Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

It’s been a crappy week, and this is just the bread that makes the whole thing a shit sandwich.

I drive the three hours to Rose Hill, trudge through the door of my custom lakefront home, fall face-first into my king-size bed, and drift off into a dead, dreamless sleep.

If I live, I’m coming after you.

She makes me fucking insane.

It strikes me that maybe I’m not cut out for parenting after all because talking to Tripp about this makes me want to grab the fork beside me and stab myself in the face—anything to end this conversation.

🤣 ok but Tripp had it rough

I’m standing there making “googly eyes” at her, as Clyde had called it, when he appears in the doorway. He takes one look at the food laid out and then pulls up a seat beside Gwen. “I wish Bash were in love with me. Then maybe he’d make me nice breakfasts too.” I spray my mouthful of coffee into my hand right as Gwen barks out a shocked laugh and thumps a flattened palm on her chest.

Unexpectedly, Bash drops to his knees in front of me. He rests his head in my lap and wraps his arms around my calves, letting out a deep, heavy sigh. I bow my head closer to his and trail my fingers through his hair. He smells like smoke and engine oil and the soft bristles against my fingertips provide a comfort. He grounds me. I 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.