Page 71 of Wilde's End
I grit my teeth against the thought, not willing to go there. Too many times, I gave in to the building despair, but I’m still determined to fight it. No matter what Wilde thinks, or Hart says, or Kennedy feels, none of that matters. I’m the only one who’s ever looked out for myself, and that’s never changing.
The weather is wet heat baked into concrete and timber, and we get the extensions added to house two with no sabotage. Every day that ticks by without a sign from Wilde doesn’t sit right, and now that my initial feelings of betrayal have calmed the fuck down, I have space to consider why he reacted like that.
It was extreme. And maybe it was building to the point where he really can’t stand my presence, but I find that hard to believewhen he actively sought it out to get off. People are complicated. I hate people. And I hate complicated.
I especially hate that my feelings are as complicated as his.
Even with my growing resentment, I can’t help feeling like I deserved it. I’m always the one exploding on people, and all he did was give it back to me. I didnotneed to look so directly into the mirror to know how fucked-up I’ve become, but he forced me anyway.
I guess I should thank him.
Not that I’ve seen him in over a week to be able to do that.
There have been too many times I’ve considered going to his house and demanding an answer, but I need to let it go. IknowI need to, even if that gnawing confusion won’t move past it. Wilde is giving me what I want: to be left alone to work. That’s all I’ve demanded since I got here, and now that he’s doing it, it’s … it’s …
The familiar need to lash out rises swiftly, and I have to physically brace myself to push it away. I have a short temper, I’ve always had a short temper, but maybe I don’t want to have one anymore.
Maybe controlling it is theone thingI can get out of this place.
Thezzzt zzztof my drill meeting wood almost drowns out Kennedy’s words.
“Is that Ziggy?” He’s got his hand shielding his eyes from the sun, and I turn my attention toward where he’s looking. There’s a tall, lanky man leaning over the open hood of our car.
“What thefuckis he doing?”
Kennedy shoots me a look, and I remind myself to take a breath and settle my tone.
I try again. “Why is he looking in our car?”
“Dunno. Let’s go ask him.”
Considering how well that went the last time, I’m not interested in talking to myself again. “You go. I’ll finish this.”
He hurries off, and I do my best not to be bitter about how easily I slipped right into that headspace of suspicion and aggression. In my defense, he could be doing who the fuck knows what with our car, and—I forcefully cut that thought off too. Normal people don’t react like this. Ziggy has done nothing to deserve me being an asshole again, and I’m going to stick with that.
I get the last crossbeam in place and then walk toward the group. Hart has drifted out from somewhere, and he’s standing behind Ziggy, watching his every move as Kennedy talks enough for the three of them.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t have even thought about getting it serviced, but with the miles we’ve been doing lately, that’s a smart call.”
I’m good with houses, but when it comes to cars, I couldn’t even tell you where the oil goes. Dad wasn’t around to show us things like that, and Mom probably wouldn’t have been able to remember where she left the car, let alone locate the oil tank.
Ziggy’s unsurprisingly working silently, and I have to hope that my brothers know more about what he’s doing than I do because, for all I know, he could be cutting our brake lines.
Feels shitty to bring that up if the guy is only here to help us.
“You a mechanic or something?” I ask, keeping my voice low enough that he can pretend not to hear me.
It’s too late for that when his back stiffens, and he throws a look around Kennedy at me. My brother shifts—on purpose or not, I don’t know—and blocks Ziggy’s view.
After a few seconds, the guy taps the battery.
“You know about … batteries?” Hart guesses.
That prompts Ziggy to tug at the red wire beside his hand, slightly more aggressively each time as he watches Kennedy.
“Power … wires … electrician?”
Ziggy nods, and Kennedy immediately turns to me, eyes wide in a way I can read his every thought.
