Page 166 of One Wild Wish

Cameron wiped a spot on the bar, then replenished a bowl of pretzels, sneaking glances my way. I readied myself for prying questions, but he said, “You heard from Emmett recently?”

Maybe I wasn’t the one who needed to talk. “Barely. When I text him, I get a curt reply. Went by tonight but no one answered.”

“So it’s not just me…” He spoke softly, as though to himself.

It activated my Brother the Manwhore Radar. “You ignored my advice, didn’t you?”

He kept rubbing the same spot. “It had been a while since I’d dated. I thought having some fun would do me good.”

“But you got in too deep?”

He scoped the bar, letting his gaze drag over the half-full tables. “Guilty.”

One word filled with regret.

I hated my brother sometimes. “Don’t take it personally. Emmett’s only interested in casual.”

Cameron gripped his cloth, his confusion and hurt plain as day. “That’s just it—it wasn’t casual. It was only, like, six weeks, and yeah, it was fun at first, but things got intense fast. The way I felt about…feel about him—I’ve never had that before. And he was right there with me. I’m sure of it. Then he disappeared. Slipped out of bed one night while I was sleeping. No goodbye. No note. He won’t return any texts or calls.” He rolled out his shoulders. “Is that normal for him? When you warned me not to date him, is that what you meant?”

Definitely not normal. “Emmett’s flings usually last a month or so, but he’s always made sure his partners are on the same page, and he’s clear about where they stand when things end.” Slipping out in the middle of the night was definitely not his MO. It meant something was up, and my frustration with him morphed into worry.

“That’s what I thought.” Cameron’s forehead compressed, deep furrows framing his pained eyes. “I think he’s freaking out. Just not sure how to help him.”

If the tortured look on Cameron’s face was any indication, my brother may be falling in love. It also meant Emmett was probably spiraling, unsure how to deal with that kind of emotion. “I’ll talk with him. See what I can find out.”

“Thanks, man.” He nodded a bunch. “Thanks a lot.”

He retreated to work the bar, and I focused on my drink, on Emmett and me and all we’d endured. Our mother’s abandonment had left its mark on us, all right. He was terrified of gaining affection, only to risk losing it. My damaged pendulum swung the other way. I craved permanence. I let my marriage linger years too long, afraid to be afloat. Now I had Ainsley. I was sure she was different. We were different. But if things changed, if she didn’t want kids or we fell apart the way couples sometimes did, unable to find their way back, I wouldn’t let it fester this time. I’d honor myself, not settle.

Emmett needed to learn how to hold onto the special people in his life, a lesson I’d have to drill into him, and I needed to remember how to let go.

If my instincts were right, though, I wouldn’t be letting Ainsley loose anytime soon. Already, I regretted putting her off tonight. I could pull up her name on my phone, type I love you , and hit Send. Finally release the words I’d been holding hostage. Drive to her house and growl them as I came all over her creamy skin.

I’d loved marking her with my come. The act had felt intimate, in an odd way. Dirty yet binding. But there was no point texting or showing up at her place tonight. I’d let my day settle. See her tomorrow. And the next day. And the next. Finalize my divorce. Maybe get married again…one day. Relaxing for the first time in hours, I finished my Scotch.

20

Thirteen letters for the machine that pumps wastewater from beneath the main drain.

Or when you’re forced to evict your piece-of-shit boyfriend from your life.

S E W A G E E J E C T O R

Ainsley

Yawning, I rolled over in bed, blindly reaching beside me, a sleepy smile on my face. My happy haze vanished when I came into contact with empty sheets, not a construction hunk stealing my covers. Pouting, I pulled my pillow over my face.

It was wild how quickly I’d gotten used to our sleepovers and the weight of him against me—an arm tossed over my middle, his calf pinning mine. I’d also missed him terribly last night, drowning my sorrows in Aazam’s decadent chocolate bark.

Until I’d gotten Owen’s good news: the divorce. Over. The papers soon to be signed. It meant he could pursue his woodworking in earnest and eject that bitch from his life, and I could stop worrying about the cheating scandal that never happened.

Pumped to start my day and celebrate with him, I tossed my pillow onto the floor and pushed my tangle of hair from my face. My sights landed on my piece of blue glass. I’d left it beside my alarm clock so I could see it every day. Sun beamed through my window, a ray hitting the glass just so, turning it from powder blue to turquoise. Like my eyes, Owen had said.

A glow burned inside me as I stared at it, all our lunch dates and kissing and sharing and dancing collecting into a bright spot under my breastbone until the truth of my feelings burned clear. I loved Owen Phillips. I loved him so much it threatened to crack me open from the pure joy of it.

I squealed like I was sixteen and flopped on the bed, grabbing the blue glass and spinning it through my fingers. I should make a necklace out of it, have a jeweler fasten something special. Owen would love it, and I could always have it close, just like him. Maybe take a few more shards, add some detail.

Practically floating, I rolled over and grabbed my phone to text him. I forgot my favorite mascara at your place. Can I come by to steal it?