Page 19 of This Wild Heart

One of the plane’s staff approached, setting her hand on my shoulder. “Anything for you, Mr. Wilder?”

Boom.

Mr. Wilder was my dad. Not me.

My ears rang like a bomb had just detonated, and I forced a small smile. “Please, call me Parker. And how about some Gatorade and ibuprofen for both of us, please.”

In the hotel room, Anya had found a few painkillers in her purse, and while it dulled the harsh edge of both our headaches, the pain still lingered behind my eyes. I continued to watch her sleep while I tried to remember all the things she’d told me, all the things I remembered on my own. We had a couple of weeks—less than that—to solidify this relationship enough that my family would buy it, which would simply take time.

Her dad was Aiden Hennessy—MMA champion who now owned a string of boxing gyms around Washington, most of them located in the Seattle area. There were four now if I recall. But when she helped, and she did a lot, it was always at their original location, where her dad met Anya’s stepmom, Isabel.

According to her drunken overview, Isabel was tough and smart and kind, and one of Anya’s best friends. She was eight or nine when they got married.

Ten when she became a big sister to Violet, who—in her words—was a notorious flirt who gave their parents many gray hairs. Fifteen when they added Willa into the mix. Willa, apparently, was a savage little child who was universally adored by everyone in their family, and while Anya wasn’t supposed to have a favorite, Willa was hers.

And … her years with Max were a giant fucking waste of time because he was a shit human being who didn’t deserve someone like her. The fact that he not only cheated on her—multiple times—but was also a lazy piece of shit in bed that left her questioning why he’d strayed made me want to break his fucking nose.

It wasn’t much to base a marriage on, of course. Not even a fake one. But as the plane pulled us closer to Seattle, and my gaze stayed steady on Anya’s sleeping face, I knew it would have to be enough.

There was so much in my life that I didn’t feel capable of fixing. Maybe it was that way for her too. Elements out of our control that simply couldn’t be reined in.

But doing this for both of our families was something actionable.

The flight attendant laid a gentle hand on my shoulder, alerting me that she’d returned with two cold bottles of the electrolyte drinks, and in a small dish were two packets of ibuprofen.

“Thank you.”

She smiled. “Should I wake Mrs. Wilder?”

My eyes snapped up to hers. “How did you…?”

Her smile turned apologetic. “We saw the pictures online just before you boarded. We have congratulatory champagne and some cake if that sounds good.”

If I offered champagne to Anya, she’d toss her cookies in the middle of this very nice plane.

“No, thank you,” I muttered distractedly, fumbling with my phone to type in my name. Right as the search results appeared, a text from my agent came in. I tapped on that first.

Steve: I honestly don’t even know where to start with you, Wilder. At least you picked someone with a squeaky-clean reputation. That’ll go a long way with your fans. Next time, a little heads-up would be nice.

Me: Long story, but I promise I’ll explain it.

Steve: Please, please don’t. I’m starting to get an ulcer from half the players on my roster right now.

I blew out a short breath and navigated back to the first headline, my mouth flattening into a grimace.

Parker Wilder weds MMA champ’s daughter in surprise Vegas ceremony.

“She has her own name,” I muttered before clicking on the article. Pictures. Of course there were pictures. A few fans must’ve been standing outside the chapel because there were not only pictures but also videos.

I’d swept Anya into my arms as we exited the doors onto the street, and God, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think we were blissfully in love.

I was smiling at her. She was smiling up at me, one hand holding her veil in place, and on her finger, the simple gold band caught the light from the flash as we walked past.

“Congrats, Parker,” someone yelled.

Anya flashed a winning smile in the direction of the camera, kicking her feet happily. “We just got married,” she shouted. There were whoops and hollers and some congratulations andGo Voyagersin the background.

I exhaled slowly, feeling the weight of what we’d done for the first time all morning. A buzz signaled an incoming text, and I inhaled slowly.

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