But it’s not simple or easy.
It’s about compatibility and timing.
Cash and I had timing.
Wilder and I have compatibility.
Turns out those aren’t the same thing.
And hurting Cash is something I might always feel guilty about.
“I’m sorry,” I say to him. “About Wilder and me.”
He gnaws on the inside of his cheek. “It’s okay. Really.”
“I never meant to hurt you,” I whisper. “I just…”
“Fell in love,” Cash finishes for me.
My throat burns. “Yeah.”
Silence falls between us again.
We’re two people with too much history and nowhere to put it.
Chapter Eighteen
The Shitshow Tramway
Wilder
I hate heights. I really fucking hate heights.
Not the tree-above-the-creek kind of high. But the over-a-canyon-and-death-is-imminent kind of high.
I don’t want to die.
And dying? Not on the bucket list.
“Your hand is sweating profusely,” Ingrid notices as we walk up to the short line.
Surprisingly, there’s a cool afternoon breeze.
Or terror wrapping itself around me.
We should definitely abandon this bucket list item.
What if we die?
I slip my hand out of Ingrid’s and wipe it on my shorts.
When I find her fingers with my slightly less damp ones, she lets out a loud laugh.
“You’ll jump out a tree at the creek, but you can’t handle being safely suspended in a cable car above solid ground?” she challenges.
“I’ve been jumping out of the tree at the creek since I was six,” I tell her. “I know I’m not going to die.”
“So, it’s just new experiences that terrify you then, Wild?” Cash puts his two cents worth in as he leans over the railing.
