“It wasn’t them,” Wilde pushes back.
“Did your boy tell you that during pillow talk?”
Wilde grunts but chooses to ignore him. “Ziggy, was anything missing?”
I freeze with everyone’s attention on me. Heat slowly seeps into my cheeks, and I know that Wilde doesn’t expect me to talk, but having attention is too much. The pressure to say or do the right thing grows, ballooning out until it’s so big it fills the room.
I want to provide a detailed list for him of all the things that were gone, but I didn’t even think to check.
“Right.” His sharp voice has every pair of eyes swing back to him, and I stutter out a breath. “We’ll go and take inventory and tell you what’s gone. Ask around, keep on the lookout for?—”
“Do you think someone came up from the Dale?” Nox asks.
Booker and Lynx answer at the same time. “No.” There’s a pregnant beat as they eye each other. Booker’s smile lights up his face, but he goes on saying nothing, so Lynx continues.
“I’ve been by that border all day. No one’s crossed it.”
“Then it’s someone in town,” Wilde concludes. “Bring me a name, and I’ll handle it.”
Handle itcould be anything from reestablishing the rules to running them out of town. All I know is that I’d hate to be the person on the end of Wilde’s temper.
He makes it clear the meeting is over and crosses to me as conversations break out. Lynx leaves, door thudding closed behind him, and Wilde glares at the now empty spot.
“He’s on thin ice.”
I give Wilde my most doubtful look. He and Lynx have always had friction, but we need them both. Lynx is prepared to do the work no one else wants to, and I’d struggle to survive without him stopping by with food every few days.
“Sorry to put you on the spot like that,” Wilde says. “I wasn’t thinking.”
He shouldn’t have to be sorry; it should be something I can handle. I’ve known the people in this room for years, and logically, I know they’re not going to belittle me for trying, but my brain doesn’t work like that. When everything that’s ever come out of your mouth is treated like it’s stupid, you start to believe it’s true.
Even eight years here hasn’t undone the damage. It probably doesn’t help that I don’t have a lot of opportunities to try. Exceptwith Kennedy. He’s been giving me the space and patience I need.
Wilde goes to continue, and I pull the same move with him that I pulled with Kennedy. My hand seals over his mouth, and I give him a determined look, warning him to give me a minute. Iwantto do this.
I might not have been able to do it in front of the whole room, but Wilde is safe.
“It’s okay,” I finally manage. There are times the words come easily and times where I have to fight for every one. Iknowit’s all mental. I know it’s something I need to push through, but my brain and my mouth don’t always link up.
He pulls my hand away and nods once. “Good.”
The best thing about Wilde is that he never questions me. He trusts me to give him the truth.
“When did you find the lock? Right before you brought it to me?”
Yes.
“So it happened this morning?”
That, I don’t know. I’m hesitant to give him the truth, but it’s important. “I wasn’t home last night.”
“Where the hell were you?”
“In Wayward. With …” I need an extra breath for courage. “Kennedy.”
He processes that information as he studies my face. He’s the only one who knows about my feelings for Kennedy, so I’m sure he’s putting things together. “Has he been good to you?”
“We’re friends.”
