The Match (Wilde, #2)(25)

Wilde had been standing there for an hour when his phone rang.

It was Laila.

He picked up. “Hey.”

“Hey.”

There was silence.

“Matthew is gone for the night,” she said.

“I know.”

“Wilde?”

“Yes, Laila?”

“When you’re done with whatever you’re doing, come over.”

He didn’t have to be told twice.

*



When they were spent, Wilde fell into the deepest of sleeps. He woke a little before six a.m. Laila slept next to him. He watched her for a few moments, then he rolled onto his back, put his hands behind his head, stared at the ceiling. Laila liked luxuriant white bedsheets with an infinite thread count. The expense seemed obscene, but there were times, like right now, when Wilde got it.

Laila rolled and rested her hand on his chest. They were both naked.

“Hey,” she said.

“Hey.”

Laila moved in closer. He pulled her tight.

“So,” she said, “Costa Rica.”

“What about it?”

“It didn’t work out?”

“It worked out,” Wilde said. “It just didn’t last.”

Wilde loved her. Laila loved him. They’d tried to be more domestic in the beginning. It hadn’t worked. That was his fault. Some blamed the ghost of David—that had been there initially, sure—or fear of commitment. It wasn’t that. Not really. Wilde wasn’t built for what most would consider a normal relationship. Laila needed more. The cycle went like this: Laila would start a new relationship with some guy. Wilde would leave her be and wish the relationship well. He wanted her happy. But the relationship would eventually peter out, not because Laila held some kind of candle for Wilde but because she still couldn’t get over the death of her soulmate David. All other relationships came up short. So Laila would break up with the guy and then she’d get lonely, and there, alone in the woods waiting, was safe, convenient, can’t-commit Wilde.

Rinse, repeat.

Wilde had given the “normal relationship” mode one last try in Costa Rica with another woman and her daughter. It had gone surprisingly well, this domesticity, until it didn’t. All relationships die, he rationalized. His died faster, that’s all.

“What time is it?” Laila asked.

“It’s almost six.”

“I doubt Matthew will be home before noon.”

“But I should get going anyway.”

“Yes.”

Part of him wanted to ask about Darryl; most of him did not. He slipped out of the luxuriant silk sheets. He could feel her eyes on him as he padded for the shower. Being Mr. Eco-Living was all fine and good, but there were few luxuries he enjoyed as much as the strong water pressure and seemingly endless hot water of Laila’s shower. He hoped that she would join him, but that didn’t happen. When he got out, Laila was sitting on the edge of the bed in a robe.

“You okay?” he asked.

“Yes.” Then: “I love you, Wilde.”

“I love you too, Laila.”

“Was I part of the reason you went to Costa Rica?”

He had never lied to her. “Part, yes.”

“For my sake? Or your sake?”

“Yes.”

Laila smiled. “You stayed with her a long time.”

“With them,” Wilde corrected. “Yes.”

“It should all be simpler, shouldn’t it?”

Wilde slipped into his clothes. He sat next to her on the bed and tied his sneakers. The silence was comfortable. There was more to say, but it could wait. He rose. She rose. They held on to each other for a long time. There was a lot of history here. David was in the room too. He had always been. Neither denied it, but neither minded his presence anymore. Their sleeping together had stopped feeling like a betrayal years ago.

Wilde didn’t say he would call. He didn’t say she should either. They both understood the situation. The next move would be up to her.

Wilde headed downstairs alone and crossed the family room. When he pushed open the kitchen door, he was surprised to see Matthew. He was sitting at the kitchen table with a bowl of cereal.

Matthew glared at Wilde. “Looks like it runs in the family.”

“What?”

“Sleeping around, cheating, whatever.”

Wilde did not reply to that. His mother would explain or not explain as she saw fit. It wasn’t his place. He started for the back door. “I’ll see you around.”

“Don’t you want to know what I mean by ‘runs in the family’?”

“If you want to tell me.”

“It’s simple,” Matthew said. “I know who PB is.”





Chapter

Nine



Wilde sat next to him. Matthew kept his eyes on the cold cereal in front of him.

“I thought you and Mom were done.”

Wilde said nothing.

“I know you used to stay over. You don’t think I’d hear you sneak out?”

“I’m not going to talk about this with you,” Wilde said.

“Then maybe I don’t want to talk about PB.”

Wilde remained silent. He pulled over the box of cereal and emptied some into his palm. He ate a few pieces while he waited for Matthew to stop giving him the sullen.