Page 39 of Wild Card
“I do.”
“You seem pretty at peace with almost everything.”
Her head tips softly. “I practice a lot.”
“How do you practice?” I ask, genuinely curious. Because I should start practicing pulling myself out of this hole of self-pity.
She breathes in deep through her nose, letting the air breeze back through softly parted lips. “For example, right now my thoughts start to turn towhat must you think of me? I was often told growing up that I’m too much?—”
“Who the fuck told you that?”
She doesn’t respond at all to my outburst even though all I want to know is who had enough nerve to say that to her face so I can set them straight. “And I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not every person’s cup of tea. Maybe Iammore than they can handle. And that’s okay because I’m quite fond of myself and no one can take that away from me. I’m at peace with who I am, so what you think of me doesn’t matter.”
I think you’re just rightis what I want to say. But I don’t. Instead, I go with, “I don’t think you’re too much.”
She turns and winks at me. “I don’t care.” Then, her head tilts my way. “Now you go. Close your eyes and quit staring at me like you’re going to beat someone up to defend my honor.”
I roll my eyes and then close them, letting the peaceful sounds of night settle in around me and that spark of anxiety ignite.
“Where are your thoughts turning?” Gwen asks.
“What if I die tomorrow?”
She’s silent for several beats. I get the sense that’s not what she expected me to say. Still, I hold my position. Feet in the sand, thumbs against my middle fingers, trying to feel whatever this is supposed to make me feel.
I start slightly when her cool fingers slip over mine, dusting over my skin until she’s holding my hand. Just like we did that night in the airport. My palm hums with the contact, and my entire arm feels warm. I should shake her off, but it’s a friendly gesture. A gesture of support.
And truthfully, I’m feeling a little too flayed to not take it.
“Okay,” her smooth voice starts. “We can acknowledge that’s a possibility. In all reality, any of us could die at any moment. Nothing is ever promised.”
I nod at that. It’s true. I’ve seen the fury of a wildfire turn people’s lives upside down, destroy towns, decimate nature. And no one could have seen it coming.
“But, Bash, what if you live?”
Her question echoes in my head as her warm palm molds to mine. I feel her pulse. It thrums through my body. Hell, maybe I even feel the earth beneath my feet a little differently.
All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is,If I live, I’m coming after you.
But I bury it as quickly as it pops up. Because I know I won’t let myself cross that line. So I release her hand with one grateful squeeze and try to force myself to think about all the things I’mactuallygoing to do once I recover.
Things that aren’t just a fantasy.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
GWEN
“Knock, knock!” I call out, rapping my fist against the open door of Clyde’s hospital room.
“Why do people say ‘knock, knock’ while actually knocking?” he grumbles. “It’s totally redundant.”
His snark just makes me smile. Because it means he’s feeling like himself. He’s propped up in bed, watching TV, with an abundance of cords and lines surrounding him. But he already looks brighter than when I saw him before his surgery.
A relieved sigh spills from my lips as I look him over. I promised myself I’d give him a few days to recover before barging down here…but I lasted two.
Tabitha kept me up-to-date throughout the surgery and the first day of Clyde’s and Bash’s recoveries, since she and Rhys stuck around to help. But I think my asking for constant updates annoyed her. She finally asked me what the hell I was waiting for, so I caved.
“Nice to see you too, Clyde,” I singsong brightly as I sashay into the room. “I brought you flowers.”
