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.

When life gives you lemons…” It squeezes the acid right in your fucking eyes.

“Yeah, it’s like when life gives you lemons, don’t be an asshole to the service staff. Or something like that.”

And that voice? It’s the furthest thing from girlish. That voice is all grown-up. It’s not giddy or overly bright. It’s all honey and spice, smooth with a hint of heat—borderline sensual without even trying.

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

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.

“The fuck did you just say to her?” Bash’s voice is cold as ice from across the table.

And for what it’s worth, when doomsday hits, he’s not invited to my bunker. But you are.”

He reminds me of my friend Emmett, a professional bull rider on the WBRF circuit. He travels a lot, so we don’t see each other often, but when we do, we just pick up where we left off.

And with that, I flee. Like the down-bad coward I am.

“I’m a big girl. With a big truck. And above-average driving skills. You can take your bad energy elsewhere, Bash.”

“Yes. It’s time for you and your fully blocked crown chakra to go.” Clyde nods. “Oh, you’re right. His crown chakra is fucked.”

“You say Savasana, I say nap,”

My eyes roll. Best friend. “No kidney for you. I take it back.” “I’ll talk to Doris. She can arrange to have it harvested against your will.”

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.

Except for the small, gray mouse in the corner. It’s nibbling on a piece of cheese that looks suspiciously similar to the Manchego on the ornate cheese board Tabby laid out earlier. My brows furrow, but I decide it’s not my issue. I can mention the mouse to West later.

All I know is that the first thing that comes to mind is, If I live, I’m coming after you.

“So it’s like how he’s being generally not nice to you in an attempt to be kind to his son?”

“Bash, we understand. This is your trash can, and we’re just living in it.”

All I can think about is…how good they’d be together. Not as good as she and I would be.

“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.

“Don’t act so surprised. I love that big doofus like he’s my own, and to be frank, you’re feeling an awful lot like my second doofus.”

To that one he says, “Of course the Egyptians built the pyramids, but aliens commissioned them.”

There’s an embroidered patch over his heart that spells out Eaton and I focus on that instead.

“Hi. I’m Beau. Here to help you out. What do you say we get the hell off this mountain?”

“You’re a fucking wild card.

“You’re my limes, Bash. I’m the tequila. You and me? We’re gonna spend the rest of our lives making margaritas, okay?”

breathe him in. I breathe my anxiety out. I breathe him in. I breathe my doubt out. I breathe him in. I breathe my fears out. Because with Bash at my side, nothing feels as terrifying.