Page 55 of Wilder Heart

“You could. I’ll even throw in a scoop of ice cream on top,” she added.

“I…” God, when was the last time he’d had something like homemade pie? But he definitely shouldn’t go inside the house. He hadn’t been inside sincethat night. “I should really go and lay down.”

“You can rest just as well in the house. And it’s closer. Come on, you can’t tell a pregnant lady no.” She waddled toward the back door, and Wilder followed like a man going to the gallows.

The mudroom hadn’t changed much. A newer washer and dryer sat on the right where the old ones used to be. The linoleum was the same, but it seemed they’d slapped on a fresh coat of paint at some point over the years. He followed her down the hallway that bisected the house, past the master bedroom—he was glad the door was shut—and stopped at the living room.

Nothing about it was the same. Gone was the ratty carpet, the discolored drapes, the threadbare furniture. They’d turned this house, thistomb, into a home. Rich wood floors, matching furniture, an honest-to-god rocking chair in the corner by an arching bookcase. Lace curtains billowed lightly in the breeze that came through the open, polished windows. A flat-screen television hung on the wall over a tasteful entertainment center that was the same color wood as the floor. Photos of Lain, Mary-Beth, and Annalise hung on the wall beside him, under the staircase. Their wedding day, Annalise’s birth, family photos over the years from various holidays and seasons. There were photos of Mary-Beth with an older couple who had to be her parents, but not a single photo from Lain’s past graced the wall.

It stung, but Wilder couldn’t blame him.

When he reached the base of the stairs, he stopped, staring at the floor. It happened here. Right here. Of course, there was no evidence of the horrors of that night. The bloodstained carpet was long gone. He could still hear the screams.

It had started in the living room. He’d run to the kitchen for a knife, and Dad followed him. They’d met here, and the shock of the knife going in had made him gasp. Lain’s screams hurt his ears, but he kept going. After the first one, he had no choice. If he didn’t end things then, they’d never be safe.

“Wilder.”

Mary-Beth’s gentle hand touched his shoulder again, and this time, he rasped in a loud breath through a throat that was too tight.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “I didn’t even think about—that it happened here. Are you okay?”

“Am I…” He huffed out a laugh. “Why wouldn’t I be okay?” He scrubbed at his eyes. “I did it, didn’t I?”

She smiled tightly, but it didn’t reach her eyes. “I have opinions about that. None that I want Annalise to overhear.”

“Opinions,” he repeated. “Yeah, everyone’s got opinions these days, seems like.”

She studied his face for a long moment, then turned her head and called, “Annalise, honey, why don’t you eat your pie in the living room and watch a little TV?”

Annalise darted past them to the living room. “Okay, thanks, Momma!”

“I’ll bring it to you in a minute, okay?”

“Okay!”

“Come on.” She coaxed Wilder into the kitchen like a timid animal and even pulled a chair out for him to sit down at the table.

Neither of them spoke while she cut the pie. Wilder kept his head down, debating whether he could move faster than Mary-Beth to escape out the front door. Anxiety twisted in his gut at the thought of having to sit and listen to her opinions about what happened back then. He’d heard nothing butopinionsfrom people in this town who thought he was a monster. He wasn’t sure he could stomach any more.

Mary-Beth delivered the first bowl to the living room, and then set another in front of him. The pie looked perfect, with a rounded scoop of vanilla ice cream nestled beside it. The top crust was dusted with big grains of sugar, and he could smell the buttery, cinnamon flavor of the sauce.

“You look like I’m about to pull out a whip and beat you,” she said, sitting across from him with a bowl of her own. “So I think I should preface all of this with one thing.”

He couldn’t bring himself to pick up his spoon.

“Thank you.”

He blinked. Lifting his head, he met her eyes. “What?”

“Thank you. Lain doesn’t talk much about what happened back then. He told me about it exactly once, right after it happened. Right after he gave his statement to the police and they let him go, he came to my parents’ house, climbed in my window, and told me everything. And all I felt wasrelief.”

Wilder’s eyes burned. “What?” It came out like a croak. He barely sounded human to himself.

She pursed her lips and nodded, her eyes big and wet. “He didn’t like to talk about his dad, but I knew enough. He’d let enough slip. That man was a monster. I’d seen the bruises. I’d seen the way he flinched whenever an older man got too close. My dad can be kind of stern, and it took Lain years to be able to stand tall in his presence. He always just looked like he was expecting a hit from somewhere. You…” She struggled to find her voice again, and when she did, it was a whisper. “You saved him that night. I don’t know if he sees it the same way, but that’s what I’ve always thought.”

Something fragile quaked in Wilder’s chest, threatening to break, and he ducked his head to hide the way his breath shuddered out of him, covering his face with his hands.

“I’m sorry if it’s not my place to say. I don’t know what Lain’s opinions are about that night, because he keeps it all bottled up. I just wanted you to know. It sounds like that man would’ve ruined this place and ruined both of you along with him. And I don’t know what happened to you after that. I don’t know what prison was like or what other hardships you’ve faced—and I’m sure there have been some—but just know, I’m in your corner. For whatever it’s worth.”

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