WYLDER

by Kristina Weaver

  “I’m staying. We have a lot to talk about still, and besides, I don’t want to leave.”

  Typical. Lyon never does what others tell him and invariably always gets his way. I’d be annoyed, but the truth is that I don’t want to be alone, and if we’re to be friends, I guess we have to start somewhere.

  “You’re out while I give her a sponge bath and redo the bed,” the nurse warns.

  Lyon holds up his hands in surrender, and after a kiss to my cheek, promises to be just outside the door. I’m a modest girl who swims with shorts over my bathing suit, but I can’t find a modest bone in me when she strips me and starts cleaning my grimy skin.

  Her cluck when she notices a ripped stitch—thanks, Meek—is lost in my groans of thanks when she cleans me all over and removes the catheter—ouchie— before helping me over a bowl and washing my hair.

  It takes over an hour, but when she leaves and Lyon stalks back in, I am clean, powdered, and my hair smells like flowers.

  “Feel better?”

  “Loads.”

  “Good,” he says, taking the seat beside me just as the door opens and the nurse pops back in with a tray.

  I am not impressed with the massive cup of chicken broth and the two crackers to go with it, but I subside and stop demanding a cheese burger when Lyon growls at me.

  It’s not terrible, actually tastes really good once my stomach gets with it and snarls its thanks. I still want a burger and fries, and God, those chili cheese fries and beignets sound soooo good.

  “Remember our first date?” Lyon asks, making me blink in surprise that we’re thinking the same thing.

  Lord, this is so weird.

  “Yeah. You made me eat so much my stomach ached all night,” I laugh, my mouth watering all over again because it did hurt. In a good way.

  “Yeah right. You attacked those beignets like an animal, Lay, so stop telling that story all wrong.”

  “A gentleman wouldn’t point that out, Lyon.”

  “That’s okay, then, because I’m not a gentleman.” He smirks.

  That is a lie. Lyon is the most honorable, gentle guy I know. He opens doors, pulls out chairs, and pretended not to notice that time I was sick and farted by accident. I thought I was going to die of embarrassment, but he just ignored it and didn’t laugh, not once.

  “Huh. You are so a gentleman. Look at the way you keep avoiding the way my hair looks.”

  It may be clean, but it’s a rat’s nest of snarls that I wouldn’t let the nurse comb out because she’s Attila with that comb.

  Lyon grins, and before I know it, he’s shifted me forward and running the comb through my hair gently. He used to do this a lot because I had the nasty habit of only doing a quick yank-through when I was in a hurry, and he said he feared I’d be bald at that rate.

  It was the little things he did that made us so good together, and it gives me a sharp stab of pain just recalling how great we were before it all went so wrong.

  Friends, Leila. Friends.

  “Thank you,” I whisper when he’s all done and I feel all the way human again.

  “No sweat, Lay. Now, we talk.”

  Agh, I don’t want to talk. Why can’t we just sit together for a while in silence and just enjoy the company? Because even when we were together, we were never silent. It was all talking or sex, or him taking me places or me running around at a frantic pace.

  The only time we didn’t go at breakneck speed was when I was sick and then only because I was sleeping all the time. Now…it’s just awkward, and I hate that.

  “Lyon, don’t, please.”

  “Don’t what? Say all the things I have wanted to say for eight years? Lay—”

  “It doesn’t matter anymore. None of it matters. It was a long time ago, Lyon, and we’ve both moved on from college. I’m with someone now, and you’re…it’s just too late to say things that don’t matter, and you know what, I don’t need to hear anything. We can be friends, and I would really like to have you and Hawk and Lynx back in my life because I missed…the friendship,” I say lamely, avoiding his searching eyes.

  “Friends?”

  “It’s all we can have, so don’t you dare look at me that way. I have a boyfriend, and I…love him. I won’t hurt him, and I won’t hurt you either. Whatever you’re thinking, you need to stop, because that is all done,” I say with a hardness I don’t feel.

  Lyon grimaces and looks away at the cold hard truth of my words. It would be so easy to look at him and be swept away by the memories, try to recapture what we had, but the truth is that I am not that Leila anymore.

  I’ve been alone too long with only Meek as my sidekick, and it’s only really in this past year that I took a look at my life and decided to stop waiting for something that wasn’t going to happen.

  I have truly moved on now, and I won’t look back again. It’s forward only, and if Lyon is going to be in the picture, we will both have to look at the way things are and forge something different.

  “I know. And I don’t deserve a second chance. I’m happy if you’re happy, Lay. That’s all that matters to me. We didn’t end right, and under the circumstances, I don’t know that we could have made it. I was in a really bad place back then, and I wasn’t—but I always treasured your friendship, and if that’s all I can have, then I’ll be grateful and take it.”

  His softly spoken words are kind and right and just what I need to hear, and yet they’re not. I must be a total nutter, probably insane here where I’m sitting, but I’m disappointed because I wanted so badly, so badly in this tiny corner of my mind to hear him say no.

  I wanted that old Lyon, the one who tracked me down and laughed unrepentantly at my shock when I opened the door and saw him there despite giving him a bad number and no way to find me.

  That Lyon was brazen and uncaring of obstacles, never willing to accept the word no unless I really, really meant it, and even then, it was only ever in relation to my well-being, he was this stubborn.

  It’s painful to see that some of the fire I once loved so much is gone, replaced by this older version who is mature and looks so lonely.

  But it’s for the best. I know this, so instead of crying, I take his hand and squeeze, the contact a comfort when all I really want to do is throw myself at him and tell him he can have whatever he wants as long as he’s with me.

  Because as dangerous as he is to my heart, he’s always made me feel safe and protected.

  “I’m so glad you’re here, Lyon.”

  “Me too, Lay. Me too. Wouldn’t be anywhere else.”

  Chapter Eight

  Leila

  “You sure you’re okay, sweetie?”

  I refrain from rolling my eyes at Rory and nod once, breathing in deeply through the fatigue and slight twinge I still feel whenever I move around and the still-healing scar tissue pulls around my lower belly.

  I have this gross pink line on my stomach that will never quite fade to nothing no matter how long it takes, but that’s okay, as long as the damn thing heals quickly.

  I’ve been out and about for three weeks, and the stitches are long gone. I’m still not allowed to participate in strenuous activity for another few weeks, not until the stitches inside dissolve, which according to Lori will only happen when muscles knit properly. Ew.

  It freaks me out, so I’ve been taking things slow, but Rory isn’t that sensitive, it seems, because the moment he came back from his conference—which, by the way, he didn’t tell me about!—he’s been pushing me to get out.

  He says he just wants me to have fresh air and sunshine, but I think he’s a little freaked out about Lyon being around and doesn’t feel secure enough to let me stay at home and have visitors.

  So, now we’re sitting in the drizzle, watching a football game that stars his little brother as the leading man. Quarterback my ass, I snort, watching the little shit fumble the ball for the fourth time in the same freaking quarter.

  I’ve been secretly cheering for the opposing side
since Rory called a play that was so obviously not right. Honestly, I don’t hate football, but when people start lying outright because their team is losing, it just doesn’t feel right to me.

  So, here I am, and I am not only tired, sore and freezing, I’m annoyed because Rory keeps shifting the umbrella he swore he’d hold over me a little closer to his own head and I’m getting wet.

  The Wylder men would not only not make me come watch a football game while I’m recovering but if it was something I insisted on, they’d stand in gale force rain and make sure not a droplet touched me.

  The left side of me is soaked, and no matter how close I shift to Rory, the fucking umbrella keeps shifting. Bastard. Plus, I’ve told him twice that I should probably get home because my wound feels weird.

  Twice. And miraculously he just doesn’t seem to hear me. What has happened to my sweet, attentive, slightly boring boyfriend is beyond me. In fact, this is the first time he’s insisted I go to one of the hallowed games, because, and looking to the side I shudder when I see a glare, his mother does not like me.

  At all. So, yeah, just chilling, literally and painfully, having eyeballs drill holes in my skull while I try to tell my boyfriend I don’t feel good.

  “Rory?”

  He doesn’t hear me and leaps up to cheer at something, the crowd going so wild around us someone shoves me, and I lurch forward, hitting the chair in front of me with a muffled scream of pain.

  Oh God, God, let me die, I beg when it hits, my knees hitting the floor with a bang. The crush is not easy either, because no sooner do I take a pained breath and try to push up than the fat asshole beside me starts hopping and almost steps on me.

  “Fucking move!”

  I hear the snarl and look up just in time to see Hawk literally tossing people like dead rats while Lyon lunges forward, shoves Rory, and grabs me up, his face so hard I swallow on a gulp.

  “Hey, man! That’s my girlfriend. I’ll help her.”

  Oh, Rory, Rory, Rory, I think sadly, watching Hawk’s face go homicidal while Lyon snarls a curse.

  “Oh, yeah, asshole? Then tell me why I’ve watched you ignore her for the last five fucking minutes while you hogged the umbrella and let her get wet. Then you can tell me exactly what the hell you’re thinking, bringing her to a football game when she’s got a healing wound and she looks dead on her feet!” Lyon shouts, pulling me close just as Hawk lays a towel over me and rips the umbrella from Rory’s hand.

  I’m out of the rain so fast I want to grin because, see, I just knew it.

  “She said she was okay.”

  “Uh—”

  He cuts me off before I can protest that lie and shoves a finger at Hawk. Okay, now, that’s just lunacy.

  “Mind your own business. She needs to get out, not sit around in her shitty house and vegetate.”

  My gasp is all offended pride because I do not vegetate; I rest in a completely dignified manner. Vegetate. Dick. And my house is not shitty. It’s…picturesque.

  Hawk smiles, oh no, and grabs that finger with a grunt, twisting hard enough that even I wince.

  “Don’t play with me, boy. I don’t fight pretty like you pansies do.”

  “Leila!”

  “Don’t look at her, asshole. Look at me.”

  Er, everyone is looking, I think, blushing because even the game has come to a halt and we’re being watched like bugs under a microscope. We’re causing a scene, and it hits me belatedly that I am in the arms of my ex while his brother is trying to break my boyfriend’s finger.

  “Lyon—”

  “Hush, Lay. We’ll talk just as soon as Hawk breaks his face and I can get you to the truck. Come on, Hawk. It’s freezing, man. Just give him one jab.”

  “Don’t!” I yell when Rory yelps, and Hawk releases him with a huff. “Rory, I’m going to go home and—”

  “I’ll take you.”

  “You’ll die trying. You’ve already ignored her once, hero. Let’s not overstretch your capabilities by giving you another chance. Now move.”

  I can’t hear what Rory yells after that because Lyon practically leaps from the bleachers and runs for the truck when the drizzle comes down harder.

  I should protest and stick up for Rory or something. I don’t know, but when he lowers me into the truck and the heat enfolds me, all I can do is moan and snuggle into the seat.

  I’m sore, really sore, wet, and so tired when I stop shivering all I want to do is sleep.

  “Dammit, Leila.”

  “Don’t yell at me, Lyon. I’ve got a headache.”

  “But you—”

  “And I am not impressed with your intimidation tactics either, so don’t even start. How could you guys do that? Rory is my—”

  “He’s an ass. He made you go to a game out in the rain in your condition because he’s got a bug up his ass about me visiting you. Admit it. Then you can also admit that you’re not at all annoyed because your spoilt ass is inside the warm truck and you’re not cold anymore.”

  I shut my mouth on a rebuke and give a shrug because he’s right. I’ve already been down the road that tells of my hatred of anything less than warm. I hate getting cold. It hurts me.

  Besides, I do have a headache, and I don’t want to argue. I’ll deal with Rory tomorrow and smooth things over.

  “How did you find me?” I ask tiredly, shivering because my wet sleeve isn’t drying even with the heater blasting at me, and it’s sticking to my skin.

  “Mika called when she got to your place and you weren’t there. What were you thinking, going out in this weather?”

  Nothing. I wasn’t thinking, because Rory wouldn’t take no for an answer, and I felt guilty because not only have I told him that sex is out—using my wound as an excuse—but I flinch when he touches me.

  I know why, but what I can’t explain is the way I don’t when Lyon or his brothers try to hug me. I guess it could be because I know they’re not trying to feel me up.

  Rory understands the no sex thing, is even a little afraid of ripping something, but let me say, and this is not something I really want to think about, he was very insinuating about a blow job last night.

  I escaped that by falling asleep with little to no guilt, because, come on, how selfish can a guy be? I understand though, and Lyon is completely right. Rory is feeling the squeeze and trying to re-establish a bond with me the only way he knows how.

  “I was sick of sitting at home.”

  “Liar.”

  “Lyon, stop yelling at me.”

  “Fine, but I will seriously lose it if you do anything this stupid again. You’re not healed yet, Lay. You could rip stuff inside, and then you’d have to go in again. You want them cutting on you again?”

  Hell no. Not after that doctor arrived and checked me over. I tried to protest because having your current doctor watch while another guy gives a second opinion on his work was just awkward.

  But I do agree with the guy. My scar was unnecessary under the circumstances and so is the lengthy healing period I have to endure as a result.

  Keyhole, people! Why couldn’t they just do that?

  “No,” I mumble under my breath.

  “Good. Now, Mom’s waiting for us, and don’t argue. You need some hot food and rest. She’s got a bedroom all made up for you, and Lori’s dying to see you again.”

  I snort because not a day has gone by in the last weeks that they don’t show up at my house. I spent two hours poring over swatches with Danny yesterday and another laughing while Lori told me stripper stories from the days she used to ‘ride the pole,’ as she puts it.

  You know, I love that she was a stripper. Not that I love that she was…I just love that she did that and feels no shame for doing what she had to, to live.

  I myself would have done that after I stopped working for Wylder Construction, but thankfully, Mom and Dad finally pulled their heads out of their asses and realized I was starving.

  My point is that I see them all every day, especially Lyon,
who’s on leave from his job for some reason. We get to the Wylders’ mansion in minutes and I totally don’t complain, because Rain takes one look at me and whisks me upstairs to change into fleecy sweats and thick socks.

  She then settles me on the couch downstairs and feeds me a plate of fried shrimp and a huge slice of chocolate cake so rich it’s black in color. Pampered. I feel pampered, and it is good.

  Even Mika hangs out here sometimes, when Hawk isn’t around because, for some reason, they just don’t get along.

  “That’s better. Now you can take your pain pills.”

  Her tone is no-nonsense, so I don’t argue, just swallow and lean back with a moan of satiation.

  “What do you want to watch?” Lyon asks, falling into the seat at my feet and hoisting them onto his lap.

  “Anything but reality shows.”

  He settles on Castaway, and we fall silent as we watch Tom Hanks make nice with a volleyball while growing a beard that is oddly sexy. When it’s done, I’m practically asleep and just going under when I feel myself lifted against his chest. Hmm, smells good.

  I want to protest and tell him I can walk, but heck, I’m lazy, and it feels nice to be looked after sometimes. We’re friends, after all, and he’s proven that we are by giving me space and also being there.

  It sounds like a contradiction, but it’s true. He comes over, and we laugh and talk with Hawk, and then he leaves, and I don’t have to worry about him thinking things that will make things hard for me.

  He’s seen me with Rory, and he’s been cool. Hell, I didn’t even realize how much he doesn’t like him until today. I feel a cool pillow moments later and drift off just after he covers me and lays a soft kiss to my cheek.

  “Sweet dreams, Lay.”

  They are sweet too. I dream of him, of the past, and also what we’ll have in the future. Friends. Hhhmm, I like that.

  Sometime later, probably a while later because I’m no longer cold at all and I’m foggy with sleep, I feel the bed dip and a hard chest surround my back.