Page 40 of Wilde's End
He shrugs and unlocks the carriage before pulling the heavy metal door aside. Rows and rows of light bulbs, screws, nails, bolts, brackets, pipes, wiring, and just about anything else you could possibly need for repairs or construction line the internal shelves.
Ziggy grabs a bucket and a handful of other things, then gets to work. I probably could’ve fumbled my way through it, but you don’t fuck around with safety, and when it comes to anything electrical or mechanical, Ziggy is the expert around here.
The silence is broken only by the occasional birdcall, rustle of leaves, or a lone car passing by on the road somewhere far above us.
Normally, this peace is exactly what I need. It’s part of the reason I chose to stay out here. Today though, my thoughts are like scurrying mice, and I can’t help letting one escape.
“What if they don’t leave?”
Ziggy’s heavy sigh scatters the mice in my mind. He pauses for a second, one hand resting on the bike, the other on the bucket, and studies me with pity.
“It’s not like I can give up on this place.”
Ziggy keeps working, but I sense the guardedness from himtoo. If we give up, we lose Wilde’s End. We lose everything we’ve built. And losing this place means losing who we are.
It’s hard to remember who I was before I came here, and the longer I go not thinking about it, the murkier the details get. Forgetting is something I want, but the more I go into Old End, and the more I consider what the brothers’ plans mean for this place, the more those past demons creep out of the holes I’ve stuffed them into.
I’m close to bringing it up with Ziggy. I know he’d understand, but we’ve all leaned so heavily on the “don’t ask” rule that I don’t know whether I could talk about it if I tried. Once it’s out there, it’s done. Ziggy will know more about me than I know about him, and while I trust Ziggy more than anyone in Wilde’s End, even more than Rooney, I know I can’t trust anyone with this.
It’s the kind of thing I’ll take to my grave.
I rub absently at the scars on my arm, and before I can bring up anything else, I ask, “You have everything you need to fix it?”
Ziggy nods and gets to work, leaving me to deal with too many thoughts alone.
CHAPTER
FIFTEEN
HUDSON
When Wilde came back with the bike, I’d perked up, looking for another chance to tease him and draw him into … well, whatever the fuck we have going on. But he only dumped the bike in the middle of the street and took off again.
It’s been days, and I haven’t seen a glimpse of him. No one has been watching us from the overlook. No one has been messing with our stuff. And when I wake suddenly in the middle of the night, expecting to see him lurking in my room, it’s empty.
I’m not saying that nighttime stalkers are a good thing, but you can’t set a man up to expect one thing and then take it away completely.
It’s fucking rude.
A week ago, I would have said this was a good thing. Now, it’s like someone dragging claws down my back. No way in hell am I letting him ignore me like this.
Thankfully, the doc was right about my ankle, and after a few days of taking it easy, I’m able to put weight on it again.
Hart is pissed off that I scratched up the bike, and he’s only talking to me because I’m injured, whereas Kennedy won’t stop flapping around me like some kind of mother hen. I have to remind myself, daily, that I love my brothers. That the majority of the reason we’re here is for them.
Doesn’t make it any easier when Hart refuses to hand over the keys to the bike so I can go and hunt down Wilde again. It takes me a few days to acknowledge that was a good call. It’s not until my concussion wears off that I realize how bad it was.
“Need anything before I head next door?” Kennedy asks, sticking his worried face into my room.
“I can walk again. I’m fine.”
The reassurance doesn’t do anything to shift the tight lines by his eyes.
“Just go.”
“Okay, but if you need me, yell out. I’ll keep the music off.”
Despite myself, the way he cares gets to me sometimes. It’s one of those rare moments that I remember we really are in this together. The second he disappears, I yell out to him again, and Kennedy’s back, eyebrows perked up like a puppy waiting for a treat.
