Page 24 of Wild Eyes
“Dad, I’m serious.”
“Okay, okay. So youdowant her to be here?”
He shrugs and tips his head back, looking up at the darkening sky. “I guess so. Yeah, she’s… Well, you know I’m not into her music, but I likeher. She seems nice, right?”
I study him. I don’t know what went on between the two of them down at that lake, but there must have been something. Ollie is shy and reserved and slow to trust, but there’s something about Skylar that’s speaking to him.
There’s something about her that speaks to me too.
“I’m surprised, that’s all. You’re usually not a big fan of strangers.”
His eyes are downcast as he kicks at the ground. “Haven’t met anyone before who can’t talk, even when they want to sometimes.”
Realization dawns on me. Skylar’s recent freeze-ups on camera have received a lot of attention in the press. Most people see a young woman embarrassing herself publicly.
But Ollie sees someone like him.
“Dad,” he starts up again. “Please don’t let Emmy ruin this.”
I scoff, not wanting him to be too hard on his little sister. “Ollie, I’m not gonna let her ruin this. But your sister’s got a lot more charm than you think. That girl could sell a hamburger to a vegan.”
He quirks a brow at me. “Are you done being wise now? Can you please go save Skylar from Emmy?”
I point my tongs at him. “Mouthy little shit.”
Then I oblige him. I place the utensil down and jog toward the house, hearing my son mumble to my back, “More like she’d hold a vegan down and force-feed them a burger.”
I can’t help but chuckle at his remark as I approach the front door. It’s wide-open, so I step inside and opt to watch for a moment.
Just to make sure Emmy isn’t force-feeding her anything after all.
Perched on a worn wooden stool at the butcher block countertop, Skylar watches while Emmy plays bartender with a can of locally made cider.
“No, fancy girls don’t drink out of cans, Skylar,” Emmy argues. “What about a champagne glass? I think Dad has one back here somewhere.”
“Maybe I don’t want to be a fancy girl anymore,” Skylar responds.
She says it in a joking manner, but something about the sentiment hits me in the chest. Something about the way she got all defensive when I made the jibe about the bedsheets.
It’s become abundantly clear there’s a lot more to Skylar Stone than just a pretty face.
She’s a girl on the run—I know that much just from watching and listening—but what I’m realizing is that she might be on the run from herself.
Emmy ignores Skylar’s reply, refusing to accept the fact that she’d drink out of a can. And I smile to myself, because now that I think of it…this is actually a little like force-feeding someone.
My daughter crawls up onto the countertop, the picture of independence as she reaches into the cupboard.
She hasn’t noticed me standing at the door, and I suppose that’s why she starts shit-talking me. “My dad always tells me not to do this, but you know what? He doesn’t know everything, and I can handle my business. He’s always all”—she drops her voice in a mocking imitation—“Emmy, you need to be careful.But you know what? I’ve heard stories about my dad from whenhewas a kid. And it doesn’t sound like he was careful. So, like, what does he know?”
She cuts off when the tips of her fingers bump against the glass, but instead of getting a grip, she ends up pulling it closer and it tumbles from the cupboard. It lands on the countertop before bouncing once and shattering everywhere.
Hundreds of tiny, sharp pieces of glass litter the kitchen in an instant.
“Yeah, all good points,” I pipe up as Skylar lets out a sharp gasp. “You really showed me. What do I know, right?”
Emmy freezes, mouth popped open, as I push my propped shoulder off the doorframe and let out a smug chuckle. “Emmy baby, this is exactly why I tell you not to do that. Not because I’m being a buzzkill. Just stay right where you are.”
My daughter’s eyes are wide as I move toward her, but it’s Skylar’s reaction that hits me in the gut. She has one hand flat against her chest, and she’s staring at me like she’s afraid of me.
