Page 3 of Wilde's End
“We are.”
Kennedy thrusts the pitcher into the air, margarita sloshing down his arm. “Hell yes, Hudson.”
“Let’s buy a town!”
“Let’s buy atown!”
Hart only sighs and covers his face again.
I help Kennedy finish the pitcher as we toast to our newest business venture.
A whole town all for us. This is exactly what we need.
CHAPTER
ONE
HUDSON
“Holy shit,” Kennedy murmurs from the passenger seat, smile in his voice as he cracks the car door open. “This isours? Wow …” He climbs out slowly, eyes wide like they’ll take in more of the creepiness that way.
The boarded-up, dilapidated houses cast shadows from one side of the road, and the busted-glass, paintwork-peeling shopfronts taunt us on the other. When I’d drunkenly declared we buy Wilde’s End, all it had taken was half a bottle of vodka, an unexpected call from the Realtor while I was hungover, and Hart giving methatlook.The one daring me to prove him wrong. Apparently, I’m more bullheaded than evenIthought because here we are.
My situationship, Sutton, laughed in my face when I told him about our plans, called me an idiot, then fucked me over the dining table and left before he even made me come. Between his disdain and Hart’s doubt, it made me dig my heels in more than ever.
Obviously the only mature and reasonable response.
I sit here for a moment, staring out the windshield at a towering view ofwhat the fuck have I done?It’s not often my mistakes loom over me in physical form, so it’s hard not to feel like I’m being sac-whacked with it.
We’re parked on the edge of a dusty sealed road, and up ahead where the buildings end, the road turns to gravel and disappears into the trees. It’s very green all around, and at least where the buildings are, the grass has been cut somewhat recently. The old guys who sold the place to us couldn’t keep up with maintaining it, and I’m confident that decision came about twenty years too late.
Where the clean lawns end, the forest begins, looking like it’s trying to press forward and swallow the small town whole. And when I say small, I mean it. It’s one street and nothing but acres of wilderness surrounding it.
The panic creeps its way back up my throat, and I tilt the rearview mirror to see Hart. His sandy-blond hair hides most of his face from me as he looks down at his phone.
“You wanna come look around?” I ask.
“Nope.”
“You’re not the tiniest bit curious?” Considering how vocally he was against this, the fact that he signed right away made me hope that deep beneath his disdain for the entire world, he secretly had ideas for this place.
Hart drags his focus from his phone and meets my gaze in the mirror with hooded eyes. “I’m curious how many knocks to the head it takes for this to seem like a good idea, but I’m guessing that’s not the curious you mean.”
“Keep it up and we’ll find out that number on you.”
Hart chews back whatever he desperately wants to say, then pops the door and climbs out too.
I watch his slow gait as he moves toward the houses, and no matter how much this panic of completely fucking up makes me want to puke, I push it down. For them. And also mostly because there’s nothing else I can do. I follow my little brothers out of the car, determined to fake positivity until it sinks in.
“Looks promising.”
Maybe Hart can see through the shit because he shakes his head at me like he’s never been more disappointed. I ignore him as he drifts away.
Meanwhile, Kennedy all butbouncesout of the nearest shop. “I think this one is salvageable,” he says, crossing to look in the window of the next one. The wooden deck creaks concerningly under his weight, but he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t think it sounds as close to death as I do. “This one’s a bit more dramatic inside, but maybe.”
“It fucking stinks,” Hart calls back over to us from where he’s circling one of the houses. “Everything smells like death here.”
“You’ll fit right in, then,” I send back. The last thing my panic needs is for him to keep throwing negatives at me. I’m not sure if it’s the buildings or the forest, but it smells like damp earth and decay. As a builder by trade, I’m no stranger to getting filthy, but this is something else. A dense blanket of dirt sits in the air and clings to my skin. It’s cooler than it should be, every sound amplified while the silence somehow rings louder, and there’s a mist clinging to the trees like it’s waiting to creep out and strangle us.
