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wasn’t mine. Simple as that.
    Wilder’s an artist. He can see anything once and paint it from memory. The entire left wall of my room is a mural he made for me, a scene that was the backdrop of our first kiss. The thought of that day still makes my stomach flip, and not in a good way. I’d dodged his advances for weeks and just happened to look up right when his lips were inches away. It felt wrong. So wrong. I gently pushed him away and tried to end us then, but he had a way of talking to me, a way to make me face my darkest emotion: grief. He had me convinced I felt guilty about being happy because I knew my family would never feel that way again. Slowly, he pushed us forward. Fearing that he was right about me, I let him draw me in. I’m sure he thought more than once that he was breaking through to me, but the truth was that I imagined someone else’s lips on mine. Someone that brought fire to my soul.
    One time he even pulled away from me, pulling his fingers to his lips, as if he felt the burn there. The look he gave me was near anger. “You’re not here right now, are you?” he’d said.
    We had the biggest fight ever on that day. He wanted me to tell him who I was seeing behind his back, wanted me to tell him why I was holding back, why I would not let him in. By the time it was over, I told him we were friends and nothing else. I stopped our relationship cold after only three kisses. They were not ordinary embraces. It was abundantly clear that Wilder had far more experience than me. Every movement of his lips was pure seduction—but once again, I wanted to feel that, just not from him.
    He left town the next day. A week went by, and he texted me out of nowhere. We talked like nothing had ever happened between us and began the friendship we have now, one that is at a safe distance, so safe that I hadn’t even heard his voice in six months, only texts.
    I was a coward. I knew that. But I wasn’t ready to deal with him, or anyone else in that capacity right now. I had far too much family drama to deal with.
    Which meant I needed to find someone to distract Wilder for me.
    “I think Sophia and Mason would make a good couple. I think he and Jewls are having issues again. Do you know anybody at school that would make sense with Wilder?” I said, sitting down next to Cadence.
    “Seriously?” she said, cocking her eyebrow comically.
    “What’s with that look?” I asked absentmindedly.
    “You just baffle me sometimes. Wilder is not pushing himself on you. He sent one text telling you he was in town. What if he’s got a girl already?”
    “Right. I bet he does,” I breathed, remembering his essence. I moved my head from side to side as my stomach flipped in the bad way again. I decided long ago that I was in love with the idea of Wilder, not Wilder himself, and that flippity-floppity feeling always proved my point.
    “Why do you feel the need to match up your exes?” Cadence asked as her pale green eyes cascaded over me. She was playing the part of the psychologist again.
    “I want them to be happy,” I said with a faint smile.
    “To use your own words, you don’t have to be with someone to be happy. Those boys will go off and marry some girl, have a lot of kids—but Indie, they won’t forget you. You let them be themselves, helped them figure out who they are. They know you are special. They also know you are untamable.” She rolled her eyes. “No doubt, you are all going to be best friends for life.”
    There was that hint again. If she and Gavin did actually split, I knew she would start dropping hints left and right that it was too hard on her to have him around. I needed to shut that idea down right now.
    “I agree. I could never send Gavin out of my life, or Mason for that matter.”
    “You had no issues sending Wilder away,” she rebutted.
    “Nope.”
    She playfully glared at me. She wanted all the juicy details about what went down between me and Wilder, but I never told her