Page 42 of Wicked & Wildflower

My brother grunts in some sort of agreement at her action as he gets into the driver’s seat. I round the car to the other side and fall into the back with Dahlia. I don’t fucking fit in this thing, but I was told we couldn’t take my Jeep because I forgot to put the damn top back on and it would ruin their hair, chief complainer among them being Leo. It’s so cramped in the back that I have no choice but to let my thigh press up against Dahlia’s, and I’ve never thought the simple brush of legs could be erotic before, butI swear, my body is on fire in all the places our bodies meet, even through our clothes.

Her breathing is a little labored, making me question if she feels it too. “You’re wearing blue.”

“New dress,” she says breathlessly.

She bought the dress for me.Fuck.

Her legs tremble lightly, like she’s nervous. I can’t tell if that’s because of the event we’re attending—which I’m nervous about too, if I’m being honest—or if it’s because she’s so close to me. My arm itches to grab her thigh and quell her shaking, but I think better of it, balling my hand into a fist instead to fight the instinct.

The annual banquet is always held on the anniversary of Zach’s passing, I think more than anything to give his parents a distraction from remembering the horror of that day, and fuck, am I thankful for that too. The first year was brutal. Elena had already run away to New York, August was even more shut down back then than he is now. Leo showed up at my apartment in the middle of the night crying, and we spent the entire twenty-four-hour period on my couch watching Zach’s favorite movies.

Grief kind of feels like a bullet wound that never fully heals. Sometimes, it’s just a scar, and then other days, you wake up and feel like it tore right through you again, this gaping hole in the center of your chest sucking the life right out of you. You’re never entirely sure which days you’re going to find yourself bleeding out and which days you’ll feel patched up, but I’m always certain that on the anniversary of the loss, that hole is bigger than ever.

For some inexplicable reason, feeling Dahlia’s presence beside me makes it feel like the wound I woke up with this morning is shrinking, little by little.

The foundation, and the banquet, help too. They help distract us, help us feel like we’re doing something to make his death less…senseless, but the hurt is still there. Still bone deep. Zachand August’s parents hold themselves together—they always have. At his funeral, in the aftermath, and ever since. I only ever saw them fall apart in the hospital when we first received news that he hadn’t made it. I watched Sadie, their mother, fall to the floor and scream in a way I never knew was possible—at least until I heard the sounds that came from my sister only minutes after. I watched their father, Alex, tell August it was his fault and storm out of the emergency room.

I don’t think Alex and August have spoken since.

Darby’s soft voice pulls me from my thoughts. “I tried to get him to come.”

I watch Leo’s arm reach across the center console and grip her leg, calming any anxiety she may be feeling, exactly the way I wish I could comfort Dahlia.

“I know you did, love. It’s not you. He didn’t come last year, either. He doesn’t come to anything.”

Dahlia’s eyebrows furrow at the center of her forehead. She glances at me for an explanation, but the energy in the car right now doesn’t feel like the right place to discuss it.

Later, I mouth at her.

She nods, turning her head to glance out the window as Leo merges onto the interstate, heading south toward San Diego, where the event is being held. The ocean is no longer visible, but the sun sets to the west, sinking low on the horizon and casting Dahlia’s face in gold. She’s so beautiful, features so graceful as she takes in the imagery around her. Looking at her makes it hard to breathe, makes me feel like I need to clutch my chest and ensure I’m not dying.

I’ve met a lot of pretty people in my life, but never someone who makes me feel like that, like they could actually kill me just by existing. Like gazing upon her is such a goddamn privilege, I might as well end it now.

Dahlia’s leg continues bouncing nervously, and while I’m not exactly sure if my touch is crossing one of the boundaries she set, I can’t stand her being uncomfortable. I know I need to touch her in public, know we have to pretend. In this car, I should be keeping my space, because we’re only supposed to be for show.

But I can’t stop myself from reaching across the seat and taking the hand resting in her lap, lacing her fingers through mine and squeezing gently. Her eyes fall from the window to the place I’m touching her before she lifts her head to look at me. I run my thumb across the back of her hand, not knowing what to do other than smile at her.

She returns it, so bright and beautiful that she eclipses the sun behind her. Silently, she squeezes my hand back.

Only a moment later, her nervous shaking ceases, but she doesn’t let go of me.

When Leo pulls up to the valet of the hotel, Dahlia lets go of my hand, leaving me feeling empty. We all pile out of the Mustang, and Darby loops her arm through her sister’s, whispering something in her ear that causes Dahlia to smile.

Leo and I trail behind them as we make our way through the lobby of the hotel and toward the ballrooms. “Did you really not know who Dahlia was when you two hooked up in that bar?” he asks, voice sounding accusatory.

“No. I didn’t.” My own tone comes out pinched in response to his. “Why?”

He huffs, running a hand through his perfectly tousled blond hair. “I’m just trying to figure out how you keep getting yourself into these situations.”

He may be projecting a little. He’s definitely still upset that I hooked up with his assistant, Adam, last year. Adam is a great guy, undoubtedly the best assistant Leo’s ever had. It was definitely selfish of me, and I shouldn’t have been so impulsive. Still, Adam and I set clear boundaries before it happened— heknew it was going to be a casual thing. He also promised me that no matter what, he wouldn’t quit his job because of anything happening between the two of us, and he has stayed true to that promise over the last year.

It wasn’t a big deal, but it could’ve been, and I understood why Leo was pissed about it.

But it has nothing to do with Dahlia or the way I feel about her.

“She’s supposed to feel comfortable here. Safe—” my brother continues.

“Are you insinuating that I would ever make her—or anyone else—feel otherwise?” The words come out as a near-growl. He speaks to me like I’m a fucking child with a hand caught in the cookie jar.

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