“But he’ll die if I don’t.” She steps closer, pressing her body against mine. “Or worse, he’ll start eating things he shouldn’t.”
“I know the little guy is probably cute and all, but if people around here find out what you’re doing, they won’t take the same view. They’ll say it’s a pest—it’ll destroy things—and some will say it’s better off dead.”
She instantly pulls away, horrified. “You would kill him? Truly?”
The sudden, yawning space between us throws my senses into a panic. I want her back in my arms, close and cuddling.
“Not me,” I quickly say. “I could never hurt anything you cared for.”
The lines on her face relax and she steps closer, running her hands up my arms to my shoulders. “I promise he won’t be a bother. I have him tied up in the woods. He won’t go near anyone. I’ve made sure.”
“Tying up a wild animal isn’t the answer.”
“He’s only a little wild. Truly, he needs me.”
“You can’t keep him.”
She drops her head to my chest, and I feel like a jerk trying to contain her loving, free spirit. I let out a heavy sigh. I’m going to regret this, but I can’t stop myself from saying, “Fine. Do what you have to do, but then—”
She jumps in my arms, cutting me off, and strangles my neck as she places kisses all over my face. I am sooo whipped. The funny thing is, I don’t care. I’ll do anything to make her happy. I wrap my arms around her and bring my lips to hers. She has the softest lips…
I stop thinking about everything except getting close, sliding my hands down and over her hips and pulling her closer.
The front door opens and a gasp sounds. “Dylan! Hands!”
We jerk apart, but I don’t let Kera go. I slide my arm around her waist and give it a reassuring squeeze. Kera gives me an innocent smile, not in the least bit upset about getting caught with my hands on her butt.
I smile back, and shoot a sheepish glance at the not-so-amused woman at the door. I clear my throat. “Sorry, Grandma.”
She shakes her head, knowing I’m not, and approaches us. “Kera, sweetheart.” She takes her hand and pulls her away from me. “Will you help me finish preparing dinner? It’s almost ready.”
“Of course.” Kera kisses me one last time. “You should rest.”
“Yes.” Grandma opens the door and ushers Kera in, then looks back at me, an adorable scowl on her face. “He’s had a busy day.”
I smile and follow them inside. “You keep telling me to keep busy and not be narcissistic, whatever that is.”
“You know perfectly well what that word means. Egocentric self-absorption leads to recklessness, and my goodness, you’ve been reckless today.”
On my way through the kitchen, I give her a kiss on her cheek. “I’ll do better.”
“Hmmm.” She pulls down a pot from the cabinet and eyes me skeptically. “One can only hope.”
…
The next day passes with little drama. The barrier is quiet. It’s a nice change of pace. Kera leaves to tend to her new pet in the woods. I don’t press her about it. She knows I’m right, that she can’t keep it, and I trust she’ll do the right thing. Midmorning, Wyatt arrives. We run. We spar. We keep it mellow, mostly because my technique isn’t stellar, though my speed and strength impress him. I make the mistake of asking after his brother, Reece.
“No sign of him.” He busies himself with the gear he’s stowed in the back of his truck. Poking through this, pulling out that. I can only guess what he has planned next for me.
I shake my head and wipe the sweat from my forehead. “Do you know where he could be?”
“Not a clue.” Turning back to me, his mouth thins. “Dad’s pissing mad and Mom’s worried. It’s not like Reece to leave without saying something.”
“You’re really worried about him.”
He gives me a funny look. “Yeah. My family’s tight.”
Definitely something I can’t say about Mom and me. Thinking about it makes my chest heavy and my throat thick. “It’s only my mom and me. I don’t have any idea where she is. Funny thing is, with all the shit she’s put me through, I still don’t hate her. If that’s not a kick in the ass, I don’t know what is.”
By the nervous expression on Wyatt’s face, I’ve just broken Bro Code Number 7: Never, under any circumstances but death, give out too much emotional information.
It’s not like he doesn’t know about Mom. He’s just a stereotypical guy who lives by the Army rule of suck it up.
And then he surprises me by slapping me on the shoulder. “I never should have said all that stuff about your mom. Her leaving doesn’t mean she doesn’t care. Her issues run deep.”
“Center of the earth deep.” My throat is so tight, air uncontrollably jags into my lungs.
He squeezes my shoulder again and pulls away. “Yeah, well, sometimes you’ve got to let go and let them get their act together.”
It’s nice of him to try, but he doesn’t get it. I let go of Mom years ago. Only some odd sense of guilt kept her close, but as soon as she got over that unexpected sensation, she ran like a dog seeking a hidden stash of bones.
Wyatt pulls out a harness and straps it onto me, then affixes the end of the harness to a wide board with footholds screwed to the top of it. “I call this dogging it.”
It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what I’m supposed to do. “I’m going to pull you, aren’t I?”
“Yep. Don’t act so depressed,” he says, fitting his feet to the footholds. “This’ll be fun.”
His idea of fun and mine are not the same.
By late afternoon, I’m totally spent. I don’t feel as jittery. Maybe this whole “keep him exhausted” strategy will actually work.
Ensconced on the couch in front of the television, I channel surf, not really paying attention to what I’m seeing. Kera just got back from walking her new pet in the woods, and she’s helping Grandma in the kitchen. I’m relaxed. Happy. I actually have people who care about me. It’s a little unnerving. I’m not used to the attention. Seriously, how long can it last? So far, all the crap that’s been flying in my life since I arrived hasn’t turned them away. It’s kind of amazing.
Amid the familiar noise of canned laughter, yawn-able news headlines, and catchy commercial music, I hear a sharp, irregular tapping. Tilting my head, I try to locate the sound.
Across the room toward the big picture window.
The tapping is definitely coming from that area. The shades are down and only a sliver of light peeks out along the bottom edge. I grab the back of the couch and vault over it, my Nikes landing soundlessly on the wooden floor. As I approach, I duck to peer beneath the shade. A pair of black googly eyes stares back at me from the other side of the window.
With a strong yank on the shade pull, the window cover flies up to reveal a mole of a man with a big head and overly large hands and feet huddling against the side of the house, his usually pale skin now a dark umber. Bodog. I quickly crank open the window and pop out the screen. Bending deeply, I lean over the windowsill and yank the little guy into the house, where he slumps against himself as if his small stature is too large for the room.
He’s shivering. I don’t know why. It’s 75 degrees—a downright hot day for the wilds of Oregon.
“What are you doing here?” My demand is ignored. I get closer and try to pin down his wide-eyed gaze.
The little man snuffles around seeking shadows to hide in. He bumps into a bookshelf and a few books topple loose. Ducking, he lets out a sharp squeal. I snatch the books before they hit and put them back. When I turn my attention back to Bodog, he’s hiding under Grandpa’s desk. What happened to the little man who braved the torture chamber to rescue me? Something is really wrong.