Walk on the Wilder Side by Serena Bell

22

Brody

Rachel has Justin on her lap again. She looks like a seasoned pro, managing somehow to eat pizza and carry on a laughing conversation with Amanda and Lucy while also keeping Justin from getting ahold of her pizza and shoving it in his face. She has not, however, succeeded in preventing him from wiping pizza on her hair or her shirt.

You’d think that would be gross, but I find it charming.

I love watching Rachel with him. I love the way she murmurs to him, explaining stuff he can’t possibly understand about everything that’s happening. I love the way she played pat-a-cake with him earlier, holding up her own hand so he could whap his small, fat one against it. I love the way she is unconsciously bouncing one leg under him.

I know I have to tell my family about Justin not really being mine sooner rather than later. But it feels like I’ll be disappointing them, too, if I take Justin away from them. It was hard to see all my brothers making a stink over him, realizing that they’re going to be hurt and sad when they find out the truth.

Aside from that, having Justin here is actually great. Everyone is thrilled to see him, and they’ve all taken a turn with him. My mom wouldn’t give him back, and insisted on being the one to give him his bottle when he got fussy and hungry.

I wanted to do it, but I knew I’d get my chance later, and I knew this would get both my mom and Amanda off my back for a while.

“My turn.”

We all swivel our heads en masse in outright shock, because it’s Easton who’s spoken, reaching out for Justin.

Rachel hands him over, and Easton addresses Justin earnestly. “My dude,” he says. “As the youngest Wilder, you have a hefty legacy to live up to.”

My heart does something painful. An ungainly squeeze. Justin is not the youngest Wilder.

Sometimes I just plain wish Zoë had never told me the truth.

“Justin,” Hanna says sharply. “Don’t listen to that guy.”

Everyone laughs.

“Justin, your Uncle Easton knows what’s up.”

“And that,” says Hanna, “is about all Uncle Easton knows.”

Easton gives Hanna a mock wounded look and goes on. “I saw you flirting with all the ladies,” he tells Justin. “You’ve got good technique. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

Hanna groans and sets her pizza down. “God, Easton. You’re ruining my appetite.”

“Hanna,” says Easton. “Nothing will ever ruin your appetite.”

Some women would be offended by that. Hanna is not. She just picks up her pizza again, takes a big bite, and says, “Too true.”

I standand head to the cooler to retrieve myself another beer. As I’m fishing for the IPA I want, Clark hurries out of the house, followed by my mother.

“I didn’t mean to make you angry, Clark,” she’s saying.

“I’m not angry.” His voice is tight.

“I just want to help.”

He lifts his head, and I can see all the pain I know he’s living with etched in his eyes. He just stands there for a minute. It’s in his shoulders, too, the set of his jaw. Loss, misery.

We all miss her. Emma was so sweet. Good. Easy. There wasn’t a mean bone in her body. She was open and generous.

I can’t imagine how you’d ever replace someone like her in your heart.

“I know,” Clark says finally.

My mom puts her arms around him, and he hugs her back. Then he lets her go, and she heads toward the deck, leaving me alone with Clark.

I don’t ask if he’s okay. I figure he has to answer that question enough.

He bends and fishes in the ice for a drink, emerging with a Corona, shaking his hand, which is bright red from the cold.

“Survival stuff doing decently?” I ask him, hoping Wilder business stuff will be a good distraction.

He shrugs.

That’s about as much as anyone gets out of Clark since Emma died. He never talked much about himself—or anything—but since Emma passed away, he’s even more tight-lipped. Lately, my mom and Amanda have started hassling him to get back out there and date, which I think is a mistake.

“Rachel’s back, huh?”

“Yeah, so?”

“She’s pretty hot.”

I squint at him. Is Clark interested in Rachel? Something in my stomach clenches, because there is not a brother among us who would begrudge him happiness. If it had been Clark instead of Easton flirting like a fool with Lucy earlier this summer, Gabe might have given her up.

Okay, no, that never would have happened. But you get my point. We all want to see Clark happy so bad we’d cut off a finger for it.

“You should make a move,” Clark says.

The air rushes out of my lungs, and I realize I’ve been holding my breath.

I don’t have to choose between Clark’s happiness and keeping my brother’s hands off Rachel, after all.

Which is when I realize I’m fucked.

Clark takes a look at me and his eyes get wide.

“Holy shit, Brody, you and Rachel?”

I don’t have to nod to confirm this; one look at my face tells him what he needs to know.

“You were actually afraid I was interested in her, huh?” He shakes his head, and the grim line is back to his mouth, grief etched in every line of his face. “Not a fucking chance.”

He looks back towards the house. “I need Mom to lay the fuck off me. Every time she starts, it’s like tearing the scab off a wound.”

I wince.

“I know she’s just trying to help,” he says.

I nod.

“But seriously, man, at this point, if I thought it would shut her up? I’d get a fake girlfriend. Let me know if you find anyone who’s in the market for a pretend relationship.”

I laugh like he’s joking, although I’m not a hundred percent sure he is.

Also, it’s not the worst idea I’ve ever heard.