Page 47 of Wandering Wild

He used the wordregret.

He doesn’t have the first clue what true regret is. He can’t possibly.

But I do.

I live with it every day, the searing, relentless agony of wishing I could go back in time and change something—anything—about the night my life imploded.

Regret—I have that in spades.

And Zander...

Maybe he’s telling the truth about how he feels. But that doesn’t excuse what he did.

Because while his actions might not have ended in tragedy, they could have.

God, do I know that.

I close my eyes against the sudden sting of tears. My ears are ringing, my lungs constricting as I fight back everything I’m feeling, but it’s useless. Try as I might, I’m no longer able to ignore what has been building in me, not just over the last few days, but over the last six months. Hearing Zander’s story firsthand, hearing his so-calledregret, I feel betrayed in ways he’ll never understand. I made the mistake of letting my walls start to crumble around him, and now...

Now what he did hurts more than ever.

Because of that—because ofeverything—I can’t stop the words from spewing out of me, the filter I normally keep firmly in place bursting like a balloon.

“You’re right, you were lucky,” I cut Zander off from whatever new answer he’s giving Hawke. My voice is hoarse, my emotions spilling over as I share with biting candor, “My mum wasn’t so fortunate. She was killed by a drunk driver six months ago. Hit and run.” Zander’s eyes widen in horror, but I’m not done, the words continuing to tumble from me without restraint. “They found her killer three blocks away, but only because he smashed his car into a tree after he ran hers off the road and left her choking to death on her own blood. If he’d stayed with her—if he’d just waited and called for help?—”

I snap my mouth shut, blinking fast to keep my tears from falling as I shove my grief deep down, knowing that if I release it fully, it will consume me.

“Charlie...”

I recoil when Zander reaches for me, not wanting his touch. Not wanting him anywherenearme. His face is drained of color, but I don’t think it’s because of Bentley’s camera. I couldn’t care less about our bargain right now, and if Zander does, he doesn’t show it. Instead, I see the realization in his eyes as he suddenly understands why I hate him:

Because six months ago, I lost my beloved mother. And three months later, he was arrested for the same crime that killed her.

He might not have been the driver who hit her, and he might not have injured anyone the night of his accident, but to use his own word, that was pure luck.

My mum wasn’t so lucky.

Neither was I.

Because the night she died, my world fell apart.

And nothing I do will ever change that.

She’s gone—forever.

Zander opens his mouth to say something, but I’m barely holding myself together, my defenses weakened after two days of getting to know him, of actually beginning tolikehim, coupled with the exhaustion I feel deep in my bones. I can’t take any more tonight, so I rise swiftly to my feet, not looking at anyone as I say, “I’m tired. I’ll—I’ll see you all in the morning.”

And without waiting for any of them to try to stop me, I grab my bag and retreat to the furthest wall of the cave, turning my back and allowing a single tear to roll down my cheek as I pray for the peaceful oblivion of sleep.

I don’t sleep a wink that night.

Every time I close my eyes, all I can see is Charlie’s pale, broken expression as she shared about her mother’s tragic accident, and the accusation in her eyes, as if I were the one who killed her.

I understand now—this is why she hates me. Because in her mind, I’m just like the man who mowed down her mom; in her mind, I made the same stupid, selfish,hatefuldecision that he did.

The thing is...

That’s not what happened.

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