Page 49 of Wildest Dreams

I turned around. As soon as I saw his face, I choked on my saliva, coughing uncontrollably. “Oh my God.” My eyes roamed his face chaotically.

He had two black eyes, a fractured nose that appeared crooked and out of place, a split on his forehead, and a busted lip. He looked like he decided to wrestle a pack of bears.

“Did you get in a car accident? What the hell happened to you?”

“Your fiancé happened to me,” he sneered bitterly, yanking his locker open while pressing an ice pack to his upper cheek. “Don’t play innocent.”

“My wha—” Rhyland did this? But when? And why? And how come he hadn’t mentioned it?

He could have mentioned it.

Dark, toxic delight filled my veins, thick and sticky. It was wrong to take pleasure in what Rhyland had done, but that didn’t make me any less giddy. He’d hurt someone who hadhurt me, tenfold. And I had a feeling Rhyland, despite his many shortcomings, was loyal to a fault.

Tucker shook his head, tugging out his backpack and his jacket and tossing the ice pack into the locker. I watched him, unsure of what to say. It wasn’t my place to apologize. I hadn’t messed up his face. Plus, he kind of deserved it.

“Already told you your wrist was a mistake. You didn’t have to be such a baby about it,” Tucker groused.

“He noticed my wrist by himself. I didn’t tell him.” Why was I explaining myself to this prick?

“Yeah, well, he made a whole stink about it.”

“The fact that you left me for dead three years ago didn’t help, I’m sure,” I pointed out smartly.

Tucker fought an eye roll, seemingly eager to change the subject. “I told Rhyland I moved around after I left Maine.” He returned his attention to his locker, speaking with his back to me. He slipped his bomber jacket on, and then his JanSport. “I had a horrible fucking time, okay? I couldn’t go back to Staindrop because of Allison and her damn mess. Everybody judged me. I had to take random labor jobs everywhere I went. Australia. New Zealand. Japan. Working without a permit. I slept in hostels. My parents had to move to escape people’s prejudice. It’s not like I had fun.”

“Wow, I’m so sorry running away from your family was an inconvenience for you.” I put a hand to my chest and widened my eyes.

“That was always your issue, Dylan. You only think about yourself. Don’t care about anyone else’s misery,” he accused, his eyes narrowing into slits—or trying to through the swollen skin around them.

“Holy gaslighting, Batman.” I barked out a laugh. “You did not just make your Great Escape story about my selfishness.”

“I forgot how sarcastic you are.” He flattened his lips into a scowl. “Very unattractive.”

“Good.” I smiled brightly. “Only shit attracts flies.”

“I’m ready to see my daughter now.”

“Oh, it’s about your schedule, is it?” I couldn’t help but snap back. Kieran was right. I wasn’t ready to contemplate the idea of Tucker and Gravity in the same room. “I’ll let Gravity know. I’m sure she’ll understand why you were absent her”—I checked an imaginary watch—“entire fucking life.”

“I want to see my kid, Dylan.” He screwed a ball cap over his head, ducking his head down. It sounded like a threat, which I didn’t appreciate, but nothing about the words themselves seemed intimidating. It was his tone that didn’t sit right with me.

He pointed at me. “And tell your future husband to keep his distance, unless he wants to sit behind bars.”

The shift was long and busy but surprisingly rewarding. It felt good, doing something that extended beyond being a mother. My outfit proved to be a success in the tips department, but there were so many eyes on my ass I was half tempted to check if it had made it to Page Six’s blockbuster list.

When the clock hit midnight and I slid out of the bar, I got a phone call. Rhyland’s name stared back at me. I gulped in a breath and answered.

“What happened? Is she okay?”

“Jesus, relax.” He sounded tired and annoyed and fed up with our arrangement. We were only a few days in. “Your kid is fast asleep.” He didn’t call her by her name—still refused to fully accept that she was human—but at least he’d stopped referringher as “the child.” “I just knew you got off at midnight and wanted you to have someone to talk to on your way home.”

I deflated now I knew my child was okay. “It is literally six minutes away,” I protested.

“New York is unsafe.”

“Thanks to people like you,” I spluttered, trying to ignore the distinct feeling my heart was melting down into gooey, warm butter, settling between my legs, making me wet. Attentive Rhyland was a total panty dropper. “I saw Tucker’s face.”

“My condolences,” he drawled.

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