Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

10

Brody

The night after Lucy spots my good reviews, Kane and Hanna corner me in the office after work and invite me to Oscar’s Saloon & Grill with them.

I’ve mostly stayed away from Oscar’s since the incident where I got stinking drunk and picked a (well-deserved) fight with Len Dix, but Kane is insistent.

“Brody.” Kane is my most level-headed brother. “You can’t stay away from Oscar’s forever. It has the best burgers in town.”

“Wait, you’re going to Oscar’s?” Easton demands, appearing out of nowhere. He has a way of doing that when there’s the slightest opportunity for a night out, a party, or getting laid.

“Right,” Hanna says. “I just remembered I have to wash my hair tonight.”

“Go easy on me, Han,” Easton says. “I’ve been a good boy lately.”

“Meaning you spent at least one night in your own bed this week?”

Hanna and Easton have been frenemies as long as any of us can remember. They were in the same class at school, and when Hanna applied for employment at Wilder Adventures, Easton begged Gabe not to hire her. “She hates me,” he pleaded, but Gabe said Hanna was too good at what she did to let that get in the way. He’d said she’d be mostly working with Kane, and Easton wouldn’t see her that often.

That didn’t turn out to be true, but somehow Easton and Hanna have tolerated each other all these years.

And they’re very good entertainment.

There must be some kind of magnetic field whenever three or more Wilder brothers are gathered, because Gabe and Clark drift over, then, shortly after that, Amanda. Before I can come up with a good excuse, I’m being shepherded into Gabe’s Jeep and driven into town.

And to be honest, it’s really nice. I’ve been in a weirdly good mood all week, ever since the reviews came out, and for a change, I don’t feel like there’s a wall of black fog between me and Gabe. The seven of us cram into a booth made for six, and we drink and kid around. Even Clark jokes a bit, showing more life than he has in months. Then people start drifting away, until it’s just Kane, Clark, Easton, and me, and the conversation turns to the whole Wilder Adventures revamp. Kane’s starting to plan a big winter holiday event to fundraise for breast cancer survivor support—the Tinsel and Tatas Winter Games & Gala. Clark’s got some fancy RVs in the works, but short term, he, Gabe, and Lucy are hosting glamped-up camping trips with—“Get this,” he says, rolling his eyes. “Shower tents and toilet tents.”

“Wait, so—someone has to hump that?” Easton asks.

“Yeah, that’s why I’m bringing backups.”

“No,” Kane protests. “That’s gotta be twenty pounds, at least.”

“Yup. Making Gabe carry it.”

We all laugh.

All of a sudden Kane, who’s facing the back of the restaurant, gets a look on his face. Alarm bells go off in my mind. “What?”

“Nothing.” But he gets up from where he’s sitting—on the other side of the booth with Clark—and slides in next to me. Which is fucking weird. I turn around to look, and shit.

It’s Zoë, with a sleeping Justin in her arms, and Len Dix, and they’re coming toward our booth.

Now I get why Kane changed seats. To hem me in so I couldn’t get up. That’s Kane for you: the peacemaker, the problem-solver, the trouble-soother. When we were kids and the rest of us were beating the shit out of each other, Kane was mediating, making us “use our words” and “talk it out.”

I have to admit, I can’t help wondering if Kane actually likes running trips. All us other Wilder brothers are living our best lives—well, except for our romantic disasters—but Kane? I don’t know. Sometimes I think he might be happier doing something else.

“Hi, Brody,” Zoë says. Her brown hair is pulled back in a too-tight ponytail, her skin is paler than usual, and there are dark circles under her eyes. “Hey. Kane, Clark, Easton.”

My brothers all give her tight unsmiling nods.

Love them.

Len Dix doesn’t say anything, and he doesn’t make eye contact. He’s a big white guy. Beefy and bearded. He looks like a lumberjack, and for good reason—he runs his dad’s lumbermill, employing an army of axe-wielding bearded dudes.

“Hi, Zoë,” I say. “Little late for Justin to be out, right?”

Well, shit. Didn’t know I was going to say it until it was too late.

“Not your concern, Wilder,” Len says.

I don’t have time to make a decision before I realize I’m being wrestled back into the booth by Easton and Kane, while Clark says, “Move along, Zoë—that’s what you’re good at, anyway, right?” Through the red haze of my rage I see Len start to round on my brother, but Clark gets to his feet and Len seems to think better of it. Clark’s as big as Len, and even a dumb Dix wouldn’t take on four Wilders in the middle of Oscar’s.

Then they’re gone and the fight fizzles out of me.

Easton pushes his half-full glass of whiskey across the table and I down it.

“Thanks,” I say.

I mean, Thanks for the whiskey, but also, Thanks for not letting me kick the shit out of him. Thanks for having my back. Thanks for knowing the right thing to say and the right thing to do, even though I haven’t been able to tell you what the fuck’s going on.

“Of course,” Easton says, and Clark and Kane nod. Not the tight one. The one that says, We’re brothers.

Which is sometimes all you need to know about us.

I wonder what would have happened if they hadn’t been here.

And for some reason, right then, I think about Rachel. Maybe it’s because she was there the last time I hit Len. Maybe it’s because most nights I haven’t been able to get her out of my head since she brought all those wiggly, vibrating objects onto my boat. Maybe it’s because right about now, Connor’s words are coming back to me:

Just don’t do anything half-assed till you have some time to sort yourself out.

Amen to that, friend.