Page 55 of Wild

"I don't know," the doctor admits. "To figure myself out, maybe."

Mia watches her for a few seconds. There are a couple of loose strands falling across the right side of Erin's face that Mia doesn't want to brush away, because that careless look doubles her attractiveness and contrasts sharply with a woman who apparently overthinks everything. What Mia wants is to put a hand on the back of her neck and press her mouth to hers the way they did this morning, but more than anything, what sheneeds is for Erin Dooley to make up her mind and stop blowing hot and cold.

"And what am I supposed to do during that time? Wait for you to figure things out? Wait for you to decide I'm not worth it? That I'm not enough, or not what you want?"

"I don't know, Wilder," the doctor says, overwhelmed.

"Back to Wilder?" Mia lets out an exasperated breath, and Erin gets it—she'd lose patience with someone as uncertain as herself too.

"You'll always be Wilder to me, even if you're also Mia."

The singer isn't quite sure how to take that, but her body seems to know exactly what to do with it, because her heart just lurched, and she's certain that if Erin took her pulse right now, it would be double what it was before.

"I can give you that breathing room. Do whatever you need to do—but I'm not putting my life on hold, Erin. Not for someone who kisses me and then shuts me out."

"I'm not asking you to put anything on hold." Erin touches her bun and pulls out a loose strand of hair, then lets it go before she can tug it. "I would never ask you to stop being yourself. Just let me figure out who the hell I am, because I don't think I know."

It's the most honest thing she's ever said out loud, and hearing it in her own voice sends a jolt of anxiety straight to her gut. She knew who she was when she was taking care of her sister. She knew when she was taking care of her mother. She knows it in the hospital, caring for her patients, and she knows it when she's caring for Mia—but without any of those four things, she feels completely lost, because she has spent her entire life playing the same role for different people. Now that Mia is offering her something else—her time, her attention, her warmth, without asking for anything in return—Erin doesn't know how to act.

"Okay," Mia whispers, her throat tight, because she has never stood in front of anyone who seemed as vulnerable to her as Erin does right now—not even her friend Danny when he used to fall asleep on the couch in Noah's garage and curl up like even in his sleep he was still afraid. "Do what you need to."

The ease in Mia's voice settles something in Erin, because she's exhausted by always being the one who creates the tension between them.

"Thank you. I'll see you at the meeting this afternoon. If the pain comes back—"

"I'll call you, don't worry," Mia says, and Erin turns and walks out.

The doctor enters her room with her eyes stinging, sinking into her own dread as it hits her that she's about to turn thirty-eight and not only hasn't she really lived—she doesn't even know who Erin Dooley is. She picks up her phone with trembling fingers and calls Barry, because she needs to talk to someone who won't look her in the eyes and see the panic she's feeling. But it goes to voicemail, so she wipes her eyes, drinks two glasses of water, and steps back out into the hall with a small, wondering smile on her lips—because since she joined this tour, she no longer only has Barry. She also has Helen Casterley, or Nell to her friends.

Chapter 21

Erin had to go all the way down to the front desk to ask for Nell's room number, then ride the elevator back up and get off two floors below her and Mia's, and now she's standing in front of the door with her hand raised, not knowing what she'll say when she sees her.

"You don't need to knock."

Nell's voice reaches her from down the hall, and Erin spins around to find the woman walking toward her.

"Hey," she whispers, and Nell notices her slightly reddened eyes.

"You want to talk in my room, or would you rather do it at the bar over a drink?" she offers.

"Your room. With a drink?"

"Done."

The tour's production manager swipes her key card and pushes the door open. Erin likes her room better than her own—it's smaller, and the sheer size of the suite she's staying in always makes her feel a little uncomfortable. This one has just the bed, a private bathroom, a desk, and a pair of armchairs practically wedged under the window.

"Sit wherever you want. What do you feel like drinking?" Nell asks, the minibar door already open.

"Anything's fine," Erin answers without turning around, staring at her hands.

Nell grabs a bottle of whiskey and pours two generous glasses.

"Want me to ask for ice?" she asks as she sits down in the other armchair.

"No, this is fine."

The doctor doesn't even like whiskey—in fact, she doesn't like any alcohol—but right now she needs it, so she'll take whatever Nell puts in front of her.