Wylde

by Sawyer Bennett

  After, we turn out most of the store’s interior lights, put the closed sign on the door, and plop down in the reading chairs. Veronica brings a few bottles of champagne she had chilling in the fridge in the back for—in her words, an occasion to celebrate—and pops them effortlessly. She pours plastic cups for herself, Clarke, Legend, Pepper, and me, and we sip while ruminating on the success of the day.

  Seeing the satisfaction and joy—albeit in an exhaustingly satisfied type of way—on Clarke’s face, I know it’s going to be my joy to try to help her in any way I can, whenever I can. It is important she succeeds, so aiding her is now a firm goal of mine.

  Clarke leans forward in her chair, still behind the signing table, and looks past Pepper to Legend. “I’m going to assume you might have had something to do with that crowd,” she teases him. “Bragging about your wife to all your fans, huh?”

  Of course, Clarke would think that. Many people who came in today knew Legend, as evidenced by the fact they asked for pictures with him, too, after Pepper signed their book. I don’t say a word, completely fine with letting Legend take full credit for this.

  He merely shrugs, looping his arm around his wife’s shoulder. “What can I say? I’m proud of this woman, and I would sing it from the mountaintops if I could.”

  “Well, thank you,” Clarke says with a gracious incline of her head. “That clearly helped bring in the crowd.”

  “Yeah… thanks, baby,” Pepper croons, tipping her head so she can receive a kiss from Legend.

  I’m vaguely relieved Clarke thinks this was all Legend’s doing, though it does shine a glaring light on an issue that is still pervasively complicated within our relationship. I’m not sure she would have liked me using social media to spotlight her. She’s still so very wary about fame and limelight, so she might have been offended if she’d known I’d done it.

  Of course, she might have been incredibly grateful, too, but it’s not something I would know as I don’t intend to tell her what I did. I don’t need praise from her, and I certainly don’t want her ire. I’m happy to just let well enough ride.

  After we finish our champagne, Legend and Pepper leave the store. Veronica and I help clean up, straightening the shelves, and I run the vacuum cleaner. There’s no crowd outside when we open the store back up around three.

  Veronica takes her leave, so I settle into one of the reading chairs, content to spend the rest of the day here with Clarke. I’m going home with her after Nina comes in for the evening shift, and I have nothing else to do until then.

  “I’m going to ask you something, and I hope it doesn’t freak you out,” Clarke says out of the blue. I’ve been thumbing through a book of poetry that I’m not connecting with, but I’ve never really been into it to begin with. That certainly hasn’t changed with maturation.

  I look up, not concerned in the slightest over her freaking me out. I like her way too much to let anything bother me. “What’s up?”

  “How would you feel about meeting my parents?” she asks hesitantly.

  I blink in surprise, not because this is an unwarranted request or too soon. In fact, it seems about the right time.

  I have a moment of shock—maybe more awe than anything—that Clarke clearly thinks this is serious, much in the same way I do, even though we haven’t quite yet voiced it to each other yet.

  “You know, I’ve never once in my entire adult life been asked to meet a woman’s parents,” I reply with a crooked smile.

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m not so sure you’ve bothered asking a woman her last name before.”

  A bark of laughter erupts from me, and I love she can make light of my reputation. I spring up from my chair and snag her around the waist, pulling her back down into the same chair with me.

  “I’d love to meet your parents,” I say before inclining my head and pressing my lips to her neck.

  CHAPTER 21

  Clarke

  “Stop fidgeting,” Aaron commands and I shoot him a side-eyed glare from the passenger seat of his truck.

  “I can’t help it,” I mutter, but I clasp my hands tightly together in an effort to stop my nervous squirming. “You know how you’ve never met a woman’s parents before?”

  Aaron whips his head my way, his gaze on me far too long since he’s actually driving, but then he moves his attention back out the windshield. “You mean to tell me you’ve never brought a man home to meet your parents?”

  “Of course I have,” I snap, frustrated he isn’t getting the significance of my discomfort. “I’ve brought a few home before.”

  “Gee,” Aaron drawls, his voice dry as the desert floor. “I feel so special.”

  I snort and grab his hand, which is within reach since his arm is resting casually on the center console. Sliding my fingers between his, I squeeze. “You should feel special, because those other dudes I brought home were easy.”

  “Not making me feel better,” he mutters.

  “What I mean is they were all perfectly nice and uncomplicated, so it was easy to bring them over for a dinner with my parents. You’re…”

  “Not uncomplicated?” he guesses.

  I shift to face him. While he doesn’t look, keeping his attention firmly on the road, I know I have his full focus by the way he stills. “You’re the best kind of complicated. And it makes this visit far more important than any other, which is the reason for my fidgeting.”

  Aaron finally spares me a glance. “That’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said about me.”

  “I know, right?” I quip back with a grin. “Who would have thought I’d like complicated?”

  Aaron pulls my hand to his mouth, then kisses my palm before drawing it down to rest in his lap for the rest of the ride to my parents’ house.

  When we arrive, I take a deep breath as Aaron pulls into the driveway behind my father’s Cadillac. They still live in the same house I grew up in. Whenever I see the glowing lights within, it always brings me a measure of comfort. My parents have been looking forward to meeting the man I have seemingly taken a big chance on, as I think they’ve all but given up on me finding someone to have a solid relationship with.

  While they fully supported my decision to go on that reality show, I’d known they had trepidations. In their infinite wisdom, they could see the potential for hurt and heartache in a way I just couldn’t. However, they also are the type of parents who believe the best way to grow and mature is by making mistakes that sting long enough to make lasting impressions.

  When we make it to the porch, the door swings open and my father stands there.

  Perry Webber certainly doesn’t look like the stereotypical accountant. My father more resembles a beach bum or a surfer dude than an accountant, which, technically, he sort of is. He was raised in southern California, and he could ride a surfboard flawlessly by the time he was five years old. He has longish, wavy blond hair, pale blue eyes, and a thick beard. He’s also tall and muscled, almost as broadly built as Aaron.

  I can tell Aaron is shocked by his appearance, especially since my dad is wearing faded jeans ripped at both knees, an old Billabong t-shirt, and no shoes.

  “You were expecting glasses and a pocket protector, weren’t you?” I can’t help but tease Aaron in a low voice before making a formal introduction to my father.

  Aaron smirks, shaking my father’s hand before he invites us in. My dad leans in to give me a quick peck on the cheek, which tickles, then claps Aaron on the shoulder. “Aaron and I will fix everyone a drink. Your mom is in the kitchen.”

  “Very subtle, Dad,” I mutter, and he winks. I’d expected no less than him pulling Aaron aside for some alone time to judge him. This is something Dad hasn’t ever done with someone I’ve brought over before, but I’ve told my mom how much I like Aaron. I’m sure she’s passed that tidbit along to my father.

  I find Mom in the kitchen, making what looks like stir fry. I’m almost a pure clone of Amy Webber and if Aaron ever wants to know what I’ll look like in m
y late forties, he only has to gaze at my mom. We share the same fiery hair, hazel eyes that turn greener with high emotions, and petite frames. Our facial structure is almost identical, and my mom often gets mistaken for my older sister. I sure hope I have her youthful appearance and lack of lines when I’m her age. She always harps on me to wear sunscreen, and I’m mostly diligent about it.

  “Hey, baby,” my mom coos when she sees me walk in. I round the kitchen island, and we engage in a long hug while the stir fry sizzles in the wok. “I’ve missed you.”

  “Missed you back,” I assure her as we release. Bending over the wok, I inhale. “Smells good.”

  My mom smiles, peering through the archway of the kitchen with a raised eyebrow. “Your dad kidnap Aaron already?”

  “Yup,” I reply, moving back to the end of the counter and perching on a stool. “I’m sure he’s grilling him deeply by now.”

  My mom laughs as she stirs the wok, splashing in soy sauce while her other hand perches on her hip. She’s always so relaxed and carefree. I definitely did not inherit that from her, but I do strive to emulate that. “Well, while the boys are otherwise occupied, tell me all about the trip to St. John.”

  My mom isn’t totally clueless. I’d shared photos and texts. We’ve talked via phone and because I’m super close to my mom, she knows exactly how I feel about Aaron. But we haven’t seen each other since I’ve returned, so I haven’t been able to give her all the details.

  “It was wonderful,” I say, propping my chin in my hand while she cooks. “So relaxing. And Aaron’s friends are super nice. The guys he plays on the same line with are all married, and their wives are so outgoing and inclusive. I didn’t feel like an outsider at all.”

  “They sound lovely,” she replies.

  “They really are.” Admittedly, they were so much more than I had anticipated.

  I spend some time describing the resort, how we went snorkeling in crystal waters, and how we dined on some of the best food I’ve ever had. I did not tell her about how much sex I’d had, the countless orgasms, or how Aaron has taught me more about intimacy and desire than I could have ever learned from any other source because he takes the time to make it good for me. I love my mom and we are indeed close, but not that close.

  I merely say, “Aaron’s great, Mom. I’m really glad I met him.”

  “And gave him a chance,” she points out. “It was a good risk you took.”

  That’s for sure. No one besides my mom and Veronica knows just how badly I was hurt and humiliated by Tripp. I spent what seemed like hours crying in her arms after that whole debacle, and because she’s my mom, she hurt right along with me. More than anyone, she’s always understood my reluctance to try again.

  My dad comes strolling into the kitchen with Aaron on his heels, each carrying two drinks. My dad has a bourbon neat, and he places a glass of white wine on the counter by my mom, taking a moment to press a kiss to her neck as he passes.

  Aaron has a beer for himself, and he hands me a glass of white wine. He knows I’m not picky about what I drink, as I like trying all kinds of wines. He comes to stand beside me, leaning forward on the counter.

  “Aaron was just telling me how you two met,” my father says, his eyes shining with amusement.

  My mom snickers, because she knows the story, but she apparently hadn’t told my dad about it. Aaron bumps his hip against mine, grinning.

  “He totally hustled me,” I gripe, giving my dad a pained look.

  “I think it’s hilarious,” my dad replies. “I like a man who does whatever it takes to win his lady.”

  My dad is the true romantic in our household, that’s for sure.

  Aaron’s phone rings, and he ducks his head in apology as he pulls it from his pocket. “Sorry about that,” he murmurs as he puts it on vibrate before placing it on the counter.

  “No worries,” my dad replies.

  “Honey,” my mom says, shooting him a look. “Can you grab some plates? We’ll just self-serve from the wok, then eat at the kitchen nook. It’s cozier than the dining room.”

  That’s how I know my parents like Aaron, and, more importantly, like that I like him. Otherwise, my mom would have done a formal sit down in our dining room. This way, it’s all family style. It’s telling that even though my parents don’t know that much about him—just a few moments of conversation and my impressions—they can tell he’s a good guy.

  Aaron’s phone starts vibrating on the counter. We both glance down, seeing it’s Tacker calling. He hits the button to decline the call, but it immediately starts ringing again.

  Aaron glances at me, his face now etched with worry. I nod at the phone. “You better answer that.”

  No way Tacker’s calling three times in a row unless it’s important.

  “I’m really sorry,” Aaron says to my mother, who shakes her head and holds her hand up that it’s fine.

  Aaron picks up the phone. As he walks from the kitchen into the other room, he says, “What’s up?” I’m not sure if I should follow him, but a churning in my gut says this can’t be good.

  Worriedly, my mom looks at me. I shrug. My dad gets the plates out, but he doesn’t say a word as he sets them on the counter. We all sit in silence as we wait for Aaron to return.

  When he walks back in, his face is pale, and I immediately push off the stool to go to him. “What happened?”

  “It’s Baden,” he says, staring down before turning to my parents. “He’s one of my teammates. Our backup goalie.”

  My dad nods, because he’s a sports nut and follows the Vengeance. To me, Aaron says, “I don’t have all the details, but he tried to intervene in a mugging and got attacked.”

  “Oh my God,” I gasp, clutching Aaron’s hands. “Is he…”

  “He’s at the hospital right now and it’s pretty bad.”

  “Jesus,” my dad mutters, and my mom turns the stove off.

  “I’m really sorry,” Aaron says to my parents. “But I really need to get to the hospital. The entire team is congregating there.”

  “Of course,” my mother exclaims, coming around the side of the counter toward us, my dad following behind.

  I nab my purse from a chair where I’d set it earlier, but Aaron places a hand on my arm. “You don’t have to come. You should stay… have dinner with your folks.”

  For a moment—a horrible, low moment—I think Aaron doesn’t want me to go because I don’t belong. This is a team tragedy, which goes beyond me.

  But that moment passes, because I can’t afford to fall prey to my own self-esteem issues. Not when I can see Aaron is visibly shaken by this news.

  Shaking my head, I take his hand. “I’m going with you. And if you trust me with your big behemoth of a truck, I’ll drive.”

  Aaron’s expression loses the tightness around his mouth, his eyes going soft and warm. It’s gratitude I see reflecting back, and I know he needs me. “I’m glad you’re coming, but I’m still driving.”

  At the door, my mom gives Aaron a big hug and assures him she’ll make dinner up to him soon. My dad makes me promise to text them as soon as we hear any news, then gives me another tickling kiss on my cheek. I hold onto him a bit tighter, thankful for their love and support. Aaron doesn’t know what it’s like to have parents like this, which is also why I feel the pressing need to stay by his side.

  My parents stand in the doorway. They watch as Aaron helps me into the truck, and I wave to them through the window as we pull out of the driveway.

  When we hit the highway, I ask, “How bad is it?”

  Aaron cuts me a short glance, then squeezes my hand. He’s been holding it ever since we pulled out, steering assuredly with the other. “Bad. Tacker says from the report he heard, three guys were attacking one woman. When Baden tried to intervene to help her, he was beaten with a crowbar and stabbed.”

  “Jesus,” I murmur, following my curse with a silent but solemn prayer for Baden.

  “Dominik and Willow are flying in from
Los Angeles on one of Dominik’s private planes. He’ll get the best doctors from wherever he can to attend to Baden.”

  I’ve never liked the privilege that comes with being extremely wealthy, or the elite opportunities that are afforded to them, but, in this moment, I am so very grateful Dominik has those resources. While I don’t know Baden all that well, I had some great interaction with him in St. John. He reminds me a lot of Aaron in that laid-back, happy-go-lucky kind of way. A humble, down-to-earth guy.

  A man who tries to stop a mugging, who instead ends up stabbed and beaten. A tremor runs up my spine, because that could have easily been Aaron. He would have stepped in if he’d been the one to see that.

  The nausea that swells within me at the thought—of something terrible happening to Aaron and me losing him—is nothing more than an affirmation I’m in deep with this guy.

  CHAPTER 22

  Clarke

  I pace the small length of my living room, periodically checking my phone. It’s been almost twenty-four hours since Aaron and I left my parents’ house when we got word about Baden.

  I had gone to the hospital with Aaron, and it had been a somber event. Baden had been savagely attacked by three men when he’d tried to stop them from attacking a woman in a downtown parking garage. He had to have emergency surgery as he had multiple stab wounds—seven in all—and he had some bleeding on his brain from where they beat him with a crowbar.

  Those wounds were all miraculously stabilized, but were not the worst of the news. The assailant with the crowbar hit him in the back so hard that Baden suffered a spinal cord concussion. He’s currently paralyzed from the waist down.

  It was horrible news and the weight of grief in the waiting room—packed with players, coaches, executive staff, and loved ones—was so palpable I felt like I was suffocating at times. Dominik arrived within two hours by private jet, conferenced with the team doctors and Baden’s parents, then, with the power of his pull and money, he’d flown in one of the best surgeons in the world who would attempt to stabilize the spinal injury.