Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

To avoid any further rejection, I’ve turned my focus to my career, and now it’s like half my life has gone poof before my eyes. Watching these boys makes me feel like I’ve missed out on something integral. Something I don’t know that I’ll ever have. It’s feeling like that ship has sailed.

Yeah, so far, Rose Hill has been pretty damn perfect. Cool women. A stable job. Mind-blowing mountain views. The guy I met a year ago. The one I haven’t been able to forget. The one who still hasn’t reached out to me, even with the correct number. The one who probably hates me now for having dated his son. And that all stings just a little more than it should.

A short man with scraggly, white facial hair, a cap perched on his head, and a cane clutched in his hand, enters the room. Knobby knees peek out between loose shorts and clunky snow boots, an odd choice considering snow hasn’t fallen in the valley yet.

Oh Crazy Clyde. What are you doing here???

“Are you Gwen?” My head tilts. “I am.” “Are you a yoga teacher?” “I am.” He stomps his boots, nods, and points his cane toward me. “Good. You’re the one I’ve heard about, then. I want to take a yoga class with you.”

My gaze drops to his name at the top of the paper. CLYDE GIBBONS. What a bizarre little man.

“Though you know, if someone was desperate enough to steal my winter boots, it strikes me they might need them more enough than I do.” His response brings me up short, and I peek back over my shoulder. He’s the most unusual combination of cantankerous and thoughtful.

“Okay, Clyde. Come on over, and I’ll help you get started lying on your back.” And so begins my mission to help this funny, strange, oddly thoughtful little man feel better.

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.” “Are you two related?” I blurt, entertained by the grumpy-man face-off. “Fuck no,” Bash mutters, but Clyde lets out a high-pitched giggle, like he’s amused by the other man. “Sometimes it feels like we are, though, doesn’t it, Bash?” “In the sense that I wish I could get rid of you, but I can’t? Yes. Yes, it does.”

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. To talk. God, what I’d give to talk the way we did that night. Honest and open and unexpected. But I also know there’s now an ocean between us. Two little numbers. One man. And not just any man—his son. Had I known…

What’s done is done. We’re both grown-ups. I desperately want to bridge the gap, but based on the way Bash addresses the wall, I’m thinking I might be the only one. It taps straight into every hurt I carry with me. I grew up feeling like I had to bend over backward not to anger my father. Seen but not heard is what he requested of me. And I was. It can be my default now when I’m feeling off-kilter. It’s a hard habit to shake.

He looks at me now, but the glance is so fleeting that it’s almost dismissive. Further proof that I don’t need him back here, sullying my good mood with his immaturity. Or this grudge he’s holding. Or whatever this awkwardness is between us.

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.

“I’m a big girl. With a big truck. And above-average driving skills. You can take your bad energy elsewhere, Bash.” His head snaps up as Clyde chortles. “Bad energy?” I lift my chin and wave a hand over him. “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.” 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.”

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!”

Stop it LOL

“All right, let’s go do your weird stretches, followed by that Savasa-whatever-you-called-it. It made me feel a lot better.”

I may not have any higher education, and I may not be settling down and playing house, but I’ve come to believe what I do has value all the same.

Anxiety builds in my stomach the closer we get to the yoga studio because having to see Gwen here—so close and yet so fucking far away—is its own special brand of torture.

Go look at something purple, Clyde teased yesterday. And all I could think was, I can’t. Not when everything purple reminds me of Gwen’s unusual eye color. And looking at Gwen makes me want that first date she teased me about, the one where I finally learn her full name. It’s been a year, and try as I might, I can’t shake her. Or what could have been. I blew it when I entered that one number wrong.

But every other night, I’m home alone, consumed by what could have been, knowing Gwen from the airport is staying practically down the street. Nothing happened between us, and yet her mere presence eats me up inside.

Clyde and I drive into town in silence, and it’s not until we pull up in front of the yoga studio that Clyde looks my way. “You’re acting like a sullen teenager,” he says plainly. Then he gets out. I’m annoyed to realize he’s right. And I have no clue how to stop. So I decide my best course of action is to avoid Gwen at all costs.

You tell him, Papa Clyde

Slowly but surely, Tripp Coleman is starting to feel less like a stranger and more like someone I’ll know for the rest of my life. Still, I think about Gwen. Even though I know I shouldn’t.

Bad as it sounds, I’m desperate for forest-fire season just so I can get out of here. And wishing for natural disasters has to be a new all-time low.

“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. I swallow hard and glance away. My eyes catch on his wheelchair in the corner. He’s gotten so weak that walking has become difficult. I can tell that he’s tired. For his sake, I try to stay positive.

The way he’s watching everyone, taking it all in as though this might be his last St. Patrick’s Day. Suddenly, his request for me to take him out tonight feels…bleak. It makes me realize that there probably will be a last time I pick him up. There will be a last beer we share. A last eye roll he shoots me. And I might not even recognize the moment for what it is.

“I could use a little good karma, Clyde.” He rolls his eyes. “Only you could make giving me a kidney about yourself. Oh please, Clyde, let me give you a kidney so I can feel better about myself,” he teases in a whiny voice. I scoff. “You know what, maybe I should just let you die.” “At least then I wouldn’t have to spend all my free time with a guy who cries as he masturbates while thinking about his son’s ex-girlfriend.” My head falls back as I glare up at the ceiling. “Get fucked, Clyde.”

“Did you say ex-girlfriend?” Now the older man laughs and shakes his head, like I amuse him greatly. “Caught that, did ya? You little pervert.” I should be embarrassed by how quickly I latched on to this tidbit, but my desperate curiosity prevents me from overthinking it. “Clyde, for fuck’s sake, I’m trying to give you an organ, and you’re sitting here shit-talking me to my face.” He smacks his lips. “Someone’s gotta do it. You’re more depressing than I am, even though I’m the one who’s dying. Surprised you’re not offering me both kidneys with how goddamn emo you’ve been lately.” I freeze at that, jaw working as I assess the man. “Wait. Are you hanging out with me as some sort of good deed?” Clyde glances away. “Why else do you think I’m out drinking stupid green beer with you? There are security cameras all over this place, and I’m pretty sure Doris is an undercover agent.” My mouth pops open and stays that way. I thought I was here doing Clyde a favor when he’s the one extending a pity invite to his loner friend on St. Paddy’s Day. I don’t want to fixate on that part, so I parry it aside with, “You think Doris what?” He takes a swig and glances around. “You heard me. Don’t make a scene—she’s probably watching. Reporting.” “Clyde, you say the wildest stuff sometimes. I don’t even know where you come up with it. What would she report?” He grins. “That you’d miss me if I died and that you desperately want to save your best friend’s life.” My eyes roll. Best friend. “No kidn...

In all honesty, spending time with Clyde fills something in me that I didn’t realize I’ve been missing. The way he calls to me when I enter his home—That you, kiddo? in his raspy voice—makes me smile every time.

Yes, Clyde pays me for my time, but if he stopped, I’d continue to show up. 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.

We don’t even have to see or speak to each other for Sebastian Rousseau to occupy space in my mind. My meditation practice is a struggle, constantly interrupted by flashes of surly brows, a square jaw rough with stubble, and big, calloused hands.

“I don’t want to be an old pervert like Bash, but I need to point out to you that our chests are very different.” I bite down on a laugh and just end up snorting. “Plus,” he continues, “I don’t need to soften my chest. Because my new kidney is on the way.” I freeze and stare down at Clyde. “What?” “I must have forgotten to tell you. Bash is giving me a kidney tomorrow.” My lips pop open. “Sorry?” A raspy smoker’s laugh spills from his lips as his eyes finally flick open. “Yeah. Couple weeks ago, he brought it up over beers. Went and did all the testing. Turns out the two of us are a match made in heaven.” My heart swells with joy, and my eyes fill with unshed tears. “Gwen, if you get all sappy on me, I’m leaving. All this universe and energy yoga shit is already toeing the line for me.”

“I bet Bash loves being referred to as your ‘match made in heaven.’” A mischievous grin curves across his wrinkled lips. “He hates it. Still giving me a kidney, though.”

Fucking Sebastian Rousseau.

Relief. Relief that he might make it through this hits me hard and fast. I might still have someone to visit. Someone who looks forward to having me around—who takes an interest in me.

Oh my girl

He never comes in, and he never looks at me. But right now, he is, and it has me squirming under his attention. There’s also a little part of me that feels like this is a step toward forgiveness. Like maybe he can finally stand the sight of me again. And the prospect of that makes me feel almost relieved. Like a weight lifts from my shoulders because I can’t stand the thought of anyone—especially him—disliking 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 should move my hand—snap it back like I’ve touched a hot stove. Because this fire between us is bound to burn someone eventually. But I don’t. Instead, I tip my face up and let my fingers splay.

“Clyde’s asleep. But he told me about the—the kidney.” My voice breaks, and more wetness springs up in my eyes. “And just…thank you. I’m so relieved.” “You’re crying because you’re happy?” The bite that was in his tone has morphed into a soft rumble. I smile up at him and nod. What can I say? I’m a sensitive gal. I’ve always felt things just a little more deeply. Bash lets out an exasperated groan, his eyes closing for one long beat as he gives his head a subtle shake. “Please don’t cry. It’s just a kidney.” A weepy laugh lurches from my throat. “Only you would say it’s just a kidney. He’s…he’s been so sore. So resigned. This is…” I suck in a trembling breath. “Bash, this is a new lease on life. You’re saving him.” A whimper spills from my lips as I continue to think about it, my breaths between sentences growing more emotional as I go. “This is so selfless, so brave. You’re giving him a piece of yourself. Do you not see how deeply generous this is?” “For fuck’s sake,” Bash growls. “You’re killing me.”

“Stop crying, Gwen. I can’t stand it. Everything is fine.”

“Oh, good. You two have kissed and made up,” Clyde rasps as he hobbles down the hallway. “We didn’t kiss,” Bash snipes, right as I say, “There’s nothing to make up about.”

“One of my best naps, Gwen. Thank you. I’m glad Bash stopped sulking and invited you to his party tonight.” Awkwardness descends between us because he most certainly did not. And based on the smug twist of Clyde’s lips and the murderous scowl Bash hits him with, we all know he didn’t. And yet, like a scolded child, Bash turns to me. “Gwen, would you like to come to the annoying party that West is hosting for me tonight?” He’s clearly only inviting me to be polite. The look in his eyes is practically begging me to decline. But beyond him, Clyde is nodding enthusiastically. I shrug. “Sure. I love annoying parties.” I tell myself I’m only saying yes to make Clyde happy. And that it has nothing to do with spending more time around Sebastian Rousseau. Absolutely nothing at all.

West strides out of his kitchen with a shit-eating grin on his face and a kidney-shaped cake in his hands. He stops at the head of the table, right beneath the banner that reads We’re going to miss you, Daddy! “Bash, congratulations on finally finding your perfect match,” he announces to the dining room full of our friends. “None of us expected it to be Clyde, but sometimes the heart wants what the heart wants. And I, for one, could not be happier for you. Or him.”

Gwen’s cheeks are rosy, her smile bright and genuine. Her eyes sparkle as she appraises the horror that is my cake. She has her lacey white blouse unbuttoned far enough to show the slopes of her ample cleavage. Those buttons stood no fucking chance, and she owns it. Her subtle confidence might be the most attractive thing about her. Still, she looks different now than she did earlier, when those big doe eyes welled with tears. Tears for me. Happy tears. It threw me for a fucking loop. I hated it, but a part of me loved it too. Because for a moment, it felt like someone in the world really saw me—and liked what they saw. When Gwen looked at me today, I hadn’t felt like a second choice.

“Tabby, I think it’s beautiful. How could a healthy kidney be anything but?” she gushes in her typical Gwen way. I swear she can find beauty in anything. “See?” Tabitha pokes Rhys. “Gwen thinks my kidney cake is beautiful.” 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 love you too, man. Stay safe tomorrow.” Then, glancing around the table, he lifts his champagne glass and waits for everyone to follow suit. “Here’s to Bash and his kidney,” he says as everyone raises their glasses. “You just might be the most thoughtful asshole I know. Cheers, to you and that big soft black heart of yours! And to Crazy Clyde!”

Gwen and I toast last, and it feels like everyone is watching us. I don’t think it’s lost on anyone that after months of avoiding her like the plague, I’m the one who extended the invite today. I did it to be polite. This isn’t an elementary school birthday party. Hell, I’m forty years old. I don’t need to exclude someone just because I’m all tangled up over her.

Our eyes catch and hold. For one beat and then two. Even as chatter breaks out around us, I can’t look away. And though Gwen is younger, she’s no little girl. She holds my gaze back just as boldly. I’ve thought that maybe she’s angry, going out of her way to be polite but secretly resenting me. After all, I’m the one who got the number wrong. I’m the one who didn’t try harder to track her down.

Then I regretfully turn my attention to West and the cake. It’s delicious. But not delicious enough to steal my wandering thoughts away from the woman seated across from me.

I haven’t let myself think much about the fact that surgeries go awry sometimes, but taking the last steps down the short drop to the shore, it hits me I might never see this view again.

I sigh and turn to watch her. All it takes is one peek back over her shoulder for her to drop the ruse and face me with crossed arms. It does nothing but prop her tits up, the moonlight bouncing off them in the most alluring way. God, I might never see those again either. What a fucking shame.

“Don’t give me that look, Rousseau. I was here first. Can’t use that weaponized sigh on a girl who was just trying to give you some privacy.” At least she misread the look I was giving her. Small victories. “It’s fine,” I grumble, letting my eyes trail down her body. Because why the fuck not? I could die tomorrow. Might as well look my fill.

So dramatic

“Want me to leave?” Do I want her to leave?