Page 13 of Wilder Heart

“He had long blond hair! I thought he was a woman!”

“Don’t be grabbinganyasses, dickhead,” Wayne said around a mouthful of food. “You deserved that punch.”

“Horse shit!” Darryl hollered, fighting a grin. “It was an honest mistake!”

“Ain’t nothing about you honest,” Clyde said through a laugh.

“But plenty about him’s a mistake!” Billy added, and they all dissolved into laughter.

Wilder watched it all with a bemused look, occasionally remembering to put food in his mouth.

“Wilder should come, too,” Darryl said after they all stopped laughing, pointing at him. “How long has it been since you’ve had a drink?”

“Technically it wasn’t legal for me to drink when I went in,” Wilder said, rubbing his neck. The motion hid the knife tattoo from view. “I snuck in a few when I was a teenager, but yeah, it’s probably been eight or nine years.”

“We should definitely go out, then!” Darryl smacked Billy on the arm, and Billy tossed him a halfhearted scowl.

“Are you allowed?” Cash asked. “Sometimes sobriety is a condition of parole, right?”

Wilder nodded. “Sometimes. Not in my case. Alcohol had nothing to do with the original charges.”

At the mention of the original charges, a hush went over the rest of the group. Wilder glanced from face to face, as though waiting. There was a sharp glint in his eye. Challenging, Cash thought. Woe to the man who was dumb enough to rise to it.

Billy cleared his throat, leaning forward with his forearms on the edge of the table. Cash took a slow breath, ready to intervene.

“So what do the letters mean?” Billy asked, gesturing to his own knuckles, and Cash blew the breath back out. That wasn’t as bad as he was expecting. He wasn’t sure why Billy asked, though, since Clyde told them. Either he didn’t believe Clyde or he just wanted to hear it from Wilder himself.

Wilder straightened his fingers, glancing down at the ink on his knuckles. He didn’t reply, using that hand to reach for his water glass and taking a long sip instead. The silence extended, and Billy huffed out a laugh.

“Come on now,” Billy said. “You ain’t really as bad as all that, are you? You certainly didn’t seem to be in high school.”

The ghost of a frown crossed Wilder’s face, and Billy’s smile widened. There was something sharp around the edges of it. Cash didn’t like it, and when his eyes caught on Clyde’s, he realized he wasn’t the only one surprised by the venom there.

“Billy…” Wilder said, cocking his head. “What’s your last name?”

“Tanner.”

Wilder’s expression cleared. “Ah. And how is Rebecca?”

Billy’s mouth tightened. “My sister’s just fine. She’s married and happy and doesn’t think about you at all anymore.”

Oh. Cash’s brows lifted as he absorbed that information.

Wilder’s careful expression didn’t change. “I would hope not,” he said. “I was obviously bad news.” Amusement twinkled in his eyes, like he was sharing an inside joke with himself, but it felt like a veneer to hide whatever he truly felt underneath. It was a caution sign to anyone who could read.

Billy was either illiterate or too brash to pay attention. He nodded, his lips pursed. “Apparently. She was heartbroken for weeks after you dumped her, and then heartbroken all over again when the news broke that you were going to jail.”

Wilder ducked his head as a little huff of air left him, so quiet Cash thought he might’ve been the only one to hear it. He shouldput a stop to this before things got out of hand, but Wilder’s responses were fascinating.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Wilder drawled. “It must’ve been so hard for her, my getting locked up. I sure hate to hear that she struggled.” Shaking his head, he stood and picked his half-eaten plate up.

“Hey, fuck you,” Billy said, turning in his seat to keep Wilder in sight. “The whole town was shocked to hear about what you did, Wilder.”

“Mm-hm,” Wilder deadpanned as he carried his plate to the kitchen, scraping the food off into the compost bin and rinsing his plate. He even opened up the dishwasher and set his plate inside—something Cash was constantly riding the other hands’ asses about.

“Maybe we forgo the trip to the bar this time,” Wayne murmured, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else.

Wilder glanced back at them. “You guys are welcome to go. I’m turning in for the night. And again,” he pressed a hand to his chest, “sosorrymyprison stint was so hard oneveryone else. It was so…” He stopped, as though searching for the right word, “thoughtless of me.”

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