Wilder
I end the call and set the phone down on the desk like it might go off.
For a long moment, I don’t move. My pulse is still going hard, my jaw aching, the taste of the old life thick in my mouth. Talking to Cruz means going back to a version of myself I buried years ago—the cold one, the one who knew exactly what he was capable of and made sure the other man heard it.
But it’s done.
The terms are simple. He stays away from me, from Wilder House, from Millie. In return, the files I’ve kept all these years stay where they are. He didn’t like it. He didn’t have to. He knows what I have, and he knows I’ll use it.
I drag a hand down my face. Relief and adrenaline war in my chest, neither one winning.
Millie’s upstairs. I made her call out of the diner two days running—couldn’t stand the thought of her out on those streets while this hung over us, not until I knew she was safe. She didn’t argue the way I expected. Maybe she saw it on my face.
I take the stairs two at a time.
She’s at the dining table when I come in, bent over her beads, that little crease between her brows. She looks up thesecond the door opens, and whatever she sees in my face makes her set the work down.
“Wilder?”
“It’s handled.” My voice comes out rougher than I mean it to. “They won’t come near you again. Either of us. It’s over.”
She’s out of the chair and across the room before I finish. I catch her against my chest, one hand splayed across her back, and only when she’s there—solid, warm, mine—does the last of the tension finally bleed out of me.
“You did all that,” she says into my shirt. “For me.”
“For us.” I press my mouth to the top of her head. “I told you. I’m not letting anything happen to you.”
She tips her head back to look at me, eyes shining. “Thank you. For not letting me go.”
Something in my chest cracks open. I don’t have the words for it yet. So I just hold her tighter.
***
I see her before she sees me.
My baby girl…
She’s inside the diner, moving between tables with that focused little crease between her brows, the one that shows up when she’s completely engrossed in a task. The late shift crowd is thinning out, the yellow glow from the overhead lights soft and warm through the glass. Outside, the evening air carries the last heat of the day, but it’s already cooling, the city settling into night.
I lean against a nearby light pole and watch her for a minute longer than necessary.
A few weeks ago, I didn’t do things like this. I didn’t wait for anyone. I didn’t look forward to small moments. My life was limited to work and routine, leeching tightly onto control…until she came around. Now I find myself counting down the hours until I see her again.
The bell above the diner door jingles as someone leaves, and Millie glances up automatically. Her eyes find me through the glass.
Her whole face lights up. That expression still hits me like a punch to the chest every time. She waves excitedly, smiling widely at me.
God, she’s gorgeous.
She says something to the older woman behind the counter before grabbing her backpack. A minute later, she pushes through the door, and the cool air carries her scent toward me…soap, vanilla, and something that is just Millie.
“Hi,” she says, breathless, like she ran a mile even though the door is only a few steps away.
“Hi, baby girl.”
Her smile widens bigger at the nickname, her cheeks turning pink, just like they always do. She acts like it doesn’t affect her, but I feel the way her fingers curl into the front of my shirt when she steps close.
“Did you wait long?”
