Page 62 of Wilder Love
“It’s all good.”
“That was some shit luck, man.” He raked a hand through his spiky brown hair and blew air out his cheeks. “I don’t even know what to say.”
Say nothing. Not a fucking thing.
“When I heard about it, I was like… No way. Not Shane Wilder. Dude’s chill. No way could he do that.”
“What did he do?” the blonde girl asked, looking from Cody to me.
“Hey man, not cool,” Trav said, his voice low, warning Cody to keep his mouth shut. But it was too late. It was out there now.
“Sorry, man. It was just the shock, you know.” He looked at the brunette by his side and then the blonde who had scooted closer to Travis. “He’s a good guy.”
“I’m not a good guy,” I assured the girls. “Not even close. I killed someone.”
That was one way to kill the mood. The blonde’s eyes widened, and we all stood around in awkward silence that I did nothing to fix.
“Jesus Christ,” Trav muttered, dragging me away from the cozy little group to a quiet corner of the patio. “Did you really need to say that?”
“Just speaking the truth.”
He scowled. Our friendship used to be easy. Now, like so many other things, we didn’t know how to navigate the changes.
“You were always a better surfer than me. Everyone knew that. It’s not too late. You can still—”
“Don’t. Just don’t fucking go there.”
“You’re still a stubborn ass.”
I laughed, but the sound wasn’t happy. Heknewwhy I couldn’t even entertain the idea. Every single odd was stacked against me. And yet he was acting like it was me digging in my heels. Why hold out false hope for something that could never be again?
He exhaled loudly. “I love you, man. I want you to be okay. If there’s anything I can do, just say the word.” His concern was genuine, and I knew he cared but it wasn’t his problem. Travis ran his hand over his hair—he still wore it in a buzz-cut and looked much the same as he had seven years ago. “I miss you. I feel like I can’t even talk to you anymore.”
I took another pull of my beer, not commenting. He missed the Shane he used to know. Newsflash: that dude was gone. Travis was mourning our lost friendship. I was mourning every single fucking thing I’d lost. Pretty soon, that would be everything. Every. Fucking. Thing. So, excuse me for not being able to sympathize.
“Remy’s back.” Boom. How’s that for conversation?
That shut him up for all of two seconds. I didn’t have to look at his face to know he wasn’t happy about it.
“Have you spoken to her?”
“Nope.” For the past three days, she had come down to the beach and sat in her spot. This morning she had brought a camera. She had always wanted to be on the other side of the lens. Funny how life didn’t always go to plan.
“Keep it that way. You don’t need any more shit in your life to deal with. I won’t sit back and watch her fuck you over. Not again.”
“It wasn’t her fault.” By now, I sounded like a broken record. He had never believed that it wasn’t her fault.
Did I hate her for what she did? I don’t know. Maybe.
Did I blame her? No. It was all on me.
Did I still love her? Yes. Maybe. I didn’t know anymore.
When it came to Remy, my heart and mind had always been at war.
She’d gotten under my skin, in my veins, in my fucking heart and soul and it didn’t matter what she did or how many years went by, I still couldn’t shake off the memory of her.
“I’m out of here.” I finished off my beer and set it on a side table on my way out. “Happy Fourth of July.”
