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Back Walk on the Wilder Side Save as PDF
Chapters (46)
  1. Cover
  2. Dedication
  3. 1
  4. 2
  5. 3
  6. 4
  7. 5
  8. 6
  9. 7
  10. 8
  11. 9
  12. 10
  13. 11
  14. 12
  15. 13
  16. 14
  17. 15
  18. 16
  19. 17
  20. 18
  21. 19
  22. 20
  23. 21
  24. 22
  25. 23
  26. 24
  27. 25
  28. 26
  29. 27
  30. 28
  31. 29
  32. 30
  33. 31
  34. 32
  35. 33
  36. 34
  37. 35
  38. 36
  39. 37
  40. 38
  41. 39
  42. Epilogue
  43. Excerpt from Wilder With You
  44. Also by Serena Bell
  45. Acknowledgments
  46. About the Author

All this time, I was waiting for someone to choose me, to tell me I was the guy they could trust with what mattered most to them.

And it turns out this whole time? I was the one who needed to choose myself.

I was the one who needed to figure out what needed to be done…

And fucking do it.

“Gabe.”

This time, my voice doesn’t crack at all. It’s perfectly steady.

“Yeah?”

“I think Wilder needs a business development lead. And I think I should be it.”

It takes Gabe a long time—we eldest Wilders are slow to warm up—but eventually I get his smile.

38

Rachel

Louisa sits on the side of the bed and watches me fold the last scarf onto the top of my suitcase.

“I’m going to miss you so much,” she says. “But I am so proud of you.”

“I’m terrified,” I admit to her.

“I know, kiddo.” She sighs. “So much bigger than pulling a scarf out of a drawer without looking.”

I’m going back to Rush Creek. And I don’t have a plan. Not even a little one.

All I have is the knowledge that Rush Creek Rachel is who I want to be, the certainty that I belong close to my family, and the strong suspicion that I gave up too easily on Brody. Not much to build a cross-country move on…

Which I guess is the whole point. Not having a plan means trusting those things: Your vision for yourself, your sense of what’s true—instead of a perfect-on-paper to-do list.

Also, let’s be totally honest: It’s not exactly flying without a net if you know you can crash in your childhood bedroom.

But I gotta start somewhere.

I zip up my bags, which Louisa helps me carry down to the front door.

She opens her arms and I hug the heck out of her. I make her promise to come visit me in Rush Creek as soon as she can, and she makes me promise not to be a stranger to Boston. She lets me go, and I bend down to pick up my suitcases.

There’s a knock at the door.

Louisa gets up on tiptoes—she’s teeny—and then turns to look at me with huge eyes.

“There’s a very beautiful man standing on the porch,” she whispers. “He has bed hair and two days worth of scruff and green eyes and lots of tattoos.”

And then she grabs my arm and lets out a long, silent squeal, and runs away to leave me facing the door.

I open it.

“Hey,” Brody says.