Page 99 of Wilde's End
I grab his hand with a huff and press the bowl into it. “It’s yours. Don’t make this weird.”
He clears his throat gruffly. “I’m not.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
I’m caught between what I want to say and denying that I want to say anything at all.
He stands before I get a chance to decide and tugs his clothes clumsily back on. The disfigured little bowl is still balanced in his hand, and the longer he doesn’t say anything, the more stupid I feel.
“Night,” he throws out as he stalks toward my window.
I flop back on the bed as he pulls open the curtain, questioning whether that could have actually gone any worse.
Except he doesn’t disappear right away.
When I turn to him, he’s looking back at me, moonlight flooding his expression and making something catch in my chest.
I almost don’t hear his whisper before he disappears.
“Thank you.”
Then he’s gone, and I’m left more confused about Wilde than ever.
CHAPTER
THIRTY-SIX
WILDE
Itry to keep my distance and focus on training for the next week, but injury or not, it doesn’t stop me from climbing through Hudson’s window every second night. He’s too hard to resist, and the more time we spend together, the more sex we have, the longer I stay afterward.
At first, it was seconds. Then minutes. And last night, I couldn’t make myself get up and leave for a full half an hour. Even though my brain was very clearly telling me it was time to go, there was something instinctual anchoring me to the spot.
That same something I’m ignoring right now as I turn the bowl he gave me over in my hands. Gracie + Hudson. I’ve seen how much Grace has improved with her pottery, so I know she didn’t make this.
Hudson did.
He made it.
For me.
I swallow thickly and set it aside, my gaze catching on thesmall closet in my room. For the first time in … I don’t know how long, my fingers itch for rough strings, a steady hum, a soft, scratchy voice that I haven’t heard in so long. And never will again.
Yeah, I’m going to ignore that too.
Peril is tonight, and while I’m healing well, I know that Foley will target my injuries for a win. It’s stupid to even go because I’ll walk out of there with wounds reopened and in worse shape than I am now, but it’s not like I can skip this one. If I’d won last month, it wouldn’t be an issue, but with nothing last month, probably nothing this month, and then next month not being a guarantee, I don’t want to throw away a chance.
I’m only mildly embarrassed about talking Hudson’s ear off about it last night.
I’ve spent the morning warming up and the afternoon taking it easy, so once night rolls around, I grab my post and head toward the Lair. With all the extra cars making their way into Wilde’s End, I leave my truck behind and take the distance by foot like usual. The walk there and back helps clear my head, and afterward … every single month for too long, I’ve gone down into Wayward. Technically, there’s nothing stopping me from doing it again tonight, except for this off feeling. Hudson and I aren’t exclusive. We’re not anything to each other. We gripe at each other and sometimes get off, and once or twice, he’s brought out an emotion that wasn’t total irritation, but none of those things are reason enough to stop doing what I’ve always done.
None except that I don’t think I want to.
“Argh.” I scratch the thoughts away and try to focus on the upcoming match. Last time, the match went longer than they normally do, and Foley seemed like he didn’t even feel some of my bigger hits. His torso was full of mottled bruises by the time we were done, and the only reason he won was because of asneaky shot right to the armpit. It was so unexpected I didn’t brace for it and lost my footing too easily.
This time, I’ll stick to the bigger, lower platforms and not let Foley draw me up higher.
