Page 88 of Wilder Heart

Wilder brooded—it was really the only word for it—while they waited for Lain and Mary-Beth’s truck to appear at the end of the driveway. His stomach was in knots. In prison, he learned patience; it took a lot to get under his skin, because rising to every slight meant constantly fighting. There was always someone looking to prove themselves, and being too reactive just turned you into a target.

But here? Here, his armor was gone. Cash had played a big role in peeling it away. It made the good moments phenomenal, but it made the bad times worse, too. He could either feel nothing or he could feel everything. And no matter how bad things got between him and Lain, being with Cash would be worth it.

When the truck appeared at the end of the long driveway, his stomach tossed. He stood, and Annalise jumped to her feet and flung both fists in the air with a cheer.

“They’re home!” she crowed.

Cash laid the ax on the stump and approached Wilder, squeezing his shoulder. “Take a breath, baby.”

Wilder obeyed, sucking down a lungful as the truck ambled past. Annalise raced after it, and Wilder watched from afar as the family was united once again. Lain rushed around the truck to help Mary-Beth out of the passenger seat. She moved slowly, sliding from the truck with one hand pressed protectively over her stomach. She gave Annalise a gentle hug while Lain opened the backseat door, and Wilder squared his shoulders. The nice thing to do would be to offer to help them inside, right?

He was unspeakably grateful when he lurched into motion and Cash stayed right by his side. God help him if this man ever left him, because he wouldn’t be able to function without him.

“Need some help with anything?” Wilder asked.

Lain turned and shot him a tentative smile. “Absolutely. We wound up with a whole lot more leaving than we went in with, I think. I mean, besides the obvious.” He hefted the car seat in hand, where a tiny face was just barely visible beneath a too-large cloth cap and a carefully tucked blanket.

“I’ll grab the bags,” Cash offered.

Lain met Wilder’s eyes and gestured to the truck. “Could you get the other baby?”

Wilder’s heart swelled. “Of course.”

It proved harder than expected when he opened the other side of the backseat and realized he had no idea how to detach the car seat from the base. It was like Fort fucking Knox back there.

“Oh, you just pull up on this yellow latch on the back of the car seat,” Lain explained from across the bench seat, lifting the car seat to show Wilder where it was.

He lifted up, and the car seat came free with a click. The baby within didn’t even flinch as he carefully lifted him out and shut the door.

“Being born really tuckered you guys out, huh?” he said softly as he carried the car seat up the porch steps and into the house.

Cash left the bags by the stairs, and Lain led Wilder to the master bedroom—Dad’s old room. Wilder stopped in the doorway, remembering crumpled bedsheets and the scent of sweat and stale cigarette smoke. Stained carpet, yellowed curtains. Entering this room would’ve gotten him a beating back then.

Now, a farmhouse quilt neatly covered the bed, except for where Mary-Beth had pulled the blankets back to climb in, leaning back against crisp white pillows. A Tiffany lamp glowed warmly on the bedside table beside her, and lacy curtains shielded the room from the worst of the evening sunlight. The polished wood floor gleamed here just like the rest of the house, and the room smelled faintly of vanilla.

Mary-Beth offered him a welcoming smile and then asked Lain, “Did you tell him yet?”

Lain shook his head, his face unreadable.

Near the door, two bassinets sat side by side. Lain set his car seat down beside one and started getting the baby out, so Wilder copied him, moving the handle back and unclipping the harness across his tiny chest.

“Do you know Cash’s middle name, Wilder?” Mary-Beth asked.

“Uhh, no, actually I don’t,” he said distractedly. How did onepick upa baby this small? His hands felt entirely too big and dangerous for something so precious and fragile.

“Cash’s middle name is Michael.”

“Okay?” He lifted the baby, crooning gently as the tiny boy’s legs curled up like a kitten’s. His eyes didn’t open, and Wilder got him into the cradle of his arm and then just—stopped. He should finish the transfer to the bassinet, but the little boy was curled up against his chest, and Wilder swore he’d never seen anything cuter.

“The baby in blue,” Mary-Beth said, drawing Wilder’s attention from the boy’s peaceful face to look at the other twin, in a blue onesie, “we named Robert Lain. And the one in green, the one you’re holding, we named Wilder Michael.”

Wilder, who’d been swaying the baby back and forth ever so carefully, froze. “I’m sorry, come again?”

Mary-Beth smiled patiently. “The little boy in your arms is Wilder Michael Blackwood.”

“What? But… w-why?”

“Because you were there for us when we needed you,” Mary-Beth said. “And because you’re family, and we love you.”

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