Best Worst Mistake

by Lia Riley

  “That right there is the town history,” Grandma Kane said. “You like to read? You should give it a try. The pages are riddled with the exploits of Higsbys, half-­baked ideas, inventions. Did you know your great-­aunt Helen tried to sell a baby mop?”

  Quinn wasn’t sure if she should be amused or horrified, so she settled somewhere in between. “Excuse me?”

  “A baby mop. It was a mop head but instead of a stick, a crawling baby was attached to it. She thought she’d put her children to good use. Considering she had enough of them, you could almost not blame her. Higsbys are a fertile lot, after all.” Grandma gave her an appraising stare. “And you have the family’s birthing hips.”

  “I’m not sure if I ever want to have kids.” Quinn willed her voice to stay steady. It wasn’t that she didn’t love kids. She did, at least most kids, unless they ate their boogers or threw fits on an airplane. Still, if she carried the early-­onset gene, she couldn’t reproduce. No way would she saddle another person with a fifty-­fifty future like the one she faced.

  “No children?” Grandma’s frown deepened, her eyes narrowing into suspicious slits. “But what about keeping the family alive, growing the herd?”

  “Leave her alone,” Wilder said, carrying two mugs of tea. He set one next to Grandma and carried the other over to Quinn.

  Grandma made a tsk sound. “Use a—­”

  “Coaster. I know. You only told me that for as long as I lived here,” Wilder muttered as he set the cup down.

  Grandma Kane crossed her arms and stared at her grandson. “I told you a lot of things but never saw it do much good.”

  Wilder walked over, grabbed a log, and threw it onto the fire with more force than the situation called for.

  Quinn watched both their faces. Wilder was hurt, masking it with anger, whereas Grandma Kane was like a junkyard dog who’d caught a pant leg and was physically incapable of letting go.

  “You want to pick on somebody, pick on me,” Wilder said. “How about a game of chess?”

  “It’s getting close to my bedtime. Aren’t you supposed to make sure I’m tucked in at a sensible time?”

  Wilder dug out the chessboard from under the coffee table. “Save your smarts for the game—­you’re going to need them.”

  The two of them engaged in serious trash talking. The dynamic was impossible to figure out. A tug of war was going on, a power play. One Quinn didn’t understand and was glad she didn’t have to get involved in.

  Instead, she cozied onto the couch with Brightwater’s history. She’d never really devoted much brain space to wondering about the town’s past or the fact that her family really did tend to have a lot of kids. More than the Kanes if that was possible.

  She flipped around, pausing at a strangely titled chapter. “The Curious Case of the Castle Falls Phantom.”

  She read through the short entry, her stomach in knots. Déjà vu wasn’t a feeling that she had much experience with, but there’d been a Castle Falls hermit before Wilder?

  Why? And what happened to him? Quinn tried to lose herself in the story, but her thoughts kept drifting to Wilder.

  He was stuck in the past while she fixated on the future. Was there a way they could both figure out how to live in the present?

  Chapter Fourteen

  GRANDMA BEAT WILDER, best two out of three games. He played hard but she was wily, didn’t miss a trick. Never had. She always was one step ahead of him. It used to scare him how she seemed to understand what he’d do before he did.

  She’d gone to bed smug in her victory before Archer and Edie returned, tired and a little rattled.

  “The fire started inside the kitchen,” Edie said, taking a spot next to Quinn. “Luckily the damage was minimal. I’ll have to replace some appliances but it could have been worse. A lot worse.”

  “Was it set on purpose?”

  Edie bowed her head, a troubled look crossing her refined features. “The only person with a real axe to grind against me is my ex and he’s in jail now. Unless he somehow got out and . . .”

  “He didn’t get out, Freckles.” Archer had walked behind the couch and began kneading her shoulders.

  “My guess is that this wasn’t about you at all,” Wilder said.

  “I’m exhausted on a cellular level.” Edie stretched. “So tired even getting a back rub feels like work. Thanks for helping out at the last minute. Did Grandma keep you on your toes?”

  “She’s a tough old bird,” Archer said. “I’m glad you spent some time together, although I wish it were under better circumstances.”

  When Wilder got Quinn out to the car, he paused. “Grandma is a tough old bird. Sorry about what she said, about you having kids.”

  “It’s fine.”

  “Not really. She hurt you.”

  ­“People accidentally hurt each other all the time.”

  “Still doesn’t make it right. You can bear more than most ­people. But that doesn’t mean it’s okay or that you should have to. When is the last time anyone took care of you?”

  “I . . .”

  “Do you trust me?”

  “I—­yeah I do, so help me.”

  “I want to take you someplace special. It’s near my house.”

  “Now you’ve gone and gotten me all intrigued.”

  He turned on the radio and “Little Drummer Boy” was playing.

  “This is my favorite Christmas song,” they both said at the same time.

  “For real?” Quinn said, surprised. “Why do you love it?”

  Wilder was quiet for so long she wondered if maybe he’d never answer. “Guess I like how the little boy played his best, and everyone stood there, watching, waiting. He stepped up to the challenge.”

  Quinn tried and failed to swallow the lump in her throat. “You know you’re the same way, right?”

  “Trouble, I’ve pretended that for a long time, but now I know better. I’ve been running scared for years.”

  “Your accident changed so much about your life. But look how well you are doing. Honestly, you should be proud.”

  “There is so much I’m not proud of.”

  “Everyone makes mistakes sometimes. Did you know part of the reason why I moved here is because I got fired. I thought my boss was being friendly, inviting me inside his house in Laurel Canyon after his big premiere. He was in his late fifties—­it never even occurred to me that he might think of me in that way.” She took off her glasses and polished the lenses. “He said that I’d been doing a great job, that he wanted to thank me. I was picturing a glass of wine before driving back to my apartment. I mean, he had daughters my age. Instead, he wanted to show his appreciation in a different way.”

  “He fucking touched you?” Wilder gripped the wheel so hard she was afraid it would rip off.

  “He wanted to, tried even. But instead, I touched him. In the nose. With my fist.”

  He rumbled his approval. “Good girl.”

  “His cries woke his wife up. I’m so stupidly naïve. I thought that she would jump to my defense. It wasn’t her fault she married a creep. Instead, she called me a . . . how did she put it again?” Quinn tapped the side of her chin. “Ah, yes, ‘a home-­wrecking whore,’ I believe was the phrase. She was more worried that he’d have facial bruising for his big advertising shoot the next day than the fact that he tried to tune in Tokyo with my boobs. This was right after my dad started going downhill fast, and it seemed like the universe was telling me in a very non-­subtle way that I needed to get to Brightwater.”

  “I’m sorry that happened to you. But I’m not sorry you’re here.” He cracked his neck, the pop audible over the music. “Which is a shitty and selfish thing to say.”

  “No. No, it’s not. I’m glad I’m here too. Don’t get me wrong, there are a lot of fun aspects to working in Hollywood, but the thing is, eventually e
verything feels superficial, plastic. I would have had to get away eventually. The only reason I moved there was because my mom’s sixth husband got me a job right out of college. I figured my public relations résumé would look better if I had A-­list cred. But the thing I learned was that I didn’t even really like PR. I don’t enjoy spin.”

  “You wouldn’t. You are one of the least bullshit ­people I know.”

  “I’m working at A Novel Experience and trying to figure out what I want to do with my life. I’ll know more in two weeks. After the test results come in.”

  “Will the results change your plans?”

  “They must. I’m living with an axe over my head.” She mimed a chopping action.

  “What if . . . what if . . .” He sounded like he was choking on the words.

  “The test is positive?” She let out a long, slow breath. “I still want to be there for Dad, but I’ll need to make a bucket list. Except I guess it should be called the Loose Marbles List.”

  “Don’t joke,” he snapped. “Not about this.”

  “It’s like whistling in the dark.” Her smile held no humor. “If I can’t laugh while facing terrible things then I don’t have any weapons at all. If I can look at the worst and still find a way to smile, maybe I’m keeping some of the power for myself. Maybe the bad guys don’t get a chance to win everything. Except the bad guy in this scenario is still me.” She gave her forehead a rueful tap. “Or at least my asshole brain.”

  He balled his hand into a fist and knocked the side of his leg. “Don’t talk like that.”

  “Fine, but it’s still true.”

  He turned down Castle Lane and then, just before his driveway, made a quick right onto an unmarked road that Quinn hadn’t noticed. “My mom used to take me here. I was the oldest so I used to get picked by her when she went collecting.”

  “Collecting?”

  “She was into dried flowers as a hobby, would make botanical plates, or put them in homemade soap or do bookmarks for Christmas and birthdays. I was her assistant. Sawyer and Archer would stay home. Dad would take them on a horse or throw the ball around with them. She said she liked us having special time. It wasn’t like I was her favorite or anything. She had a thing she liked to do with each of us.”

  “She sounds really wonderful.”

  “She was.” He turned off the engine. “I’ve come back here since but never gone in. Never felt right, until now.”

  “Gone in?”

  “You’ll see.” He got out, walked around, and opened her door, taking her hand. “The snow looks like it’s a little deep in places but we should see fine with the moon this full.”

  “What about you and walking?”

  He arched a thick brow. “I’ll lean on you if I have to.”

  She smiled. “That’s good, I’d like that.”

  Their boots crunched the snow. Up ahead a cluster of dark shapes appeared in a circle. Deer.

  “What are they doing?” she asked, watching as they stood in a circle, heads down, pawing at the snow.

  “I leave them cracked corn,” Wilder said. “Helps them during the winter. I’ve never told anyone about this place. I guess ­people know, but I like to think it’s mine.” He helped her over a fallen log and the river became louder. “Here we are, Obsidian Hot Springs.”

  “Hot springs?” The clearing was small, canopied by wide branches, heavily laden with a thick dusting of snow. In the river’s eddy was a small pool ringed by large stones stacked into a curving wall. By rights the water temperature should be freezing, but visible steam wafted up into the dark. “You want to skinny dip?” She glanced around nervously.

  “No one else is going to come here tonight.”

  “I’ve never done this before.”

  “It’s simple.” He stepped forward, grinding down her jacket’s zipper. “You. Me. Nothing else.”

  “I’m nervous.”

  “I’ve seen you naked before.”

  “I know it’s stupid.”

  “No, I get it. It’s different to get naked in front of someone not in the heat of the moment. I’m nervous too. Nervous you’ll look at my body and laugh.”

  “Just as an FYI, laughing isn’t the first thing that comes to my mind when I see you naked.”

  He kissed her then, soft, slow, nothing urgent. He kissed her like they had time, as if they were two lovers who had a future in front of them.

  “This isn’t just sex between us,” she breathed into his mouth.

  “Not on your life.” He peeled back her jacket and hung it off a nearby branch. “I’ve done the no-­strings sex thing. That’s all I’ve ever done.”

  “You’ve never had a girlfriend?”

  “I’ve hidden myself, my heart.” He kept undressing her. “Hidden from anyone who might expose me for what I am. Not a badass but just another guy who doesn’t have all the answers. It’s easier to be feared.”

  She was in her bra and panties when he helped her to the edge, hooked his thumb in her silk and lace, and eased it down. “But that’s all I feel like we do to each other, expose everything.”

  “Yeah. Crazy as it sounds there’s something inside of me that didn’t exist before I met you.” He offered her a hand, eased her into the water until it pooled around her thighs in a sultry caress. “Or if it did, I ignored it.”

  “Which is?”

  “Now is the time to do what we want. Now is the time to live. Now is our time.”

  His next kiss wasn’t gentle. With every plunge and stroke of his hot tongue he showed her what he meant by being in the present.

  “Come here,” she said.

  “Why do you want me?”

  “Maybe because you’re broken on the outside and it matches my insides? Or maybe because I’ve discovered that I like my men dark and broody with a little bit of scowl that hides how inside they are nothing but a marshmallow.”

  “Marshmallow? The hell you say.”

  She sank into the water, wanting to applaud when his shirt came off. She could stare at him all night. His beautiful build. That mouth, the full lower lip in particular. She wanted to bite it, suck it into her mouth while digging her fingers into his skin. Pull him close until he pushed his way in, greedy and relentless, taking from her but also taking her to a place where she didn’t feel alone. That’s what he did. Stomped in and all that niggling fear and uncertainty and regret flew away, burned off by his passion, his consuming self.

  He bent to deal with his leg and the moon’s glow shined over his strong shoulders, the narrow taper of his waist, the hard bulge of his biceps.

  He squatted, balancing on his hands, easing himself into the water. “You were staring.”

  “Yes, sir, I certainly was.”

  “You say the leg doesn’t bother you but . . .”

  She slid toward him. “Because it’s hard to notice when everything else about you is so overwhelming. The crazy part is that you aren’t even my type.”

  “Really.”

  “Big, tough with a touch of mean. Yeah, no. I should stay away.”

  “But you keep coming closer.” He made a deep, rumbling sound in the back of his throat when she took him in hand, tugged his length from root to tip, the mineral content of the water working to ease the friction.

  “You’re a mistake.” Her other hand skimmed his thigh to cup his balls, thick and heavy in her hand. “The worst kind or the best, I can’t make up my mind.”

  He lifted her up, set her on his right thigh, pushing her a little to indicate that she needed to start moving.

  She ground against him, increasing her strokes, her clit rubbed in tight strokes, drawing back her hood, reaching the bud of hot nerves.

  He settled his lips against her forehead. “You like it hard.”

  It wasn’t a question.

  “Yes. So much.
” Her body grew increasingly feral, as if outside here beneath the late-­autumn moon she finally felt in her body. Not gangly. Not the girl next door. But someone who was going crazy, hot and stripped bare of everything but need.

  “Can that sweet mouth play dirty?” He lightly bit her shoulder, his teeth softly scraping her sensitive skin, mouth hot in contrast to the cold night air. He braced himself, shifting her weight to get more comfortable. “Come on, Trouble, let’s see what you’ve got.”

  “Okay. Okay. You asked for it.” She braced his face between her hands, tangling her fingers in his hair, loving the rough graze of his stubble over her palms. “I want to suck you down to the back of my throat, until you’re giving me everything and I take it. I take it all.”

  He moaned. “Jesus.”

  Her hair fell in her face and she realized dimly it was starting to snow. Little flakes were hitting the hot water and melting. She was the snow. He was the heat. She wanted to melt all over him. But she wouldn’t take him in her mouth—­not yet—­she had other plans for him tonight. She shifted and he was there. Right there.

  “What are you doing?”

  “What I need. What you need.”

  “But we’re in the water, we don’t have . . .”

  “Wilder.” God, even saying his name did things to her. Some men had a name that was meant to be screamed. He wasn’t a Philip. Or a Reggie. Or a Jimmy. No, you moan Wilder. You groan it with every last bit of sanity left to you.

  “Wilder. I want to do this. I want you inside me. Do I have permission to come aboard, sir?”

  “Aye, aye,” he ground out, tugging her down. She slid until there was no more room. Until she was full and he was deep.

  “You feel that?”

  “So much that I almost can’t stand it.”

  “Why is it so good, so hard to bear?”

  “Don’t know, Trouble.” He stroked the side of her neck, tracing her clavicle, his voice gruffly tender. “But let’s see how much we can take.”

  She braced her knees on either side of his hips, his ass firmly set against the hot spring’s sand. Wind trembled the trees’ overhanging branches while just beyond the pool, the water raced, not paying them any attention, and they stayed in their own little eddy, lost and churning against each other.