Page 64 of Wilde's End
“I don’t know that at all.”
“And again.Andagain. I can see it in your eyes.” Is there any point arguing with him when we both know he’s right? Hudson’s like looking into a mirror sometimes. He doesn’t accept my bullshit, and we’re locked in this struggle of who is going to come out on top. I can’t let him win, but I’m worried I don’t have the edge to keep fighting.
“Why can’t you justleave?” My voice breaks on the word.
Hudson’s eyes dull as his gaze searches mine. I catch a glimpse of the demons he’s trying to keep buried. “Because I’m scared of who I’ll become if I do.”
His answer strikes me silent, and while we watch each other, no response I have fits. I’m too lost in the echoed ghost of screaming and scent of metallic blood to acknowledge that I understand that fear. I know without asking that was probably the most real thing he’s ever said to me.
He saves me from deciding on a reply when his face splits into a sudden grin, and he pats my messy hand. “I’m sure you can handle that,” he says, echoing my words back to me from the first time.
Then he backs off, tugging his underwear out of a drawer before he steps into it.
I don’t move, and it catches his attention.
“If you’re hanging around for postorgasm cuddles, you’re wasting your time,” he says.
I grunt and head for the window. Nothing on Earth could make me want that.
CHAPTER
TWENTY-THREE
HUDSON
Ican’t say I was thrilled to trade sex for tools, so when Wilde turned me down, it was almost a relief. Almost. Because now I’m out of ideas.
I’m not sure what happened last night, but after we got off, there was a moment there where things got a bit too real. Where I looked at him and saw an actual person through the wild-man beard, which isn’t something I want to happen ever, ever again. I’d like to continue to view Wilde as a walking dildo and the source of all of my frustrations.
I have a rare bar of service, so I use it to call through to our building manager and get the rundown on what’s happening back home. I’m almost holding my breath as I wait for him to tell me the world is on fire, but all the tension whistles out of me when he confirms it’s business as usual.
“Hart’s got me everything I need,” he says, and it pulls me up short.
“Hart?”
“Yeah, he’s been checking in every day. If he doesn’t call, I’ll have an email or two. He scored us a contract that starts next month, so I’m in the process of sourcing everything for it now.”
I’m still not sure I’m understanding, but I also don’t want to make my lack of faith in my brother obvious. “That’s good to hear,” I answer vaguely before we say our goodbyes.
Then I hover in the middle of the street, looking at where our car is usually parked. Hart leaves with it most days, and I thought it was because he wanted to spend as little time here as possible, but apparently, he’s actually …doingsomething with his time.
I shouldn’t be this surprised.
I shouldn’t.
Because if he’s being productive and Kennedy is being responsible, thenI’mthe disaster brother.
Fuck me, I did not see that coming. Our move here was supposed to stop that from happening. I listen to the whirl of the drill as I pace. I’ve cleaned up as much of the site as I can with one hand partially out of commission, and now we’re trying to move on to the next stage, but it’s such a long fucking process. None of the electricians we’ve reached out to have been interested in working up here, and we’re running out of options. Do I go and become a qualified electrician myself? We don’t have the years to waste on that.
I’m close to pulling out my hair when I turn toward the sound of something … squeaking?
The road is clear, and Kennedy’s drilling has stopped, but it doesn’t sound like it’s coming from inside the house.
Skeek. Skeek. Skeeeek.
It sounds like … a busted wheel. Maybe.
I loop around the nearest house, ears pricked for the sound. It’s stopped, but I know there has to have been someone here. Oursite is clear, and I’m beginning to think I imagined it when I make it back to the street and almost run headfirst into a man.
