All Chapters of Half Wild, Half Yours: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

The fire crackled low, casting golden shadows across the faces gathered around it. This wasn’t the same bonfire where I’d seen Teddy. That one still lived in the pit of my stomach like a coal. This one, though? It felt safer. Softer. Like a place I could sit down and not unravel. Luke and I were perched on a couple of folding camp chairs, red solo cups in hand. Someone had connected a speaker, and Morgan Wallen’s voice drifted through the trees like a worn-out prayer. I took a slow sip, feeling the sting of bourbon on my lips and the smoke in my lungs. “You know,” Luke said, glancing over at me, “I thought you were just another influencer when I first saw you.” I smirked. “Ouch.” He held up a hand. “Let me finish. I thought you were just pretty pictures and perfectly filtered van shots. But then you opened your mouth and started talking shit, and I was like—hell, she’s real.” I laughed. “I’ll take that as a compliment.” His eyes lingered on mine, steady and kind. “It is.

I don’t sleep. I pace. I write and rewrite a hundred versions of what I want to say—half songs, half confessions, none of them good enough. My notebook looks like I bled out on the page. By the time the sun starts creeping over the edge of the trees, I have a plan. No more playing it safe. No more hiding the parts of myself I think she’ll run from. It’s the last day of the festival. People are hungover, shuffling around camp with sunglasses and half-open beers. Brody tosses me a sideways look when I tell him what I’m about to do. “You sure?” he asks. “No,” I say. “But I’m doing it anyway.” I find the guy running sound for the main stage, offer him a handshake and a favor to cash in later. Then I go looking for her. She’s crouched outside the van with Tyler, hair tied up in that effortless, messy way she doesn’t realize is sexy as hell. She looks up when she hears my footsteps, but her face is unreadable. Like she’s not sure how to hold me anymore. “Come with me,” I say. S

We lay tangled together in the quiet, skin still slick and hearts still racing like they hadn’t gotten the memo that the storm was over. His fingers traced lazy circles along my spine, up and down, again and again, like he was trying to learn my shape in braille. The van felt like a heartbeat—quiet, alive, and completely ours. He kissed the top of my head and murmured, “Can I ask you something?” “Mmhmm,” I hummed against his skin. He tilted his head, curiosity warm in his voice. “Why are you named Blue?” I smiled lazily, not even opening my eyes. “You’re not the first person to ask.” He chuckled softly. “I’m sure I won’t be the last.” I sat up slightly so I could see him, brushing my fingers along his jaw. “My parents named me Blue because they wanted me to be endless. Like the sky. They wanted me to be free and fearless. Untamed. To live without fences. That’s what my mom always said. She wanted me to grow up knowing the world didn’t have to be something you stayed inside the

The Sprinter’s engine hummed its familiar lullaby as I steered us down the highway. Dawn painted the horizon in streaks of rose and gold, and the desert stretched out like an endless promise. My favorite kind of beginning—open roads, soft light, and zero idea what might come next.Beside me, Teddy lounged in the passenger seat, a blanket draped over his legs, hoodie tugged low over his eyes. His hair was still messy from sleep, and he was cradling the last third of a gas station coffee like it was sacred.“Okay,” he said, voice thick with sleep—and excitement. “What’s the plan this time, Wander With Blue?”I glanced at him through the mirror, grinning. “Let’s just say it involves neon, music, and a touch of sin.”He raised an eyebrow. “Neon and sin? Sounds like my kind of town.”I tapped the dashboard. “Hold that thought.”Behind us, I could hear Thomas and Brody’s van—Sadie riding shotgun—rumbling in convoy. They were all in on my little scheme. I’d whispered the destination to Thoma

The Caesars Palace lobby is all marble gleam and chandelier starlight—too bright, too polished, almost unreal. I corral my little birthday convoy—Brody, Thomas, Sadie, and Teddy—while Tyler trots beside me in his navy service‑vest, tail swishing like a feather duster against gold‑veined floors. We reach the concierge desk. A statuesque clerk with an immaculate chignon greets us with a practiced smile. “Welcome to Caesars Palace! May I have your reservation details?” I give my best I‑promise‑we’re-responsible grin. “Blue Hawthorne, checking in.” She taps a few keys, then brightens. “Ah—Miss Blue Hawthorne. Pleasure to have you with us.” Beside me, Teddy chuckles under his breath. “Blue Hawthorne. Sounds like a folk singer who runs secret speakeasies.” “Shut it, Theodore Sinclair,” I whisper back, elbowing him. “At least my name doesn’t sound like a Victorian detective.” I slide my battered credit card across the counter, but Teddy’s hand intercepts it. “Actually, I’ll handle it.