Going Wild (The Wild Ones 2)

“Deal went south at the last minute, and—” She freezes, her words dying. “What happened to your leg?” she asks, her eyes widening when she finally notices.

No, I haven’t told her. Like I said, I sort of forgot she existed. Don’t judge. In case you haven’t noticed, my life has been pretty damn superficial up until this point.

I never noticed it.

Never cared.

Almost dying makes you see things a little differently.

My eyes flick to Kylie as she moves to a canvas, busying herself with it.

Almost dying makes you want really different things too.

“I almost died. Kylie saved my life, and she’s been here ever since, considering I had no one else who gave a damn to help me out,” I say, looking back at Felicia, whose eyes have widened even more.

“Holy shit, Liam! Why didn’t you call me? Usually the first thing a man does when he almost dies is call his damn girlfriend!”

I see it when it happens. I see it the moment I lose her. I see it in the way her shoulders go tight, her head rears back, and her back stiffens.

“Kylie, this isn’t—”

“We’re in an open relationship, and he’s allowed to fuck whoever he wants, Kylie,” Felicia says softly to Kylie when she notices her discomfort. “Please don’t feel awkward.”

That doesn’t help, even though I wish like fuck it did.

Kylie spins, looking wide-eyed and out of place as she bends to start packing up her painting materials.

“Actually, we’re not…um…never mind,” Kylie tells her, her eyes staying on the ground. “We’re just friends. He needed help, and I didn’t want dirty gym socks icking up my pretty boots.”

Felicia is only momentarily distracted before she looks back at me.

“So why didn’t you call?”

I’m busy watching as Kylie hurries up and finishes putting away the paint.

“I forgot,” I finally admit.

Kylie tenses, but then stands and excuses herself, walking out the door.

I hear her in the next room where she’s been keeping her stuff, and my eyes shift back to Felicia.

But Felicia snaps a picture of my leg, before typing something on her phone. Probably posting on her social media about how her poor boyfriend is laid up and hurt.

“Well, what can I do?” she asks, still typing on her phone.

Until this moment, it hasn’t dawned on me that I’ve barely even glanced at my phone while Kylie has been here. She doesn’t have one, so I haven’t used mine. Unless it was to call in food.

“Did you call me?” I ask Felicia.

“No. The service over there was spotty at best. You get annoyed too easily, so I didn’t bother with it.”

She’s still typing, then she grins up at me. “Stacy just commented on my post saying she hopes you get better, and to let her know if she can do anything.”

Empty words.

I’ve learned that.

People say that all the time, and happily accept your help—which I’ve given through financial means or contacts—but they never give a true shit if you need help in return. To be honest, until Kylie, there was not a single person in my life I’d play doctor for either, so I can’t blame them.

Felicia keeps talking, and I keep trying to listen for Kylie.

Fuck this.

I stumble out of the bed, and Felicia moves out of my way as I grab my crutches, wincing through the pain as I force myself to the next room. It takes longer than I care to admit to make that trip, and I’m out of breath when I finally do.

“Jada says she hopes you get better too,” Felicia calls out as I push open the door to see Kylie zipping up her bag.

“Don’t go,” I say immediately, watching as her head snaps in my direction.

She gives me a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes. “You have someone to help you now. It’d just be weird to stay. Besides, I wasn’t going to say anything, but they canceled the showcase on Friday. I can go home early.”

My chest sinks, and I lean against the door, blowing out a breath.

“Don’t go,” I say again.

She hesitates for a second, giving me false hope, before she tosses her bag over her shoulder.

She lifts my phone up. “Hope you don’t mind; I borrowed it to call a cab. I’d call my dad, but…no phone for him. I called a friend instead to see if he’d go let my dad know that I’m coming home early.”

“He? Boyfriend?”

Yeah, I realize the second the words leave my mouth that I have zero right to act like a jealous prick. It’s not like I can chase the words down and swallow them before she hears them, though.

She puts the phone down, and shakes her head. “I didn’t forget to mention a boyfriend,” she says a little passive aggressively. “In fact, I told you I didn’t have one.”

“I forgot about her. She’s been gone a while and—”