“You made a bigger deal out of everything than you should have.”
“Me?” he asks, pointing to his chest again. “You’re saying I’m the one who made a big deal out of that conversation? Scottie, they were bitching about a fucking sex cabin. They were calling us out on being fake?—”
“We are being fake!” I shout. “Everything about this is fake, Wilder. We could have just shrugged it off, but you didn’t. You kept pushing.”
“I was pushing to protect you.”
“No, you were protecting something else…maybe your pride.”
“You think this has to do with pride?” He shakes his head. “There is one thing I can guarantee you, babe. My pride will never be a thing you need to worry about getting in the way. Never. I’m not a prideful man. I don’t walk around, puffing my chest, needing to be the top dog.”
“Well, you did tonight.”
“You’re wrong,” he says matter-of-factly.
“Excuse me?”
“I said, you’re wrong. I’m not that man.”
“Well, you sure acted like it tonight.”
“I don’t understand why you’re mad at me. I stuck up for you?—”
“You embarrassed me,” I yell, causing him to pull back. “What you did was unnecessary. Okay? It was just not needed. I take that stuff from them all the time. It’s why they’re the Brads and Chad. And this might be all fun and games and improv for you, but this is my real life. I have to go back to work with them, and they’re going to see me, knowing that I’m the girl with the husband who was handing out pictures of nipples and dildos to my coworkers. That was…embarrassing.”
He twists his lips to the side, and after a few seconds, he says, “I’m sorry you see it that way. I see it differently.”
And then with that, he turns away from me and tucks his hands under his pillow, signaling that this conversation is over.
His back’s toward me, and there’s silence. It all feels so real, so familiar that as I turn away from him as well and turn out my light on my nightstand, my stomach churns with insecurity. It feels like we had our first genuine fight.
Chapter Seventeen
WILDER
“Does anyone care to explain to me what happened?” Sanders asks as he sits on the top of his chair with a tennis racket and tennis ball, bouncing it annoyingly.
I’m not in the fucking mood to watch this man toss a ball around and ask us about our feelings.
Nope, I had the worst night’s sleep I’ve had in a while.
I haven’t spoken but two words to Scottie all morning.
And even when we were on a morning reflection hike with the group, we kept our distance. And everyone felt it. Even Chad, who tried to strike up a conversation with me, but I ignored him and moved toward the front of the group, nearly leading the hike on my own.
I embarrassed her.
Me.
I was the one sticking up for her. I noticed the mob mentality, and I was not putting up with it. Yet I’m the one who got in trouble.
Unbelievable.
“So is no one going to speak?”
Scottie has her arms crossed, sitting on the very edge of the couch, not even attempting to look at me.
Jesus, she wasn’t this mad after the s’mores incident. I’m simply lost as to how it went so downhill after I asked my question about defending her coworkers. But I’m not sorry for what I did, and I’d do it over again. I’d make sure that no one even considers attacking her.
