Page 41 of Jilted

“Fine. But I need to get dressed.”

At least the shirt I’d answered the door in tonight was longer than the one I’d greeted him with the other morning. But I still needed to put on jeans and shoes. Wilder let the door shut behind him and stood just on the other side of it while I got ready.

Neither of us said a word as we walked through the hotel and took a set of stairs built into the bluff down to the beach. It was a beautiful night with a warm breeze and twinkling stars, and the rhythmic sound of the ocean hitting the shoreline tried its best to lull me into relaxing.

“You looked really beautiful tonight,” Wilder finally said.

“Thanks.”

“Green is your color.”

I smiled, and Wilder made small talk about the wedding as we walked side by side along the water’s edge. When it seemed he’d run out of ways to fill the space, he stopped.

“Wanna sit?”

I shrugged. “Whatever.”

He took off his tuxedo jacket and laid it on the sand, gesturing for me to sit before bending and taking the spot next to it. He looked out at the ocean for a long time before speaking.

“I’m sorry I acted like an ass tonight,” he said.

“You don’t have anything to apologize for. You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“Maybe not, but I was avoiding you.”

I shifted to face him. “Why?”

He shrugged. “I was trying to do you a favor.”

“I don’t understand, Wilder.”

“I like you, Sloane. I feel like there’s something here, somethingmore than physical. That’s not something I’m used to. We’re built different. Physical is usually enough for me. It’s not for you. And you’ve been hurt recently. I don’t want to do it again. My track record sucks. I know you haven’t even agreed to go out with me, but I think you feel what I feel, too.” He caught my eyes. “Am I wrong?”

My instinct was to say he was, to keep my guard up and protect myself. But he was being honest and vulnerable with me, so I couldn’t. My shoulders slumped. “No, you’re not.”

A cocky grin slid across his face. I pointed to it. “Don’t gloat.”

Wilder chuckled and bumped his shoulder with mine. After, he held out his hand. I hesitated, but eventually slipped my hand into his.

We both stared straight ahead for a while in silence. When Wilder finally started speaking, he kept his gaze forward. “As long as we’re both being honest, I want to come clean about something.”

“What’s that?”

“I wasn’t totally honest with you last week at the bar. Or at least I was strategic in the way I answered.”

On reflex, I started to pull my hand from his. But Wilder tightened his grip. “No. You can’t have it back yet. I’m gonna need this for a few more minutes.”

I looked over, but Wilder had shut his eyes. “The other night you asked me what my longest relationship had been. My answer wasn’t a lie, but I skirted what you were trying to get at. I said I hadn’t dated anyone for more than a few months since college. What I didn’t say was that I had two long-term relationships before that. In high school, I had a girlfriend for two and a half years. Alyssa and I met in tenth grade. Senior year we started partying a lot, mostly typical eighteen-year-old stuff—drinking, smoking pot. One night, we were at some kid’s house party. His parents weren’t home. Some of the people hanging out were doing more than drinking beer and spiked seltzers. They were taking pills, Percocet and Xanax, but Alyssa played soccer and was going to college on a full ride, and I played on two rugby teams and had already been recruited to Harvard to play for them, so we didn’t screw with that stuff. Plus, I had a game the next morning, so I left the party early. Alyssa wanted me to stay,but I always made rugby my priority.” He paused and swallowed. “After I left, Alyssa wound up taking a Percocet since her friends were all doing it, and I wasn’t around to tell her to cut the shit. As far as I know, it was the first time she’d ever taken a pill that wasn’t prescribed to her. Turned out to be laced with fentanyl. She and two of her friends overdosed and died that night.”

My hand flew to my chest. “Oh my God. That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.”

He shook his head. “She wouldn’t have taken them if I’d stayed, if I had made getting her home safe my priority.”

“No, Wilder. You can’t blame yourself for a decision someone else made.”

“After it happened, I went on a tear. I got into a lot of fights and caused trouble—even got suspended for a few games for starting a brawl that involved half our team. I was close with my old varsity rugby coach—still am to this day, though I need to get my ass to visit him more often than I do. He’s got dementia now. But after Alyssa died, he gave me some leeway. When things spiraled, he sat me down and set me right, told me I was going to lose everything I’d worked for.” Wilder nodded. “He kept on me, made sure I stayed in line. Eventually my anger leveled out, or at least I learned how to channel it onto the field. A few months later, I went to college and didn’t look back. I swore off relationships after that, at least for the next three years. Then I met Whitney.”

Wilder stopped. He picked up a small rock and skimmed it into the ocean. It bounced a few times before I lost track of it in the darkness. “We were together a year.” His jaw tightened as he looked straight ahead again, and I watched the bob of his Adam’s apple as he swallowed.

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