Chapter Ten
Wylder
Kerri waves at the security officer as we pull into her parents’ palatial home in Bel-Air.
It looks like a château in France. It’s unreal. The first time I set eyes on it, I’m pretty sure I was stunned into silence for a good hour or two. At the time, I knew Kerri was rich, but I didn’t know she was B-status—a.k.a. next level.
“Mom’s got some drinks ready for us,” Kerry says as she pulls her Range Rover Sport into the circular driveway. “We’ll have to sit with her for max half hour, then we can go unpack in the guesthouse.”
“I’m good with whatever,” I tell her because I’m just happy to be with her and not at home. Speaking of home…
My mom’s called twice, and I haven’t called her in over a week. It’s the longest we’ve ever gone. Why? Jamie Donovan of course. He makes me forget about real life and lets me live in make-believe.
I’ll call her when we get settled in the guesthouse. I know she’s really upset I’m not coming home for the holiday, but I’m not, and she can’t change my mind. I’m actually relieved I don’t have to sit through whatever drama she’s going through with my dad, and I definitely am not in the mood for hearing any story about some new woman my dad happens to be cheating with. No thank you.
We enter through the enormous double doors and walk into a home that looks like it was featured in Architectural Digest. The white limestone floors are wide and long and lead out into an open veranda overlooking an enormous estate. The furniture is decadent, each piece probably worth more than an entire year of my salary—which isn’t much, but still. The artwork is exquisite, and I’m sure if I look up a few of the artists’ signatures, I’ll fall over in shock from the price tag.
Kerri and I walk out onto the veranda. A large glass table is set under the arched cover with heat lamps going as well as blankets on the chairs. There are mimosas waiting as well as a beautiful cheese-and-meat platter. Kerri’s mom is her thirty-year-older twin. She’s beautiful and always put together to the nines. In the entire summer I spent with them, I never saw a hair out of place. She’s a quintessential trophy wife, but she’s not what you’d typically expect. She’s actually super cool, and I really like her.
She rushes to Kerri and hugs her tightly, then comes to me and gives me one as well.
“I’m so glad you’re joining us for the holiday, Wylder,” she says warmly. When Kerri told us, both Jonathan and I were so pleased. We’re happy to have you.”
“Thank you so much, Mrs. Harrington,” I say politely.
“Is Colt here yet?” Kerri asks curiously. She leans over and grabs a handful of grapes and starts popping them in her mouth.
“He won’t get in until midnight,” her mom says. “He had to stop over in New York for a quick meeting.”
Colt is Kerri’s brother. He runs their father’s business with him and travels all the time. In fact, he travels so much that I’ve never actually met him in person. I’ve only seen his picture and heard his voice on the phone. And, no big surprise, he’s a golden Adonis.
“Have a seat, girls,” her mom says as she motions toward the table. “Give me your keys, love, and I’ll have Edward take your bags to the guesthouse.”
Kerri gladly hands them over.
“You’re so thin, Wylder,” Mrs. Harrington says, looking me over.
“Ohh.” I look down at my body. I mean, I have been having a lot of sex. “I know. I should eat—”
“Oh no, honey,” she says with a shake of her head, eyes glinting in appreciation. “I like it.”
I laugh out loud, and Kerri joins in. I forget how obsessed everyone in LA is with being super thin—especially the trophy wives, otherwise known as ladies who lunch.
“So how’s work, girls?” she asks as she hands us both top-heavy mimosas. She looks at Kerry.
“Work’s as shitty as expected, considering we’re treated like dirt,” Kerri drawls and takes a long sip.
Mrs. Harrington watches her daughter with hero worship. “I can only imagine.” She cuts a slice of cheese. “Everyone knows how much you guys are taken for granted.”
She puts the cheese in her mouth. I’m surprised she’s even eating that.
“What about your love life? You guys meeting any boys?”
“Wylder’s got a boyfriend,” Kerri says, looking at me with wide, innocent eyes. “That’s kind of news.”
“I want to hear everything about him!” Her mom leans in with excitement.
I could kill Kerri.
“It’s Jamie Donovan.” Kerri finishes with a wink.
Dead. She’s dead.
As expected, Mrs. Harrington looks at me with shock and some awe. “He’s gorgeous,” she says to my surprise.
“Mom!” Kerri exclaims and throws a grape at her. “You’ve got dad.”
“I have a pulse, honey,” she says unashamed. “And he really is a good-looking man.”
“I’d have to agree with you.” I laugh, then proceed to give her broad-stroke notes about our relationship: we’ve been dating for a short while; and we’re just having fun; it’s nothing serious.
I kind of feel like I’m not really being truthful to Mrs. Harrington because even though it’s been a short time, it sure feels like something more than it is now.
The more time I spend with him, the more I get sucked into the Jamie Donovan black hole, and it’s not a bad place to be. Unfortunately, he left town for the full four-day holiday. He flew him and his sister on a private jet back east to spend it with their parents and aunts and uncles and cousins. He begged me to come along, but there was no way I was going. No way. Since I couldn’t tell him my real reservation—meeting his family, which seems too fast—I just told him I’d promised Kerri months ago I’d spend Thanksgiving with her, and it was something we both had planned for. It was kind of true, but not really. Kerri could care less if I went home with Jamie. In fact, she asked me if I was going and was surprised I had turned him down.
For a second, I thought she wanted her place to herself for her and the mysterious Trouble who I had yet to meet, but she told me Trouble was going up north to visit family in San Francisco.
“All right ladies, dinner is at eight, and your dad invited Mark and a few other of his business associates, so unfortunately it’s not going to be casual,” Mrs. Harrington informs us. “I’ll need you to dress up a bit.”
“Drag,” Kerri mutters in annoyance. “We’ll just have dinner at the guesthouse then.”
Her mom shakes her head. “Your father will be disappointed.”
“He’ll get over it.” Kerri rolls her eyes. “Tell him we’ll see him for breakfast tomorrow morning, and if he really wanted to see us, he shouldn’t have planned a work dinner.”
“You know how work can be, dear,” Mrs. Harrington says as she stands. “But if that’s how you feel, I know from experience I can’t get you to do anything you don’t want. Do you want me to have Jessica bring you guys dinner, or will you order in?”
“Depends what’s for dinner,” Kerri says dryly.
I try not to laugh. Kerri really has no idea how lucky she is. The closest I got to having a “Jessica bring me food at the guesthouse” is my mom bringing me a peanut butter and jelly sandwich on Wonder Bread out to the tent I put up in the backyard. And that rarely happened.
Talk about reality check.
“Your father’s favorite of course, bison ragù over penne along with many other dishes she’ll prepare for the guests,” Mrs. Harrington explains. “We have to keep our vegan and pescatarians in mind.”
“Sounds good,” Kerri says. “We’ll take it. One of each.”
Kerri stands, and I take it as a cue we’re leaving. I get up with her.
“Perfect, I’ll have them bring it over for you. See you in the morning then.” She waves us off. I mean, we are going to another wing of the estate now, and it’s kind of easier to get there in a golf cart than walk.
We walk down the steps of the veranda and grab Kerri’s cart. Seriously, it has her name on it, and it’s pink. We hop in, and Kerri drives it across the perfectly manicured grounds and straight toward the family guesthouse. I honestly don’t really believe it can be called just a guesthouse because it has four bedrooms. One’s an office, and the building is three thousand square feet. It’s bigger than the home I grew up in.
Once she parks, we hop out of the cart and walk into the house. I note Edward had already come by and put our luggage in the correct rooms. He remembered where I stayed over the summer and pretty much knew which bag was mine—the one from TJ Maxx. Kerri’s is designer and worth Lord only knows how much.
The miniature version of her parents’ house has the same lux feel with an open floor and comfortable, spacious furniture. Everything is larger than life. There’s a bottle of champagne on ice as well as a few bottles of red on the countertop in the kitchen and a card that says “Enjoy” from her mom. There’s also a beautiful arrangement of flowers addressed to both of us. She filled the kitchen with fruit and goodies, obviously over the moon we would be here for the holiday. It’s really sweet of her.
“Pop open the champs,” Kerri commands as she throws her purse on the counter and walks directly to the fridge.
“One sec.” I pick up my large tote and grab my cell phone. I forgot to bring it with me when we went in the house.
I have two missed calls from Jamie. I quickly dial him back.
“Aren’t you in the air?” I say when he picks up, noting the time. He’s not supposed to arrive at the Cape until 9:00 pm.
“I am up in the air,” he says. “And I’m very annoyed you’re not up in the air with me. I wanted to initiate you into the Mile High Club.”
I grimace. “Initiate me?” I say annoyed. “I take it you’re already a part of this club?”
Kerri shouts with laughter. She obviously knows what club Jamie is referring to. I give her my best stink eye.
“A few times over.” He has no shame. None. Whatsoever.
“Nice.” It’s all I’m able to say.
“I’m going to keep talking about my past so much, baby.” His voice is husky, and my heart can’t help but pick up its pace. “That eventually it’s going to become just that in your mind too—my past. Just like a book one of a trilogy, something you’ve read and finished and are done with, and all you want is to get to the next in the series.”
“How Freudian of you,” I scowl, but he’s kind of right. I am getting less and less Wolverine angry. I’d never tell him this, but I even think some of his stories are kind of funny.
“I’d like to think I’m as smart as Freud.” He’s dead serious.
I’m not even going to dignify this with an answer. “How’s your sister?”
“She’s fine.” There’s an awkward pause, and I hear an angry voice in the background and then some rustling. Jamie covers and says, “She says hi, and she can’t wait to meet you.”
I can’t wait to tell the bitch off is what I think I hear. I ask Jamie if I’m right.
“No!” He sounds so nervous that I know I am. My guard is instantly up. Just what did I ever do to his precious best friend of a sister?
Annoying woman who’s currently acting like a see you next Tuesday – what? She’s rude.
“I think I’m losing reception,” Jamie lies, and it annoys me. “I’ll text you later.”
I think I heard his sister getting more and more animated and throwing around F-bombs—all directed at me. What the hell?
Kerri’s leaning against the counter sipping on a glass of champagne, staring at me like I’m some telenovela she can’t stop watching.
“I am dying,” she drawls incredulously. “Seriously, Wyld. Dying. Did his sister just call you a bitch?”
“She did.” I walk to the bottle and pour myself a healthy glass.
“What a cow!” Kerri’s eyes are wide with admiration. “I like her already.”
“Excuse me?” I say insulted.
“You stood her and her big brother up when she was supposed to meet you,” Kerri explains to my disbelief.
“What are you talking about?” Honestly?
“Your birthday.” Kerri laughs. “Jamie didn’t tell you… One of the surprises he had was for you to meet his sister as well. So in actuality, you ended up standing them both up.”
“Oh, shit,” I mutter as my head drops.
“More like diarrhea.” Kerri doesn’t sound sarcastic at all. “Montezuma kind.”
“You’re really not helping,” I mutter in anger.
“I’m not trying to,” she says honestly. “Come on, grab the fruit and let’s just go binge watch Game of Thrones. That will for sure take your sorrows away.”
Possibly.
“’Kay,” I say. “I’m going to put my sweats on first because I have a feeling we’re not going to move from the couches until tomorrow.”
“Your idea has merit because no, I don’t think we are either,” Kerri says with excitement. “This is my favorite kind of night!”
Mine too. I walk in my room and grab my sweats out of my bag and then remember my mom. Shit. I grab my phone and quickly call. It rings twice before she picks up.
“Honey!” My mom’s frantic voice squeals with her usual frantic energy. “Why haven’t you answered my calls?”
“Mom,” I say, feeling horrible. “I’m sorry, but I did text you.”
“A text is not a call.” My mom starts to cry. It’s a weak, “poor me” type of cry. I know this because I have all of her breakdowns categorized. “You’re all I have now.”
I grit my teeth.
“Now?” Honestly, I don’t even want to know.
“Your father is spending Thanksgiving with that whore!” My mother wails into the phone, and I feel instant hives coming along.
“Mom—”
“I’m all alone!” She screams into the phone. “I’ll just die all alone as well. I might as well die now.”
“Mom!” I shout at her in anger. “Just stop! I couldn’t afford to come see you. What do you want from me? I barely make any money to get myself food, let alone gas or pay my rent. I’ve never asked for anything from you guys. Anything. Give me a break.”
“You don’t love me,” she mutters in an angry voice.
I close my eyes in sadness. As usual, she never hears anything I say.
“I do love you, Mom,” I say after a moment. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“I hope you don’t do this to me over Christmas as well,” she says in a hysterical voice. “I’ll never survive it, because Lord knows your father will be with his whore—”
“Then leave him,” I tell her in a hard voice, the same way I’ve done a million times before.
She goes on like she didn’t even hear me. “He just doesn’t even care about me. He comes and goes as he pleases—”
Or didn’t want to hear me.
“Mom,” I say, interrupting her because I can’t take any more. I was actually in a really good mood. “I’ve gotta go. I stepped out of a movie to call you.”
“Oh, all right,” she says after a second. “I guess I’ll talk to you later. Will you call me tomorrow, Wylder?”
“Of course I will,” I say. “It’s Thanksgiving.”
“Good night, love,” she says.
“Good night.”
I close my eyes again. Talk about morbidly depressing. Every single time I talk to my mom, it’s like I’m hit with a tsunami wave of images from my past.
I look at the door, and Kerri’s leaning against the frame, staring at me. The look she gives me is a mixture of anger, sadness, and love.
“I love you.” Her voice is filled with sympathy.
“I love you.” And I do. She’s like my earth angel and fairy godmother all wrapped up in one pretty amazing package.
“She doesn’t mean to be the way she is,” I say to Kerri because I feel the need to defend my mom. I don’t want her to hate her.
“I know, Wyld.” Kerri’s voice is sad.
“It’s a disease, you know.” I try to keep my shit together and not cry. It would be too easy to do. “She’s addicted to him.”
“I know.” Kerri walks forward and grabs my hand. “But she doesn’t need to bring you down the spiral of darkness with her. That’s the part that kills me.”
She pulls me out of the room and then orders me to down my drink. I do as she commands. Kerri then grabs a bottle of Patrón Platinum and pours us both small shots.
“Happy fucking Thanksgiving,” she says as she lifts her cup and stares at me.
“This could go bad really fast,” I tell her, then look at my shot and shrug. “Fuck it.”
We down the shot, hit the table, and suck on a lime she sliced and then she pours another.
“To amazing sex!” We pound another.
“We should slow down,” I warn her and hold my hand up. “Grab the bottle, and let’s get to the couch and start watching TV. We won’t make it until eight if we keep this up.”
“Fine,” Kerri seems disappointed. “So let’s not talk about your mom but about Jamie’s having-every-right-to-be-annoyed sister.”
“Fiii-oooo-na?” I drawl out her name as I roll my eyes.
“You’re gonna have to kiss and make up with her,” she tells me. “She’s your man’s sister.”
My man.
I like the sound of that.
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug even though I full well know I’m going to have to do exactly that.
The theme song for Game of Thrones starts to echo through the surround sound in the room, and Kerri and I squeal. Before I settle in to watch the show, I grab my phone to send a quick drunken text to Jamie.
ME: I don’t like your sister.
Oh. My. God. I totally just texted him that. She’s his best friend! I blame the tequila, even though I’m now reaching for the bottle to pour another.
It’s a second before Jamie writes back.
JAMIE: She doesn’t like you either.
“Bitch!” I gasp out loud. Kerri looks at me and smiles.
ME: She has no right.
My phone indicates Jamie is typing back.
JAMIE: She was protecting her older brother. She loves me. What can I say? I’m just that lovable guy.
Ha. But let’s be honest, he is.
My heart stops.
Oh, no. He is.
Reality starts to sink in, and it’s not very pretty. It’s exactly the thing I never wanted to happen, and it’s scary as hell.
I’m in love with Jamie fucking Donovan.