Page 112 of Wilde's End
I’m the one who dragged us here.
I’m the one who wanted to make things better and somehow made everything so much worse.
I raise my hands in surrender, biting off all the curse words I want to throw their way as my chest feels like it’s been ripped inhalf. “You guys don’t need to worry about me anymore. I’m going home.”
“You’re what?” Hart asks flatly.
“Home. I’m leaving. I’ll send someone to replace me and help you guys up here, and I’ll go back to running the business. Either finish this place or sell it, I don’t fucking care anymore. I’m done. I’m out.”
Hartwell’s laugh is full of disbelief. “That easily, huh? All those times I wanted to leave and was told no, and you’re just going to throw a tantrum and go?”
“No one has ever fucking forced you to be here. Ever. You’ve whined and complained and been a total goddamn brat, but you never tried to leave. Well, now’s your chance. Congratulations. We can all be out. All I know is I’m done.”
I can’t stand around looking at the torn-up expression on Kennedy’s face, so I storm toward the door.
“I’ll send someone back with the car,” I throw over my shoulder, and then, because shit can’t get any worse, I add purely for Kennedy’s benefit, “Sutton’s going to besohappy to see me.”
CHAPTER
FORTY
WILDE
“You okay?” Rooney asks as I hand over the paper.
I ignore the question. “It’s smaller than usual, so it shouldn’t take you long.”
Rooney scans the list of what people in town need, and I silently will him to hurry the fuck up so I can go back to … well, nothing. Since yesterday, I’ve been planted on my couch, Nan’s quilt tucked under one arm, guitar locked back in the closet, wishing for the first time since I moved here that I had a TV. Instead, I was left to stare a hole into my wall as Hudson’s face filled my mind, no matter how many times I shoved it away.
“Yeah, this is easy,” Rooney says. “Now, are you going to tell me why you look like you’re about to cry?”
My gaze snaps back to his. “Fuck you, I do not.”
“I can pretend to believe you, but then we’d both be lying. Might as well get it off your chest.”
Funnily enough, that’s exactly where all the pressure seems tobe sitting. Opening my mouth and saying the words is hard though, and I let the silence stretch too long for Rooney.
“Is it about Hudson?”
I scowl at how easily he read me. “Why?”
“Gossip says you guys have a thing.”
Of course it does. Even here, it’s impossible to avoid people spreading stupid rumors. Even when those stupid rumors are true. I told myself that I’d make more of an effort with the people I consider friends, and here I am, still locking the words up tight. It’s too easy to slip into the comfort of keeping everything inside after doing it for so long, especially knowing how much it hurts to make an effort and have it all be for nothing.
“Use your words, big guy,” Rooney says, and something inside of me breaks.
“It’s over. The shit thing is that I don’t even know whatitwas, but when Kennedy asked me if I could treat Hudson right, I didn’t have an answer for him. I don’t know how to treat people—I avoid them for the most part—so how the fuck am I supposed to promise him something that feels impossible?” I pace closer to my truck and kick the goddamn tire. “It wassupposedto be nothing. Just some weak moments of fucking until … until … Hudson’s so … he’s …” None of the words I have feel big enough.
“Kinda perfect for you?” Rooney suggests.
“Fuck off.”
“Sorry.” He tucks the list into his pocket. “People said he was nonstop flirting with you the other day. Looked good on you, apparently.”
“Well, it was pointless because it’s over now.”
“Shit …” Rooney steps closer to give my arm a squeeze. “I’m so sorry.”
