Wilde by Abby Brooks
Chapter Ten
Leo
Hearing my sex kitten roar to life is a salve on my soul, and after that shitshow of an introduction with Amy’s dad, my soul needs soothing. I sit for a second, staring out the windshield, then smack the steering wheel with both hands. “Why couldn’t you take two seconds to get to know me? Why’d you have to be like every other piece of shit and jump to fucking conclusions?”
And by the way Amy, thanks-a-fucking-million for the backup. Way to leave a man in the trenches. I mean—what the hell?
I’m gentle off the clutch as I pull away from the curb, but my heart’s pounding and my adrenaline’s flowing and my foot feels heavy against the accelerator.
Speed feels right.
Necessary.
It blasts the anger from my head like a pressure washer.I stop at a red light and swipe my phone from the console to officially cancel my plans in Denver. Not a great move to build the brand but showing up hours late and in a shitty mood, there’s no way that makes anything better.
“Now what to do with myself?” I mumble as I flip through my contacts, searching for a stand-in. The closer I get to the end of the list without finding a single person I can vent to, the more alone I feel. Turns out I don’t have anyone. There’s no best bud from high school, or war buddy, or girlfriend to lean on. I have a herd of brothers but can’t call one. Honestly the thought rattles me. Too many old emotions swirl through my head, and I don’t feel like being alone. Energy courses through my fingertips until they tingle with electricity. I need to release it. I need…
Two long blasts from a horn squeal behind me.
I glance at the asshole in the silver Honda through my rearview. As if the honking wasn’t enough, he rolls down his window and yells, “Light’s green, douchebag! Some of us don’t have all day.”
Rage engaged.
I glance ahead, then to my left and right—not another car in sight. Perfect. I crack a smile then dump Jezebel’s clutch and let the tires melt onto the asphalt as I peel away, leaving the Honda in a billowing cloud of white smoke.
“You’re absolutely right. Some of us don’t have all day,” I say with a smirk.
The stoplight misunderstanding is a shot in the arm. The more anger I channel through my foot, the more the tension in my back releases.
So, I do the only thing that feels right.
I drive.
* * *
Amy
The second Leo’s car disappears down the street, I whirl on my father. “You had no right to do that. None.”
“Amy…” Dad closes his eyes as he lets out a long breath. He looks so old. So tired. Worry deepens the lines on his face. “First school. Then Avery. Now this? There’s something going on with you and I don’t understand it. I want to, but you’re gonna have to stop reacting and start explaining. Why didn’t you tell me you were pregnant?"
“I don’t know. Maybe I didn’t want to disappoint you. Maybe I didn’t want you to worry.” I drop my gaze. Neither of those things feel like the truth and I’m so tired of dealing in bullshit. “Though honestly, it’s probably because admitting it to you would make it real.”
“This is all very real, whether you admit it or not.” Dad pinches his brow. “Avery said this guy threatened to beat him up at a burger place. How is that someone you want to spend time with? How did you even end up with him in the first place?” The sun disappears behind a cloud, covering the moment in shadows.
“Avery said…?” I swipe my hair out of my face and growl. “Let me tell you what really happened. Avery stalked me to that burger place and when I refused to leave with him, he berated me and made a scene. Leo made it clear he couldn’t treat me that way and Avery didn’t like that. So he called you, tattled, and now…” I stare down the street after Leo. “Oh, Dad. I was supposed to be fixing my life. Not ruining it.”
He pulls me in for a hug, patting my back as he whispers soothing words into my hair. “Come inside, Ames. Your life isn’t ruined. Not if I have anything to say about it. We just have a lot to talk about.”
* * *
Leo
“Home, sweet home,” I mock as I pull into the driveway and kill the engine. This is where I sleep. It’s where I keep my shit. But it’s never really felt like home. I unlock the door and step inside. No dog, eagerly wagging her tail, no cat with a blasé indifference to my comings or goings. Not even a goldfish, trapped in a bowl. I flick on the lights and the only thing to greet me is a mess of art supplies and canvases in various states of completion scattered everywhere.
A text comes in. An apology from Skippy.
Yeah. I’ll deal with that later.
I toss my keys into a bowl by the door as I make my way to the fridge for a beer. Restless, I sit at the kitchen table and flip through a large sketchbook I keep forgetting to put away, comparing my work to Amy’s. She’s good. Much better than she gives herself credit for. With time and some coaching, she could be amazing. As I flip to a blank page, the urge to draw settles in. It’s already late and I know I lose all track of time once I start bringing form and movement to life, but fuck it. I need this.
I’m not in the mood for pencil. I need something heavier.
Something like charcoal.
I need the depth those heavy lines imply. The mix of permanence and mutability only that medium brings. I take a final pull of my beer as I get up for another, then go searching for my charcoal supplies. Hours pass as I work. I’m not focused on the drawing itself so much as the emotions the lines elicit. My hands move as they please while my thoughts return, time and again, to the situation with Amy.
If it hadn’t been for the time we spent together this afternoon, meeting her father would have made me want to call the whole thing off. Except, no. Even that isn’t true anymore. I can’t see myself as a father, but knowing the baby exists, I can’t not see myself as a father. I will be there for that child. I refuse to pass on the feeling of being unwanted by someone that’s supposed to matter. That shit ends with me. And damn it, Amy intrigues me. She’s passionate and caring and wants to do the right thing…and she’s stuck trying to please everyone but the person that matters most.
Herself.
I want to…what? Help? Urge her toward that degree in graphic design?
I don’t know what I want. Only that I’m not done with her. Not yet.
After mindlessly rubbing the kink in my neck for the twelfth time, I sit back to inspect my work. It’s a little abstract for my usual style, but I may have just drawn my perfect woman. How in the hell did anger and frustration lead me to her?
She’s innocent, in a sinful way.
Bold and confident, without giving up an ounce of femininity.
The perfect balance of all the contradictions that make women so goddamned irresistible.
She’s no one, but there’s something familiar about her. She exhibits everything that appeals to me about the opposite sex. Satisfied for the first time all day, I quickly scribble ‘Wilde’ across the bottom then drag myself to bed.