Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

For the ones who were told their dreams were too dreamy but who went on to make them come true anyway. And for my awful high school English teacher, Mr. C, who looked me in the eye at sixteen years old and told me I’d never be a good writer. Thanks for the motivation.

For starters, I don’t look how people expect a yoga instructor to look.” His gaze rakes over my body, chin tipping down and then back up. And the only thing I see in his eyes is appreciation. “What do you mean? You look like a yoga instructor to me.” He says it so simply and with a slightly confused tone. It’s…endearing. Refreshing. I lift a shoulder, playing his response off casually. “I meant my size.” At that his brows furrow. Confusion morphing into irritation. “People are stupid,” he grumbles simply.

“I’m twenty-seven, Bash.”

Yay for slightly older FMCs!

“Oh, tonight? Tonight is just our meet-cute. It’s the night we’ll tell our kids about one day. Remember?”

This is me. I still want to be silly sometimes. I love to explore. I like to look at the glass as half-full. Hell, I will happily make lemonade. I’ve worked too hard in recent years at accepting and loving myself to let one random, grumpy guy in an airport make me second-guess who I am⁠— My thoughts come to a screeching halt. Because I hear it. And I feel it. Heavy footfalls. The change in the air around me—it’s warm, and it hums as he pulls closer. I let out a loud, unladylike guffaw when I hear his breathing behind me. “Sorry, this must be hard for someone your age,” I call back. And for the first time, he laughs. It bursts from his throat like it’s a relief to let it go. It gives me the fucking giggles.

You’re too big. You talk too much. Your optimism is obnoxious. They’re hard insecurities to shake, especially when they were planted so young, reinforced by the words I grew up hearing.

To the outside observer, it would appear that I’m staring at the guy I showed up here with. But they would be wrong. I’m staring at his dad.

Tripp leans close and drops another casual kiss on my hair with a light chuckle. “Easy, girl. Don’t eat too much.” Easy, girl? I pause, my brows furrowing as I stare down at the two bite-size pieces of food on the napkin in my hand, wondering if I misheard my “boyfriend.” Did he really just tell me not to eat too much? “The fuck did you just say to her?” Bash’s voice is cold as ice from across the table.

He’s gutted. I see it on his face. I feel it in his body. Hell, I can feel it in my own. This is a cruel, cruel joke. Because I may not know him well, but I ache for him all the same. I would have chosen him.

“I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I’m going to anyway. So listen up. Just because you got horny at fifteen and that kid has half your DNA, it doesn’t mean you need to let him treat you like shit while you constantly beat yourself up over his existence. And for what it’s worth, when doomsday hits, he’s not invited to my bunker. But you are.”

Aw Clyde

What is a group of unicorns called? A herd, a flock, a blessing, or a rainbow?” Ford’s brows knit together as he whispers, “What the fuck?” “Oh, a blessing. Duh,” West says with an eye roll. I shoot him a scornful glare, which only makes him laugh. “You’re just mad you were thinking rainbow, aren’t you?” I sigh. “You’re an idiot.”

“Can I get you to fill this out for me? Just so we have some of your information on file.” The man steps forward, grumbling something that sounds an awful like that motherfucker is going to owe me as he reaches a shaky hand for the pen on the counter. I watch as he scratches in all caps, skipping entire sections, marking other ones with NONE OF YOUR GODDAMN BUSINESS.

“You’re back.” He shrugs. “Turns out I like yoga.” Bash groans and rolls his eyes so dramatically that his head practically follows their motion. I can’t help but wonder what he’s doing here—especially since he can barely look at me. But me? I beam because I knew yesterday’s stretching would make Clyde feel better. “I’m thrilled to hear that. Maybe we can make a more regular appointment?” “Sure. I’ll make it for right now.” Bash glares at Clyde. “Whatever you do, you can’t just drive down the mountain yourself like you did yesterday. Your legs don’t bend well enough after dialysis to push the pedals. You know this. I’ll slash the fucking tires on your car if you do that again. First responders don’t need to deal with the aftermath of your stubborn bullshit.” My eyes bounce between them as Clyde scoffs and waves a dismissive hand in his direction. “I’d like to see you try.”

It kills me that he won’t make eye contact. I feel like I’m silently begging him to just look at me. To see the way I look at him.

Can’t. That word fires me up. It’s the word that had me walking out of my parents’ house at seventeen and never looking back. My dad told me I can’t live a “proper” life as a yoga teacher, and if I wasn’t going to university or getting married, I wasn’t living under his roof. And I said, watch me.

Clyde nods. “Oh, you’re right. His crown chakra is fucked.” Bash glares at his friend. “Why are you pretending you know anything about the crown chakra?” “Gwen told me about the chakras yesterday. She said one has to do with enlightenment. And you are certainly not acting very enlightened.” I blink while Bash scowls. “Well, forgive me for not taking lessons in enlightenment from a guy who believes Tupac is still alive.” “Tupac is st⁠—” Bash barks out a disbelieving laugh as he turns to leave. “You two have fun together.” I’m a bit stunned by him storming out, but Clyde doesn’t seem affected at all. Instead, he shouts after him, “Go look at something purple! It’ll help support your crown chakra!”

“Meh. You only live once, Sebastian. And I don’t think it will be that long for me. Let me enjoy my swamp beer. Can’t make my kidneys any worse than they already are.” Clyde has been on the transplant list for some time now—and it’s not looking good. As much as I grumble about the guy, the prospect of losing his annoying ass is more than I can take right now.

Clyde better not die

Hell, I’ve even offered to do it for free, which, in hindsight, I think offended him. He’d hobbled away and come back with a handful of cash, shoving it at me brusquely. Then he looked me straight in the eye and told me to never work for free. To never sell myself short or question my value. I cried in my truck after that and never brought it up again.

His eyes track the droplet, like the tear itself has done something to offend him. Then my other eye betrays me, and his gaze moves over my face, sharp and assessing. Jaw popping, he pushes to stand, his tall, broad form towering over me. “What did he say to you?” His voice comes out rough, edged with something fierce. I blink, dabbing at my stupid, leaky eyes as I shake my head. “No. No. It’s not⁠—” He goes to step past me, his focus like a laser down the hallway where Clyde is resting. “So help me, if Clyde made you cry, I’ll⁠—” “Bash.”

I shake my head and look back toward West, who is watching me, eyes lit up like a kid on Christmas. “So? Do you like it?” I roll my lips together, trying to keep from laughing. “You’re an idiot, Weston.” He brightens further. “Calling me an idiot is your love language, so I will take it.

I was often told growing up that I’m too much⁠—” “Who the fuck told you that?”

“And I allow myself to acknowledge that I am not every person’s cup of tea. Maybe I am more than they can handle. And that’s okay because I’m quite fond of myself and no one can take that away from me. I’m at peace with who I am, so what you think of me doesn’t matter.” I think you’re just right is what I want to say. But I don’t. Instead, I go with, “I don’t think you’re too much.”

“But, Bash, what if you live?” Her question echoes in my head as her warm palm molds to mine. I feel her pulse. It thrums through my body. Hell, maybe I even feel the earth beneath my feet a little differently. All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is, If I live, I’m coming after you.

He brightens exponentially. “Do you promise?” Does he brighten just a little too much? There’s something suspicious about his reaction. I scan his face for clues. The glint in his eye reminds me of a little boy who knows something he shouldn’t. “You want me to promise?” “Yeah.” He nods solemnly, grumbling as he shifts in the bed. “I know I’m a lot to handle sometimes. People get tired of me. Then they stop showing up.”

What are you up to, Clyde

“They agreed with me that your house is too far from the hospital to be safe or to conduct proper follow-up care. So in about ten days when you get discharged, you’ll stay with me—like we talked about—and we’ll have to hire a live-in aide. They can take the spare room upstairs since you’ll be on the main floor.”

CLYDE

My attention moves from Bash’s big dick to the words he just said. My head turns slowly in Clyde’s direction as I piece it together. He stays focused on Bash, like a puppy who’s done something naughty and is avoiding eye contact. “Oh, thank you, Bash. That’s perfect.” My jaw unhinges as I watch Clyde…play him. His voice is all soft, his shoulders just slightly hunched. “I actually hired someone already.”

Im dead

“Quit gawking at his ass,” Clyde whispers, making me snap my gaze away. “I’m not. I’m looking at his back.” He giggles. This grizzled old man giggles. Like a little girl. My eyes narrow, and now it’s my turn to cross my arms and look down my nose at him. Suspicious. “Are you in pain?” “Me? No. I’m on more drugs than I’ve taken in my entire life. I can’t even feel my face.”

Even though, thanks to Gwen Dawson, turning regret and self-loathing into an erection appears to be my new superpower.

“Almost as impressive as the depth of my daddy issues and the uniform kink my upbringing sent me out into the world with.” She barks out a laugh, and I try not to choke on my own saliva. “Jesus, Gwen.”

She doesn’t even look my way as she muses, “Goddamn, you must be good with your hands.” We freeze in time, and I watch pink splotches pop up on her round cheeks as she slowly turns her head in my direction. Fuck, she’s so pretty, I can’t even stand it. Eyes wide and pleading, she adds, “I mean, you must be handy.” “I’m both.”

“It’s a miracle I’ve survived this many days post-surgery without someone propping me up with every pillow in this house.” I turn back slowly to face Bash, who clearly just can’t help himself. “Do you want me to come upstairs and get you settled as well? If you keep this attitude up, I can hold a pillow down over your face to make it stop.”

Bash’s cheeks heat as he watches us impassively, otherwise completely unfazed. “We’re gonna need to lay out some ground rules for this arrangement. Because I’m already annoyed by you two.” “That’s a compliment coming from him,” Clyde whispers conspiratorially as he leans toward me.

“No. She’s fine.” West’s mouth pops open. He looks like a fucking dog with a bone right now, and I don’t like it one bit. “Like, fine or…fine?” “Fine. Like I don’t notice her at all.” I look back at three sets of eyes, all fixed on me. Even Ford, who usually stays out of this shit now regards me with pity. “What?” “Bash, old boy, you’ve got a crush,” West announces eagerly, making me wince.

“Gwen, that was a terrible hand. Were you taking advice from Clyde on how to—” My train of thought dies off, because Gwen has pulled off one raccoon sock and tossed it over her shoulder. My heart thuds heavily. “What are you doing?” “We’re playing strip poker. I lost. Had to take off an article of clothing.” I swallow.

Bruh

“Gwen, are you a fucking card shark? Did you play me?” She lays a dainty hand across her cleavage in fake indignation. “Me? I would never. But also, playing poker is the only way I could get my dad to pay attention to me. So I got rather good at it.” I make a mental note to cuff her dad upside the head if I ever meet him. “But I thought⁠—” “You assumed. And you know what they say about assuming.” “That it makes an ass out of you and me?” She shakes her head and leans back in her chair, arms crossed under her full breasts. “No, that you need to take your pants off and show me the goods.”

“Careful what you wish for, Gwen. I’ve got a laundry list of ways I’d like to watch you work for it, and none of them involve poker.” “Fuck,” she whispers, her fingers drifting to the side of my thigh, the sharp points of her nails trailing up slowly.

“But look at you. You’re fucking perf⁠—” “You know what I hate?” Clyde’s voice filters from down the hall, the soft thud of his slow, shuffled footsteps shocking us both into stillness. “How thirsty I am all the time now.” We fly into action. I scoop up my clothes and dart for the back door as Gwen scrambles for her sweatshirt. “I must be the most hydrated man in the world,” I hear him say right as I quietly shut the door behind myself. “Where’s Bash? And why are your socks over here?”

God dammit Clyde

I move to cross my legs, to dull the ache between them, but the awkward position and my blood alcohol level do me dirty. And I stumble straight into Bash’s room.

“The thing is, Gwen, next time you want to watch me, you should just ask.”

B R U H

Bash swallows as his gaze heats. I can see he’s about to say something back, his body coils—like he’s on the prowl. I find my shoulders tipping toward him in anticipation. My tongue darts out and a fluttery feeling bubbles up in my stomach. I’m hanging on to the moment with a sense of eagerness I’ve never felt before. Until the doorbell rings and the world around us comes crashing back into focus. Both our heads whip toward the front door.

Damn

But shock renders me silent when I come face-to-face with my son.

Noooo

And if you thought being in touch with my mind and body means I have to be a soft-spoken pushover just to accommodate your shit moods, then you thought wrong.”

“Or what? You might man up and take something for yourself for once?” I snap. I take something for myself for once. My hands dart out and grip Gwen’s waist. “You know what?” I snarl, yanking her toward me, staring at her plush mouth as her lips softly part—no doubt to say something infuriating. But I don’t let her get a word in edgewise. “Fuck it,” I mutter. Then I kiss her.

Lets gooooooo

And do you know what I was thinking about the entire time?” I blink. I had no clue Tripp was still upset over our breakup. “What’s that?” “That he was a fool to let you get away. But that it was just as well because I could fuck you better.”

I try to not to let my eyes linger on Bash for too long or give too much away. But it’s hard. Especially when he’s wearing something that looks like a uniform right now. Navy-blue cargo pants hug his thighs in a way that I should not be openly admiring. Above a utilitarian black belt, strapped around his narrow waist, a matching navy T-shirt stretches across his broad chest. A crest printed with BC Fire Service sits over his heart.

“You got this,” I say softly, not sure what’s wrong, only knowing that I would do anything to make him feel better. “I don’t know if I do,” he says back, voice rough like gravel. It makes my chest ache. “I’ve got you, then,” I murmur, giving him a tug as I turn away to lead him upstairs.

So I focus on loving myself. And most days, I do. Especially my ass and side boob. I’m a big fan of them,” I add, to lighten my gloomy monologue. “Fuck. Me too,” Bash mutters with a little groan.

As I move to roll away, one of his hands shoots out, wrapping around my forearm. “I don’t want you to leave, Gwen,” he says, his voice rough with sleep.

But that thought comes to an abrupt and screeching halt when I catch sight of what she’s looking at. Because it’s not the lake. It’s Clyde. On the deck. Naked.

Omg

“You know what, Clyde? I would love to smoke some of Maya’s Mary Jane with you.” At that, Gwen bursts out laughing before dropping a handful of chicken into a sizzling pot. “Yeah, Clyde,” she adds. “I too would like to smoke some of Maya’s Mary Jane. Let’s get this soup ready, then we can all go sit outside and enjoy it together.” The man brightens, standing up taller, his eyes sparkling. “Really? You two would do that with me?”