Wild Like Us

by Ritchie, Krista

  I’m just thankful Kits was here to explain everything.

  He’s good at giving facts from an event and nothing more. No emotion to the story. I’d probably have fucked that up and rattled my cousins even more. Instead, the retelling might as well have been a security debriefing.

  The RV campgrounds are quiet in the early morning. Fog hangs low at our feet, and the darkness of night is fading.

  Jane told me no campers have recognized them yet. Not even at the RV rentals, where they picked out two long, taupe RVs, and Charlie actually purchased a mammoth-sized, sleek-black RV that could swallow the other two. Pretty much as big as the FanCon tour bus.

  Their set-up is pretty awesome and more private than I expected. At RV Campsite #12, a picnic table, fire pit, and scattered chairs are strewn between the two long RVs. The vehicles do a good job of shielding their outdoor hangout area from other campsites.

  And the mammoth RV sits further back up against the woods.

  Right now, everyone—and I mean, everyone—who journeyed to Montana is congregated around the picnic table where the three of us threw our backpacks. Our appearance whipped open their RV doors and caused Jane and Moffy to rush out to me, and then SFO to sprint out to Akara and Banks.

  “The bleeding stopped,” Akara tells Farrow in a more authoritative tone. “It’s been less than twenty-four hours. They’re fine. I’m fine. We’re all fine.”

  Moffy is still rigid.

  His concern is like hardened cement. Being protective of me has been hardwired into his DNA since we were little kids. But at least he’s not dialing my parents.

  Farrow chews slower on a piece of gum. “I just can’t see a scenario where Sulli is this hurt, and you don’t life-flight her to a hospital.”

  Akara tries to push his hair back. “Come on, I wouldn’t life-flight her to a hospital for a cut.”

  “Is it just a cut?” Moffy asks as he sits on the picnic table with Ripley on his lap. His son holds a sippy-cup and happily watches their puppy rolling on leaves.

  I pull my gaze off the baby. “Yeah. Just a cut.” A big fucking one. But I don’t add that. Farrow hasn’t taken off my bandage yet, but I showed him the gauze on my hip.

  Oscar, Farrow, and even Thatcher are still eagle-eyeing Akara like he’s acting weird. Like he would do everything in his power to carry me to a doctor.

  But he didn’t.

  And I’m standing here thinking that I should’ve demanded that Akara and Banks see Farrow last night. Did they downplay their pain? Did I just not look closely enough?

  Did we all not look?

  But the events course through my head in raw flashes—the gunshots, the agonized growling, the dirt and heavy breath, the water and cold and then warmth, so much warmth—and nothing about that night made me want to confront all the people we care about.

  I just wanted to seek comfort in Banks and Akara.

  They must’ve felt the same.

  Akara turns more to his men. “I wouldn’t life-flight her. I wouldn’t even drive her here. I wouldn’t even call you Farrow. And that needs to be the end of this.” He’s such a boss leader.

  I start to smile.

  “So what you’re saying,” Oscar continues, “is that you don’t like, like Sulli.”

  My face falls. I shift my weight. Feeling too many eyes on me. Feeling a masculine overload of protective men—too many fucking men are here. I look to Jane.

  She sidles closer, her hand clasping instinctively to mine.

  Thanks, Jane.

  Akara glares at Oscar. “She’s right there, Oscar.”

  He tosses a chip in his mouth. “I thought we were all friends by now.”

  Farrow’s pierced brows rise. “Says the guy who hates buddy-guards.”

  Charlie smiles while he flips a page in a book, sitting on the steps of the left RV.

  I have my fingers to my lips, my head fucking spinning. Jane’s blue eyes are rapidly shifting between everyone. Like she’s not missing a beat.

  “Look, it was an honest question,” Oscar says to his boss.

  “You need to shut it down,” Akara says in a tone both friendly and firm. “Sulli is just my client and friend—she knows that’s all she is to me.”

  What?

  I freeze.

  I don’t breathe.

  He’s just lying to them. He has to be lying. We agreed not to tell them the fucking truth—but after the night we shared in the tent, those words hurt.

  Everyone—and again, I mean everyone—is looking at me. I must wear my utter fucking horror.

  Akara’s face drops. “Sulli—”

  “Oh no, I get it.” Does my voice sound choked? I nod a ton, my neck feels tight and collarbones jutted out like I swallowed a hundred donuts at once. Banks? I search for him.

  He’s next to his brother. And his gaze is softened on me, almost pained. Like he wishes he could come closer and wrap his arms around me. I wish he could hug me too.

  Jane squeezes my hand consolingly.

  I breathe in and focus on Farrow’s gloves, on Akara’s wounds. “Is it infected?” I ask.

  “It’s not,” Akara says more gently to me, an apology in his eyes.

  I try to take it, but his other words are still a pit in my stomach.

  That’s all she is to me.

  I tell him, “I was actually talking to the guy with the MD.”

  Oscar munches on a chip. “Redford, you better check Kitsuwon for the fourth-degree burn.”

  Farrow rolls his eyes but continues inspecting Akara’s shoulder. “You all out of original material, Oliveira?”

  That’s all she is to me. I frown more.

  I look everywhere but at him.

  “I’m saving all the good jokes for my husband,” Oscar says, tossing a potato chip in his mouth. Jack Highland-Oliveira should be here soon to film me free-soloing.

  I’m supposed to be climbing. Right. Breathing in another deep breath, I focus on my goal.

  I can still accomplish what I set out to do. The weather is good. Winter conditions haven’t arrived yet, and I didn’t break a bone.

  Fucking silver linings—I love them a waffle-lot. I miss my sister. The sudden thought pangs my heart.

  “It’s not infected,” Farrow tells me.

  That’s good.

  I take another breath.

  Moffy says to me, “You could’ve called me last night too. I would’ve hiked up to you.”

  “I know,” I say quietly. “But it was late and too dark.”

  Farrow is studying the bite marks around Akara’s elbow. “I’m more concerned about torn muscle.”

  “I have full range of movement,” Akara says, but his gaze hasn’t left me. I feel it.

  “Okay, but as your doctor, I’m recommending a physical exam instead of just taking your word on it. Also, you really need stitches. So take a seat on the table, Kitsuwon.”

  Akara climbs onto the picnic table next to Moffy. While Farrow rests a foot on the bench seat, he digs through his trauma bag.

  “Papa!” Ripley calls out and drops his sippy-cup as he extends his arms towards Farrow.

  Thatcher frowns. “Isn’t Moffy Papa and Farrow Dada?”

  Farrow grimaces. “Please don’t ever say dada again.”

  Thatcher almost rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

  I bend down and pick up the sippy-cup before Arkham slobbers all over it. Moffy and Farrow are kind of tense, and I know Thatcher isn’t wrong about their parent nicknames.

  “Maybe he’s confusing you two?” Jane offers a rationale. “He’s only eight-months.”

  “Papa!” Ripley is pulling out of Moffy’s arms to reach Farrow.

  “That’s your dad, little guy,” Maximoff says as he stands up with his son. He brings Ripley over to Farrow.

  Farrow kisses his son’s head, then points to Moffy. “That’s your papa.”

  Ripley smiles up at Moffy. “Dada!” He hugs his tiny arms around his papa—well actually I guess Mof
fy is his dada.

  We all laugh.

  “Look who’s a little maverick,” Oscar grins. “Confirmed, that’s for sure Farrow’s son.”

  I miss the look Farrow gives Oscar because I hand baby Ripley his green sippy-cup. Not just any normal sippy-cup. Gray mountains decorate the sides, and a carabineer is on the handle.

  The sippy-cup used to be mine when I was a kid. And I gifted this one to Ripley as an adoption present.

  Moffy smiles at me.

  I smile back. Seeing Maximoff and Farrow bring Ripley everywhere, on all the trips, all their daily activities and adventures, reminds me so much of how my parents raised me. I was always there with them. Constantly. Limitlessly. Until I guess I grew old enough to go on my own.

  Ripley babbles to me, as though to say thank you.

  “You’re very welcome, little dude.”

  That’s all she is to me.

  I wish I would stop replaying that fucked up thing. Akara reminds Farrow to look at my cut and Banks’ wounds, and so Farrow checks us before returning to Akara.

  No stitches for us.

  “You two should be good with new bandages,” Farrow says, putting on a new pair of black gloves. “If any of the wounds start itching or swelling, come get me immediately. Not the next day.”

  “Sounds good,” I say, dropping the hem of my shirt.

  Banks nods.

  “Nice ink,” Oscar says to Akara, motioning to the snake tattoo along his upper chest, shoulder, and bicep. None of his wounds cut through the ink. All survived the cougar attack. Oscar quips, “What else have I missed?” He isn’t in Philly as often as the other bodyguards. Maybe his compliment is just to get on Akara’s good side after pissing him off.

  “A lot,” Akara says easily and catches my eyes that ask, are we okay?

  I just nod. I fucking want to be.

  Feelings are fucked up. Like I know he couldn’t have meant what he said. Right? But just hearing them is messing with me.

  Everyone is staring at me again, and I suddenly realize they think I’m infatuated with Akara and he’s decreed I’m not into her in that way.

  Great.

  Awesome.

  I take out my phone. “I’m going to call my sister.” I walk away. Akara can’t follow because he’s about to be sutured.

  Smell of campfire and burnt logs in the air, I hike down a sloped path towards the bathrooms. I hear Moffy about to follow, but Jane tells him, “Let me, old chap. I think this one is for the girls.”

  My lip aches to rise as Jane catches up to me.

  I see her at my side, then we both glance behind us. The Moretti brothers are following. Our bodyguards. They keep their distance to give us the illusion of privacy.

  As a gust of cold morning wind blows through, Jane rolls down the sleeves of her chunky, pastel pink sweater. “Do you want to talk about it?”

  I twist my hair up in a messy bun. Part of me wants to just explode and tell Jane every fucking thing, but I can’t. I can’t. And even mentioning the bits and pieces I can say feels like sharing a lie more than a half-truth. “Maybe later?” I tell her.

  She nods, understanding.

  Her understanding hurts more than it should. Jane gives me a consoling side-hug. “If it makes you feel any better, even if Akara doesn’t feel that way, I have a very strong suspicion that Banks does.”

  I dead-stop in place a few feet from the outdoor bathroom stalls. “Wait, are you saying you think Banks likes me?”

  “Oui,” she smiles brightly.

  I’m not caught off guard that she knows. Just… “You’d be okay with that? Him liking me? And me liking him?”

  Jane begins to frown. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “I don’t know…is it fucking strange for you?” I slip on my jean jacket that I tied around my waist. “Banks is Thatcher’s brother, and you’re marrying Thatcher.”

  “That wouldn’t bother me. You realize that your mom and Moffy’s mom are sisters and your dads are brothers too?” A pair of sisters married a pair of brothers.

  I smile more and elbow her hip. “You’re always reminding me of that.”

  “It’s easy to forget,” she says. “No one holds it against you, and if they do, I doubt they’re our friends in the first place.” She hooks her arm with mine, and we continue our stroll.

  For a bit, we chat about her upcoming bachelorette party and our siblings. But I still can’t get over how Jane is Team Banks.

  Like I’m Elena fucking Gilbert and there are teams in this love triangle.

  Oh God.

  It’s not like Jane has all the information. She literally thinks Akara has permanently friend-zoned me. In her mind, Team Akara doesn’t exist.

  When I find a good spot for cell reception near the “information center”—which really is just a corkboard with laminated fire-safety graphics and trail maps—Jane hugs me goodbye, letting me call my sister. But as she leaves and Banks comes closer, I wait to dial Winona’s number.

  He stuffs his hands into his blue cargo jacket. “You okay?”

  I want to nod, but I shake my head over and over. That’s all she is to me. “Maybe I’m too sensitive. I know he wasn’t trying to be cruel.”

  “You’re not too sensitive,” Banks reassures. “Akara knows he was an ass. He shouldn’t have said that. Even if it was a lie.”

  We draw closer. “But why am I taking it to heart if I know it’s a lie? I shouldn’t care.”

  “You care because you love him, Sulli.” Banks looks more torn up as he says those words. “Love hurts. It’s just a fuckin’ fact. ”

  My throat swells closed. “You’ve been in love before?”

  “Once.” He stares past me, just sweeping the morning campers who awake from their RVs.

  Why does that hurt—knowing he’s loved someone else before? I should be happy about his good experience, considering he’s had a bunch of terrible firsts. At least he fell in love once. I nod a few times, and as his gaze returns to me, we move in closer.

  He nods his head towards the corkboard. I follow him around the board, which conceals us from campers.

  And his arms instantly wrap around my shoulders. I cocoon myself in his cargo jacket and bury my face in his collar. When I felt hurt, why was my first instinct to run straight to him?

  I keep these questions to myself. Because I know their answers.

  I’m falling hard for Banks.

  He sways with me like we’re slow dancing.

  I smile at him. “I bet you were a total Casanova in high school. Three, four girlfriends that just fucking adored you.”

  “You’d be surprised.”

  “Ten girlfriends?”

  He laughs. “Wrong direction, mermaid.”

  “A high school sweetheart, then?”

  Banks shakes his head. “Just a whole lot of casual sex and no relationships.” He wears a crooked smile at a thought. “I’m about as good at dating as I am in a three-legged sack race.” He stares down at me. “Which is to say I fall flat on my fucking face. Akara is the one with relationship experience, if that’s what you’re looking for.”

  “No…I really hadn’t considered that as a factor in…” Choosing. I can’t even say the fucking word. “I guess what I’m trying to say is that it wouldn’t bother me either way. It’s not like I have any experience either.”

  Banks lets out a soft laugh. “Thanks, mermaid, but I’m twenty-nine. You have eight more years to run past where I am, and you’d think I’d learn to have a stable relationship before now. Something better than my parents had.”

  My brows bunch. “Are you worried of getting in a relationship like theirs?” I move closer to his chest as the wind picks up.

  He wraps his arms and jacket more around me. “I’d be a liar if I said I wasn’t. But I know I’m not like my dad, so I’m safe there.”

  I still don’t know too much about his dad. “How do you know you’re not like him?”

  “Because I’m a lot of things, but I’
m not selfish. And I’d never say to a twelve-year-old, what he said to me.”

  I’m about to ask him more, but my phone buzzes. “Sorry.”

  “Take it,” he encourages. “It’s probably your sister.”

  At mention of Winona, I touch the otter pendant at my neck. Once upon a time, I found four pendants in a zoo gift shop, and each one is supposed to represent my family. Over the years, we’ve passed them around, and I swapped with my sister recently.

  The otter is hers.

  I take out my phone and check the new text.

  Banks is right. Winona sent me a message.

  Sulli-Bear! Guess what I got Dad to do? He’s now officially going vegan :) Want to join with us? – Nona-Frog

  “What’s wrong?” Banks must see my fallen face.

  I pull back from him to show off the text. “My dad—the fucking meat lover—is going vegan for Winona. And I just killed a cougar barely a day ago.” I pause, nearly groaning. “I feel like shit.”

  Banks almost smiles. “You shouldn’t. Hasn’t your dad tried to go vegan plenty of times for Winona and failed?”

  That’s true.

  It’s not public fact, but Banks is a bodyguard. Bodyguards talk, even the ones who protect the Hales and Cobalts. So I’m not too surprised he knows about my dad’s short-stints in veganism.

  I could just call Winona to answer her question, but now that I’m faced with the chance, I waver. I’ve never had so many big things happen in my life that I can’t share with my little sister.

  From Banks and Akara to the cougar attack.

  Everyone in Yellowstone agreed that the cougar attack needs to be kept private among those on the trip, SFO, and trustworthy Luna. At least until we return home. Moffy and Jane said if we tell our parents, they’ll book the first flight to Montana, which will bring a fuck ton of paparazzi with them.

  Our parents are the true famous ones.

  And I can’t climb with the media hovering around. As much as I’d love for my parents to be out here with me, I’m not sure I should fly back into the nest this soon. It hasn’t been that long since we left Philly. I’ve barely been out here without them.