46 of The Summer of Wild

He shrugs as I stroke the back of his hand with my thumb. "My dad takes care of her. She has a car that he pays for and a roof over her head. She doesn't have to work the late shift at the lumber yard to pay for college because my dad is going to pay it for her. Elowyn doesn't know what it's like to scrimp and save just to get by in life. She has it made."

I nod in understanding. "I get it."

"It's too hard to hear how easy her life is when all my mom and I have done the past six years is struggle."

"It's not fair," I shake my head.

"It's not," he agrees, "but Elowyn isn't the bad guy. She's just related to the bad guy."

"Agreed," I chew on the inside of my cheek. "She seemed nice."

"She is," he shrugs. "So is her mom, Margot. But it doesn't change anything. Margot knew my dad was married and my mom was pregnant with me when she got pregnant with Elowyn. She knew he had a kid on the way that he needed to take care of. She kept their relationship a secret for 13 years."

"People can be nice and still do bad things," I look up at Wilder. There's a line between his eyebrows that I want to smooth away, but I don't.

"And people can be bad and still do nice things," he adds.

There's a lull in conversation as we stand, hands clasped, staring at each other. I knew Wilder had a rough childhood. I knew his dad left him and his mom struggled to make ends meet. What I didn't know is that Wilder carries around a mountain of pain wherever he goes.

For the first time since we first met, I think I'm beginning to understand him better. I understand why he doesn't let anyone in. I understand why he probably doesn't get involved in relationships. I understand why sex—physical connection—is easier than emotional connection. There's too much at stake.

"I should try on the pink skirt," I tell him as my free hand grabs the end of the pleated golf skirt I'm currently wearing. "But it's more expensive."

Wilder looks toward the cash register and then back at me. "Try it on. Don't look at the price tag. We'll get whichever one you like better."

"But I can't afford either skirt. And I still have to find a shirt."

"I'll take care of it," he assures me.

"How?"

"Don't worry about it, Blondie."

"If you think I'm going to shoplift—"

"We're not going to shoplift," he finally releases my hand. "Just trust me on this." Before I can protest, he adds, "For once."

"I better not live to regret this," I mumble as I head back into the changing room. I switch skirts and find Wilder sitting on the couch again. "What do you think?"

"Pink," Wilder says. "Get the pink."

"Okay," I give in. "Pink it is."

Once I'm changed back into my clothes, Wilder and I find a matching pink polo to wear on the golf course and start heading toward the cash register. He takes the clothes from me before snaking his arm over my shoulders. "Play along, Blondie. If you can keep up."

"What does that mean?" I frown as his hip bumps against mine.

"You'll see."

The cashier, a sulking redhead, smacks on her gum as we near.

"Is that going to be all for you today?" she states plainly.

Wilder drops our clothes onto the counter. "Yep."

"How will you be paying?" she asks him.

"Charge account," he replies. "Archibald Allred."

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