Page 37 of The Wild Card
What would it be like to have grown up without that support? And not just without support but with a father trying to force you into a different shape, rather than handing you an empty field and telling you to dream big?
The thought makes my heart squeeze and my gut twist. Is that how it’s been for Chase and Molly?
She looks at me now, and there’s a gratefulness in her blue eyes. “This is why I needed to lie in the interview,” she says. “I don’t want to go home. But I need a reason to stay.”
The job is her way out. This sheds new light on her actions today and the desperation practically leaking from her pores.Any hesitation or confusion I had about her need to lie in a job interview evaporates.
Because I understand the need to escape. I understand feeling trapped. But unlike Molly, I have support and help.
I make sure to hold her gaze when I speak again. “You don’t need to go home,” I tell her. “Even if you don’t get the job.”
“That’s the thing,” she says, her mouth twisting in what’s not quite a smile. “I got the job. They called while I was at the bar. Before the Fireball.”
“That’s great!”
Without thinking it through, I’m on my feet and awkwardly hugging Molly. When you’re standing and someone else is sitting and you go in for a hug, especially when your hands are dripping with water, there is no way to hug un-awkwardly. I end up kind of pitching into her with my torso, my wet hands on the couch cushion behind her.
She giggles. “I can’t decide if this is the most comforting hug ever or if I’m being mauled by a bear with alpaca.”
“I think you meanalopecia.”
“What did I say?”
“You said alpaca. Which is something like a llama, I think?”
Molly giggles again, reminding me of her current state.
The serious nature of our conversation sure seemed to sober her up, but the fact remains: she had a good amount to drink, and she’s tired.
I try to extricate myself from the awkward hug, but gravity works against me. Or maybe it’s Tank’s too-comfortable couch.
“Need help?” Molly asks from somewhere in my neck.
“Maybe. This was not a well-thought-out hug.”
“I appreciate it anyway.”
I try to shove myself back to an upright position without falling over backward. It halfway works. Meaning I almost fall back until Molly grabs me by the belt loops of my jeans. Shedoesn’t look so steady herself, but somehow, I manage not to fall. Instead, I lower myself to sit on the coffee table, my knees bracketing hers, careful not to knock over the bowl of water and Epsom salts with my feet.
Molly drops her hands back to her lap and offers me a wobbly smile.
“What’s wrong, darlin? Aren’t you happy about the job?”
“I am,” she says. “Or, I would be, but …” Molly suddenly looks exhausted and very, very awake.
“But what?”
“I got the job because of you. Totakethe job, I need to keep lying and ask you to lie about being my boyfriend. And I don’t want to force you into a long-term lie with me.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” I ask. “Because I’m happy to keep up the ruse. It’s not a hardship being with you.”
If Molly had straight-up asked me to stick with this, I would have said no. I don’t like lying, especially not to Jo. But I do like Molly. It’s clear she’s troubled by this and didn’t mean to put me in this position.
And it’s absolutely not a hardship to be with her—pretend or not.
She snorts. “Yeah? You’ve had to carry me out of a bar, rehydrate me, and you were just rubbing my blistered feet. All after being dragged into a situation where you had to lie. I’m a hot mess, and I don’t want to drag you down with me.”
“How are your feet, by the way?”
