Wild Card

by Elsie Silver

“I can take it off if it makes you uncomfortable. I didn’t even think.” I glance over my shoulder at the pewter circle adhered to the door. For some reason, that one little touch feels monumental somehow. It’s endearing to think he planned that far ahead. “No, that’s fine. You should keep it up for when you do have babies.” He snorts at that. “I think that ship has probably sailed.” “Why?” “I’m forty and a bachelor. And I’m not sure if you noticed, but I’m not exactly great company these days. The thought of wading back into the dating world is exhausting and daunting. The clock is ticking, and my options have dwindled.”

“I enjoy your company.” “Gwen.” He sighs my name like I exhaust him, his palm scrubbing over his stubbled jaw. “Oh, quit constantly flattering yourself. That statement doesn’t need to mean more than it does.” I swear I see a dimple flash in his cheek, so I forge ahead. “I just meant that I’m not put off by all your snarling.” He finally looks my way. “Snarling?” “Yes. Barking and growling too.” “Am I a dog now?” “A big, dumb one who’s been living tied to a post for too long and doesn’t know how to interact anymore? Yes. You are.”

“I wasn’t always like this. It kind of snuck up on me, I guess.” “Well, we’re all constantly changing. Evolving. Growing. I don’t know a single person who is the same as they once were. I know I’m not. And how boring to just…know who you are and think there’s nothing more out there for the rest of your life.” He shrugs. “I might have changed too much.” I inhale deeply, a soft smile curving my lips. “Impossible.” Bash scoffs. “Not if you ask my ex-wife.” There’s that word again. I ignore the sudden tightness in my neck and jaw. Wife. But no, ex-wife. Swallowing, I forge ahead with something suitably vague. “Maybe she was wrong.”

Fuck, he’s handsome. I never—not once in my life—had this kind of physical reaction to another person.

“The really hilarious update is that I ran into her when I left Tripp’s birthday party all those months ago. I was waiting around at the airport, hoping to get onto a flight, and bam there she was. Remarried. With a toddler. And very, very pregnant. So now I know it wasn’t that she didn’t want a family. She just didn’t want it with me. And all I’ve done is spend years licking my wounds, wishing for something I’ll never have. Too scared to even try.” The pain in his voice is like a spear to my chest. It aches for him. I ache for him. “You can. You should. Try, that is. You’re a catch. Someone will happily snap you up.” I work to keep my voice neutral and my face passive, but my tone feels frantic—a little desperate. Like I want him to believe me just a little too badly. He laughs, a flat, biting chuckle. His jaw flexes, but he doesn’t respond immediately. Eventually, he turns his attention my way, dark eyes boring into mine. “Turns out it’s not that easy to find a person you actually connect with.”

We connected. We had that spark. The one you can’t force. The kind that sneaks up on you when you least expect it. And the worst part is, we both know it. Who knows where it could have gone? It could have been nowhere at all, but I still feel the loss of that possibility. Acutely.

“I broke up with him at his birthday party. Right then and there. If I had known…” Bash goes deathly still as I trail off. It’s almost as though he stops breathing. “You left me in that bathroom and⁠—” “Gwen, just don’t.” But I don’t listen. “The way he spoke about you? The way he spoke to me? I went straight back to him and ended it on the spot.” “Gwen—” “I left,” I say, forging ahead. I want him to know. No, I need him to know. “I wasn’t even that far behind you. I thought maybe I could catch up. I tried to find y⁠—” He sits up, spinning to face me, a pained look of fury on his face. “Gwen. Stop.” “That night something happened between us⁠—” “Stop!” His harsh voice cuts through the night air, and I still, watching as he wipes a trembling palm over his mouth in frustration. “I can’t have this conversation with you. I can’t.”

But his voice leaves no room for debate. This isn’t a conversation. It’s a demand. A plea to stop even thinking about us.

“Don’t you get it?” he implores, propping his elbows on his knees and holding his hands out like he’s begging me to understand. “Tripp might have some glaring character flaws—I won’t argue that with you—but he’s my son. And I’ve wanted that. Maybe not like this. But it might be my only opportunity to have even a sliver of this thing. My dad was a piece of shit. Walked out without a word and never came back. I’ve always wanted to…I don’t know…fix that wrong. Do better one day. Prove to myself that while I might have half his DNA, I’m not him. It’s why…it’s why your being here has to be for Clyde. For professional reasons and nothing more.” His breathing is rough as he pierces me with a scorching gaze that would normally make me squirm. Tonight, it just hurts. “Gwen. I can’t fuck it all up. I can’t cross that line, no matter how tempted I am.”

A familiar feeling stirs inside me. The one where I’m in the way or not good enough—a burden. I know it’s not true. I know that’s not what he meant. But I feel the sting of it all the same.

The entire mess feels monumentally unfair. Because I like Bash. I really like Bash. Unfortunately for me, I like Bash enough to keep my distance. It shouldn’t be too hard. I was never planning to stay anyway.

Since our talk on the balcony last week, we’ve avoided each other like the plague. It’s different this time because she’s avoiding me. And I hate it.

“Don’t insult him. He’s a professional athlete. He’s mastered something, and here you are, pretending spares are something special.” West just laughs. He’s impossible to piss off. “Man, you’re even more miserable than usual. Were all your good moods in the kidney that you gave away? Are you stuck with the bitchy kidney?” “My kidneys are both exceptional. The doctors told me as much,” I mumble defensively. “No, seriously. Who pissed in your cereal and why is it Clyde?” I bristle at him assuming Clyde is the one who’s under my skin. “Clyde doesn’t bother me. Mostly.” He’s been at the hospital daily for follow-up appointments, but otherwise, he’s fairly bedridden. Gwen takes care of him, and while she’s at the yoga studio, he usually sleeps or dozes in front of the television. “Wait. Does that mean Gwen pissed in your cereal?” Rhys finally pipes up, curiosity dawning on his dark features. “Is there a different metaphor we can use?” Ford sighs, taking a deep swig of his beer. “I don’t love the mental imagery with this one.”

Rhys chuckles. “Is she bugging you about your chakras? Is one of them blocked?” I scowl, wondering why everyone is talking about my chakras lately. She must be indoctrinating Rhys during his classes too. “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.

“I do not,” I say. But it sounds unconvincing, even to me, so I add something that I am convinced of. “Plus, she dated Tripp. That’s a line you just don’t cross. Even if I saw her first.”

If I had known. I ended it on the spot. I tried to find you.

“Saw her first?” Rhys asks, looking confused. I wave a hand casually. “We got stuck in an airport overnight together over a year ago.” West gasps. “Wait, she’s that girl? Didn’t you get her number?” My stomach drops hard and fast. I never told West that story. “How do you know that?” “Clyde told me.” Fucking Clyde.

West elbows Rhys. “See that? Falling all over himself to protect her honor.” Rhys smirks in response, but Ford looks downright thoughtful. “That’s actually⁠—” “Kind of romantic?” West guesses with amusement twinkling in his eyes. “No.” Ford shrugs. “Sad.” Fucking Ford. Direct to a fault sometimes. “Thanks, I’m really fine, though,” I reply grimly. Fine.

Rhys rolls in with his deep, authoritative voice. “You know, as someone who grew up without a dad, I don’t think this would bother me.” “You mean if your dad came around and started dating Tabitha, you’d be cool with that?” Rhys turns a fierce glare on West. “Fuck no. That’s my wife you’re talking about.” West laughs, holding his hands up in an amused don’t shoot gesture. “I just mean,” Rhys continues, “if my dad showed up and dated a casual ex of mine that he met before I did? I don’t know. I’d have no relationship with the guy, so I doubt I’d care. It would be like any random dude dating an ex of mine. Unless I was hung up on her.”