Page 11 of Wilder
We’ve hardly dug into our Pop-Tarts when Kara walks into the kitchen. It’s clear what’s on her mind as she steps behind Chase and mouths over his head, “How are you this morning?” Her face is pinched with worry, and it brings back all the bloody thoughts that had reigned supreme in my head last night.
I give her a small nod to indicate that I’m fine, but as I do it, my lips pull into a grim smile. My stomach churns uncomfortably as a vision of Beckham’s bed and the scene of the massacre enters my mind unbidden. As soon as I’d settled on Chase’s floor last night, it’d been there. The only thing that’d kept me from focusing on it first thing this morning had been waking up to Chase, and then the subsequent conversation with Echo. Crazy to think there would be anything at all that could pull my attention from the two of them. But there it is. Dead people at a frat party. Apparently, that’ll do it.
Who the fuck killed them? I don’t remember seeing anyone at all who didn’t belong at the party. It’s run through my head a time or two that they might have died while we were dragging Beckham up the stairs. If we had taken him directly to his room, would we have stopped it from happening? Or would we have been victims, too? I shudder hard despite the fact we’re all safe here. For now.
“Chase, you wanna go kick a ball in the backyard?” His eyes light up with a surprised look that readsReally? Can we?I glance at Kara. “He’s got a ball or something out there, right?”
“Yeah. All his outdoor toys are in the plastic chest to the right of the door.”
Drawing in a breath, I drum the table with my hands, which definitely grabs his attention. “Ready?”
He nods quickly. “Weady!”
I get up, leaving the rest of my Pop-Tart on the plate, and remove the tray from in front of him before eyeing him. “You wanna ride on my shoulders out there?” I suck in a breath.
“Yeah!”
Something happens to me when I pick him up, though. For several seconds, I crush him to me in a hug. He feels like mine. I feel myself getting choked up, so I exhale quickly before maneuvering his little body onto my shoulders. He squeals, grabbing at my hair with hands I probably should have wiped clean first, but whatever.
I open the patio door, being careful to duck as I exit, all while the little guy whoops with laughter. Time with my son is exactly what I fucking need. I’ll let him put crumb-coated hands in my hair, and I’ll play in the yard with him for as long as his little heart desires. I owe him that.
A half hour later,my eyes follow Chase as he screeches and runs after the child-size soccer ball, booting it with his foot toward the plastic goal. My lips twitch into a grin as it rolls ever so slowly toward the net, then finally goes in.
“Yes! Goal! Good job, Chase!”
He whirls around, a grin on his face as he toddles toward me. “Woyal! Yookit! Yook what I did!” He turns all the way around, pointing at the ball, then eagerly looks over his shoulder at me, a big grin plastered on his face, eyes shining with unfettered excitement.
“Come here, buddy!” I wave him toward me, and when he gets close enough, I lunge forward, snatching him off the groundto toss him into the air. He shrieks loud enough to blast out my eardrums, and I don’t give a shit. He’s happy to be with me and that has yet another grin stretching my cheeks. I toss him up again, catch him, then hoist him onto my shoulders. His chubby little hands are so small in mine. I jog slowly around the yard, making noises like the crowd is cheering for him. “Way to go, Chase! Nice footwork!”
He laughs his head off as we make a slow circle of the yard, then I pop him up over my head again and set him on his feet. He lifts his hands into the air, and races as fast as his little legs can carry him to retrieve the ball again. We’ve done this no less than ten times. I’ll do ten more, if it makes him happy.
All this running around fucking reminds me that I haven’t been for a run lately, and I’m in desperate need. I’ve gotta text Theo. Not only could I use the physical release a long run will give me, but the mental one, too. There’s simply too much shit going on to keep piling it up inside without talking about it. I’d be surprised if I pull my phone from the charger and don’t see a text from him. He follows local news, and while usually it’s a big fucking snooze fest, the moment word of a double homicide at a frat house gets out, it’ll be all over the news sites.
Chase has picked up the ball and is running in circles with it while looking up at the clouds in the sky. He’s going to get dizzy in a sec, I’m sure of it. “Chase! Put the ball down and kick it to me. I want to try to make a goal. Can I?”
He freezes in his tracks and quickly nods, doing as I’ve asked. I jog forward a few paces and kick the ball, driving it into the flimsy little net and knocking the whole thing over.
“Oops!” I run over and set it up again before rolling the ball on the grass toward Chase.
“Woyal stwong!” he shouts before taking off at a run again.
“Go figure you’d be out here trying to play fuckin’ daddy.”
My head whips toward Davis’s voice, then back to Chase to make sure he’s not paying attention. I don’t see the point in stirring anything up, but the guy clearly has issues with me. Fucker has a split personality, too—a doting brother one minute and a complete dickhead the next. I get it. He’d been distraught last night when he thought Echo was the reason for the police and rescue squad presence, that maybe it was her up there… hurt or worse.
And he’s right, it so easily could have been his sister whose life had been taken, so you’d think he’d pull his head out of his ass for her sake. For all we fucking know, Echo was the target and Freya got offed in her place. Of course, I kept that theory among Beckham, Wilder, and myself, not finding it anywhere near prudent or kind to point it out to Echo. In hindsight, I’m glad that was the decision we made; she’d had a hard enough time falling asleep as it was.
But this motherfucker. He’s going to taunt me about actually being here and spending time with my child after he was kept from me all this time? Not going to stand for that. I grind my teeth, my jaw twitching as Chase runs over to us. “Unca Davis, yook. Woyal play wit me.”
“Mm-hmm. I bet. Must be nice, huh?”
Chase’s face scrunches up in a happy smile as he nods, wrapping his arms around one of my legs. Thank fuck the almost three-year-old doesn’t easily pick up on the sly undertone coming from his asshole uncle, whose face definitely betrays his true feelings.
Sensing he’s not done, I pick my son up, pressing the side of his head to my chest and covering his other ear with my hand. “Go ahead, say what you want.”
His eyes bounce from my face to Chase, and he shakes his head, equal parts disgust and anger rolling off him in heavywaves. “You’re a fucking loser, and I wish my sister weren’t so goddamn blind.”
Gritting my teeth, my eyes flash, staring at my former best friend. I don’t know how I thought I ever knew him. He’s not the same person today as he was before I went to prison. In a quiet but determined voice, I point out a few things. “First, this whole idea you have that Echo doesn’t know her own mind? You’re being fucking stupid. That girl’s eyes are wide open. She sees and understands things that go right over your damn head.” I grimace as Chase begins to wriggle in my arms.Better get the rest out quickly.“You know, once upon a time, you had my back. We were close.” My jaw works to the side as I consider him. “You couldn’t even be bothered to find a way to tell me she was still pregnant. That she had the baby.”
