The Simple Wild (Wild, #1)

by K.A. Tucker

I’ve just kept on giving this man parts of me, not realizing that I was losing myself in the process.

“I can only handle so much disappointment for one day.” And my father has already delivered enough to last me a lifetime.

And when I stood on the stage, accepting my academic award, it was with puffy eyes and a forced smile, and a silent promise to myself that I would never trust him again.

In the past, I’ve found myself silently mocking the gangly Englishman for never putting his foot down with my mother, for never showing a spine. But now, as I gaze at his narrow, kind face—his feather-thin hair long since receded from his forehead—I can’t help but admire him for all that he’s put up with while loving her.

“He’s not a bad man, Calla.” “Maybe not. But he’s a shitty father.”

Jonah what she would call a “sky cowboy”? As if I’d ever fall for this guy.

Though how anyone but legitimate flesh and blood could love Jonah is beyond me.

But I don’t feel like a twenty-six-year-old woman right now. Right now, I feel like an angry and hurt fourteen-year-old girl, brimming with insecurity and doubt, acknowledging that this man—the one not moving a muscle to close this last bit of distance—made a conscious decision to not be in my life.

See you in the morning? Four planes, 5,500 kilometers, and twenty-four years later, and all I get from my father is two minutes of polite conversation and “see you in the morning”? Disappointment threatens to bowl me over.

They can’t sense my loneliness, or the knot in my stomach. That’s the magic of social media, I guess. But there’s also an odd comfort to hiding behind the illusion.

“No, no, you go ahead to work, Dad. What? But we haven’t seen each other in twenty-four years? No biggie. I would never expect you to take an hour or two off. Seriously, I’ll take care of myself,”

“I’m not going to show up to someone’s house empty-handed,” I mutter, my eyes roving the store signage, searching for the liquor aisle that we obviously missed. “Who does that?” “I do it all the time,” he retorts, as if proud of that fact. “Yeah . . . well . . .”

I’d rather walk five miles wearing nothing but a million mosquitoes than sit next to Jonah right now.

A distinct wave of jealousy bowls into me. My dad and I used to talk about how he’d teach me to fly a plane one day, so many years ago, back before I realized that I prefer my feet on the ground. And here he is now, his arm around Mabel, promising her the very same things he used to promise me. Acting every bit the father I imagined he could be for me.

Is Mabel the reason my dad canceled on me? Did it not have anything to do with Alaska Wild after all? Is she the reason he ditched me? Did he choose her over me?

“But he’s been good to you and your mom?” “He’s been the best.” He’s been a real father to me.

I frown at the fresh carton of Silk sitting front and center on the shelf. That wasn’t there earlier this morning.

“By being in his favorite place, high up in the sky, getting away from everything he’d lost down on the ground.”

I try to ignore the way my gut tightens. He’s called her that at least a half dozen times tonight and every time has been like a siren for me, a stark reminder that this kid has something with him that I never had, even all those years ago when I’d still call and he’d still answer. Despite the fact that they’re not blood-related.

“You don’t need all that to look good, Calla. Seriously.” My words falter. Was that a compliment? From Jonah?

“I don’t get it.” “You don’t have to; you just have to respect it.”

“You looked better yesterday, by the way. Without all that crap on your face.” I feel my cheeks flush with a mix of embarrassment and anger.

God forbid woman likes makeup? We don't wear it becaue we are insecure, it's just cute

“That girl ran like I’ve never seen anyone run before,” my dad murmurs. “She wanted to make sure the ground finished me off.” I wanted to make sure you’re okay. Because I was worried. Because I care. “No. I figured you’d jump at the chance to ruin my favorite sweater,” I say instead.

I glare at the sleeping giant through the window, feeling the overwhelming urge to march in there and slap him awake to explain himself. If he hadn’t been in a plane crash today, I might. Fucking Jonah.

“You’re an ass even when you’re unconscious, aren’t you?”

“There’s nothing I’m forgetting.” “Definitely, nothing. But we should get going. Like, right now.” I finally dare look over, to find my dad pursing his lips together tight, doing a poor job of smothering his grin.

Those lips finally curl into a smile. My eyes flit up to find his—crap, he caught me admiring his mouth—as he recites the last line from memory: “ ‘Lastly, for crashing Betty and scaring me to death.’ ”

“How long have you had my things?” “Since I flew back to Anchorage the next night to get them,” he admits casually, without hesitation or a hint of remorse.

“And what, you got Billy to lie for you?” “Nah. He had no idea I took ’em. He’s been shitting himself and finding excuses, hoping they’d turn up.”

“Just when I was starting to like you . . .” A deep bellow of laughter sails from his lips and knowing eyes search my face. “Oh, I think you like me just fine today.”

“Yes. Maybe now you have a shot at getting laid. As long as you don’t speak.”

My comeback might have been piercing and quick, but it’s too late. He has a solid upper hand on me, because he knows as well as I do that, despite everything, last night’s vengeful grooming session has caused a totally unpredicted side effect. I’m now unmistakeably attracted to the yeti.

“It does suit him, doesn’t it?” I make a point of cocking my head and letting my eyes drag along his jawline in an admiring way. “My neighbor’s sheepdog always looks much better after getting clipped, too. And it helps with the fleas.”

“Not as pretty as I’d look without it. Besides, some women like their men pretty.” A pause, and then he turns to look at me dead center. “Right, Calla?” I feel all their eyes on me as my face burns. I clear my throat. “Some might.” You ass. His knowing eyes crinkle with amusement. An ass you want to kiss again, he seems to be saying.

“And how long are you here for?” “Another week.” “Okay . . .” If I’m not mistaken, a sigh of satisfaction passes her lips. One more week and she’s away from Jonah for good. “Unless I decide to stay longer,” I blurt out without thinking.

“Why did you kiss me today?” “Because I wanted to, and I knew you wanted me to.”

“You have been driving me fucking insane for days and I couldn’t hold myself back for one more second.”

This intimidating, sharp-tongued but soft-hearted, beautiful man is telling me he wants me. Badly.

And that’s exactly what Jonah is: a man. All the other guys I’ve ever bee...

“You know you’re perfect, right?”

“That’s not my type.” “But you said—” “You’re my type.”

They’ll be hard not because my dad will be fighting cancer. There is no fight. He’s already given up.

She’s on the phone with her best friend right now, saying she’s fallen for a jackass with a death wish.” “Isn’t that basically what you did?” he retorts.

Jonah is Alaska to me.

Jonah laughs and the boy laughs, and suddenly I’m able to picture Jonah as a father. Jonah will make a good father.

I’ve spent the last twelve years dwelling on all the things Wren Fletcher isn’t. I should have had the guts to come and find out all the things he is.

“You’re not alone. You’ve got me. And I’ve got you, and we’ll get through this together.”

“I also had to tell her how proud I am of the woman you’ve become. Your mom and Simon, they did so good by you, Calla. Better than I ever could.”

“I wish . . .” His brow pulls as his voice trails. “I wish I’d called. I wish I’d got in that plane and seen your graduation. I wish I’d stolen your mom away from that doctor of hers and convinced her to come back with me. I wish I’d made sure you knew how much I thought about you. How much I’ve always loved you.” His voice grows thick. “I wish I’d been someone different than who I am.”

“This is my last flight, kiddo,” he announces with grim certainty. He reaches over and takes my hand, and the smile on his face is oddly at peace. “And I can’t think of a better person to have spent it with.”