Page 59 of Wilde's End
“Where have you been?” Kennedy asks, almost like he doesn’t want the answer.
I rest the helmet on the handlebars before I can launch it into the wall and dig my fingers through my hair instead. I’m fucking pissed that the stupid animal scared me off. I’m pissed I couldn’t find anyone. Pissed that the tools are gone and I didn’t get them back.
Pissed that we’re dealing with all of this in the first fucking place, and there’s nothing I can do about any of it.
“They stole our fucking tools. All of them. Gone. And I couldn’t find a single person to fucking scream at, until a stupid bobcat got in my way and practically chased me out of there.”
“Our tools?” Kennedy asks, looking at the house we’re renovating with concern, but before I can answer him, Hart takes over.
“A bobcat chased you? Really? That’s what you want us to believe?”
I stare at him for too long. “That’s what happened.”
“Sure. That’s why you’re a mess and not because you fucked Wilde again.”
I want to strangle him, so I turn away sharply and toss him a “fuck you” instead.
“Did you at least trade a hammer for a hammering?”
“I didn’t fuck Wilde, so stop being an asshole. I tried to find him to get our stuff back.”
“And I believed you until you brought up a bobcat. They stay clear of people, so there’s no way in hell one chased you.”
“Maybe it had rabies.”
“Doubtful.”
I throw the motorcycle keys at his fucking head, but Hart knows me too well and catches them before they can hit. “You go for a ride, then. I hope it finds you and bites a hole in your neck.”
He gives me a rare smile. “Think there’s a chance?”
“Maybe instead of fighting again,” Kennedy says, like his patience is about to snap, “you could focus on the fact that with no fucking tools, there’s no work.”
Guilt that I really shouldn’t be feeling trickles its way past my anger. This is all on Wilde, and sleeping with him hasn’t changed that he doesn’t want us here. I lean face-first against the shiplap building, like blocking out the sight of everyone will somehow make this latest disaster disappear.
“Are we finally at the point of going home?” Hart asks.
“No,” I grumble, wood eating my word.
“I don’t want to,” Kennedy admits. “But how much more can we take? Maybe we need to cut our losses.”
“Or maybe,” I say, pushing back and turning to them, “you could both back me up for once. I’m fighting these guys single-handedly, and you two want to give in. No wonder they’re walking all over us.”
“Nothing would make me happier than them driving us out of town,” Hart says, but Kennedy looks rattled.
“I don’t know what we’re supposed to do.”
“Not let them walk all over us would be a start.” I cross my arms, using it as a way to keep my anger inside. I’m supposed to be the one leading them, and all I’ve done is lead them into a fucking mess. All of this was supposed to help us. To be good for us. I’m scrambling to try and save this experience, and it’s rapidly going downhill, and while I’m directing my anger their way, I know it’s only because it’s easier than being angry with myself.
I fucked up.
And I can either admit that and go home, eat the losses, and splinter further away from my brothers, or I can dig my heels in and fight Wilde to the last breath.
It’s no choice, really.
“I’ve never been good at that.” Kennedy sighs and tilts hishead back, like he’s looking at the sky, but it’s something he does a lot when he’s trying not to cry. “I don’t want everything to have to be a fight. I only wanted to come here and work and spend time with you both.”
His confession helps dull my anger, but it does nothing to Hart. Not that I expected it would. “It must be nice to believe in fairy tales.”
