Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 471(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“I’ve never told anyone that story about Alyssa, and I don’t think I’ve said her or Whitney’s name in ten years.”
I leaned my head on Wilder’s shoulder. “Talking about things is usually the first step toward healing. I don’t tell too many people, but I go to therapy.”
“I don’t have a therapist, but I have Coach, my old rugby coach. He’s who I’ve always talked to. He’s forgetful and confused a lot of days now, yet he’s still better at seeing what’s going on with me than I am.”
“He was your coach in college?”
“Middle school and high school. But we’ve stayed close over the years. We talk on the phone every week. I don’t get to see him enough lately because I’ve been so busy. But I need to rectify that.”
We sat for a few more minutes, staring at the ocean. What he’d shared was a lot for me to take in, but I imagined it was tougher for him to let out. Then a few noisy people pulled our attention back to the staircase where we’d come down from the hotel.
Wilder dropped his head. “Shit.”
“What?”
“It’s the guys. We have this tradition whenever we’re anywhere near water—started the first year of college, the night we all got inducted into our fraternity. It’s the reason I don’t invite any of them to my dad’s summer home in the Hamptons anymore.”
I was about to ask what the tradition was, but I didn’t have to. The crew of guys weren’t even at the bottom of the staircase yet and were already stripping out of their clothes as they ran toward us.
“Fuck.” Wilder stood and waved his hands in the air. “They don’t see us sitting here.” He shouted to his friends, “Hey, jackasses! I’m sitting here with a lady.”
One guy yelled as he struggled to pull his pants off. “She’s a lucky freaking girl.”
Another guy yanked his shirt over his head. “Get your ass in the water, Hayes! Or you know what happens—we’re carrying you in with all your clothes on.”
Wilder shook his head. “Sorry. They’re wasted and a bunch of idiots sober. I’m not going to be able to stop them.”
I smiled and climbed to my feet. “It’s okay. I should get some sleep anyway. We’re leaving early in the morning.”
Wilder nodded toward the stairs. “I’ll walk you back.”
“You don’t have to. You should enjoy your friends.”
“Trust me, I’m not going to miss anything. Those jackasses are going to be in there floating on their backs with their shriveled dicks hanging out for a while. I’ll come back down after I walk you.”
I chuckled. “Okay.”
When we got to my hotel room door, Wilder took both my hands. “Is having dinner with a friend who is a man against the rules of your moratorium?”
I nibbled my bottom lip. “Friends, huh?”
“Think about it.” Wilder held out his cell phone. “Can we at least exchange numbers in case you decide in my favor?”
I smiled. “Sure.”
“’Night, Cupcake.” He took his phone back and kissed my forehead. “I’m here for another week. I’ll leave the ball in your court.”
“Good night, Wilder.”
Inside my room, I leaned my forehead against the door, my chest feeling full again. The balloon in there was getting a workout today. Damn, that man is so much more than meets the eye.
13
WILDER
TEN YEARS AGO
“I can’t freaking believe it.” My buddy Andrew shook his head. “When did you find out?”
“A week ago.”
“Didn’t you use protection?”
I raked a hand through my hair. “We did at first. But we weren’t seeing anyone else, and she’s on the pill.”
“Isn’t that thing supposed to be like ninety-nine percent effective?”
I blew out two cheeks full of air. “I’ve always been an overachiever.”
“What are you going to do? You’re leaving for England in a few months.”
“Not anymore.”
Andrew’s eyes bulged. “What? It’s all you’ve talked about since we were kids. Playing for England is your dream.”
“I’ll postpone. Or I’ll play here in the US. It’s not too late to qualify for next year’s draft in the MLR.”
“You know that’s not the same thing. Rugby here is shit. You might as well play professional Ping-Pong.”
I frowned. “It’s growing fast.”
He shook his head. “Name one player here who has a seven-figure endorsement.”
Of course I couldn’t. Not here anyway. England? New Zealand? South Africa? Definitely. But the sport didn’t make household names and faces in the US. “You know I don’t need the money.”
“I know. But don’t you want to play against the best? In a stadium full of eighty thousand people?”
That’s what hurt the most. I didn’t mind not making money. My father had enough to last generations. But I wanted to be the best, and in order to be the best, you had to play against the best. There wasn’t a player from the United States ranked in the top fifty. It sucked. But what the hell was I going to do? My girlfriend was pregnant. I couldn’t move to another country right before she was about to give birth.