Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

21

Rachel

Once again, Amanda and I stand on Gabe’s porch, hashing out dates for a get-together, this time the Real Romance party I’m doing for her, Hanna, Lucy, and their friends.

My dad is inside, cooking with a whole bevy of wickedly attractive Wilders. We usually do lechon asado when we’re with them, but we’ve had a lot of Cuban food lately so we decided to do homemade pizza. The amount of dough rising in Gabe’s kitchen is truly epic.

Connor and Amanda’s husband Heath are having some kind of hard core conversation about the latest Star Wars movie. I don’t pretend to understand, but they’ve always nerded out on sci-fi stuff and sometimes they get together and play video games.

My mom is sitting on the back deck with her foot up, as she should be.

The one conspicuous absence is Brody, and I haven’t wanted to ask anyone where he is. Even Connor. Especially Connor.

We settle on a date, and Amanda tucks her phone into her back pocket just as a truck pulls into the driveway—Brody’s. He hops down, then opens the backseat and leans in.

He emerges with his arms full of—

Baby.

That must be baby Justin.

Justin is peak baby right now—fat cheeks, drool, and babble. And the man holding him is peak man: broad shouldered, forearms flexing from the effort of containing his squirming cargo, and stubble-jawed.

Even as confused and hurt as I am, my ovaries go up in smoke.

I discover I’m walking toward the dynamic duo. I hazard a quick glance back at Amanda and she raises an eyebrow at me and smirks.

I can’t even care.

God, he looks good. Now that I know how that mouth feels on my body and my hands feel wrapped around his—

Apparently, you can’t put that genie back in the bottle.

Which I guess means I’ll have to ask it for more wishes.

“Hey,” I say.

“Hey.”

“You have, um, some secrets.”

He nods. His eyes scrape my face. I think he’s trying to suss how how mad I am. “I didn’t mean to not tell you. It’s just really fucking complicated. Oh. God. Sorry dude,” he says to Justin, and I can’t help it, I laugh.

“You maybe want to tell me the story later?”

“Yeah,” he says. “I actually really fucking do. Damn it. Fuck. Sorry, Justin.”

“You, um, might want to work on that,” I say, smiling.

He smiles, too. “You could help me.”

I nod. “I mean, if we hang out long enough, either you’re going to become a Puritan or I’m going to start swearing up a blue streak.”

“So true.”

Neither of us says that two weeks probably isn’t long enough for that conversion to take place.

We stand there awkwardly for a moment, until Justin leans forward in his dad’s arms, gives me a gummy, one-toothed smile and reaches out a hand.

“Hey, little man,” I say to him.

“This is Justin,” Brody says, and pride shines all over his face.

“He’s adorable. Will he come to me? Is that okay?” I hold out my arms, and Brody transfers Justin into my arms.

I sneak another peek back at Amanda, but she has disappeared. It’s just Brody, Justin, and me out here.

Justin is grabbing for everything his chubby little hands can reach—my hair, my earrings, my nose—and talking up a blue streak in nonsense syllables.

“Do you have him for the weekend?” I make goofy open-mouthed faces at Justin, and he chortles. Baby chortles! They’re the best.

“Just tonight. You look beautiful.”

I look up from Justin’s beaming face and into Brody’s. He’s not scowling, but he’s Brody-serious. Intense. Pre-kiss intense. The bottom falls out of my stomach in the best possible way. He takes a step toward me.

“Justin!”

Connor comes around the side of the house. Justin turns in my arms towards the sound of Connor’s voice. So do Brody and I, both of us taking steps backward.

My stomach feels like there’s a rock in it. Brody’s face has gone studiously blank.

Connor, however, isn’t looking at either of us. He’s beaming at Justin. “Justin, want to play peekaboo?”

And then my brother, big lug that he is, proceeds to cover his face and make improbably goofy noises at Justin.

We’re joined a moment later by Clark, Easton, and Kane.

Kane is the only Wilder brother I can’t quite figure out. He’s just as gorgeous as his siblings—hair streaked with a hundred shades of brown and gold, pale blue eyes, and the Wilder traffic-stopping physique. But Kane has always struck me as a misfit among his energetic, adventurous brothers, more of a boy-next-door than a bear-in-the-woods type. Like he’s not really a Wilder but the good looking pretty boy actor who plays one on TV.

And he always looks faintly sad to me, even more so than Clark, who lost his wife a year ago.

Kane scoops Justin out of my arms and kisses him all over his face. “Hey, buddy,” he tells the baby, who is chortling with delight. His brothers join in on the Justin worship.

Gabe, too. He comes around the corner and makes a beeline for Justin.

“Jusssss!” he roars, somehow managing not to scare the crap out of the baby. He ruffles his nephew’s hair.

I have to remember to tell my mother that I finally found the ultimate cure for heartbreak: watching the Wilder men make googly eyes at the world’s cutest baby.

And then I look up and see the grief on Brody’s face, a crack running through a beloved piece of pottery, and I forget all about that.