Sometimes, calling out how ridiculous something is helps break the tension. Her attempt at humor works, prompting a small smirk and a hesitant nod of agreement.
Instantly, she’s flustered and uncertain. This was her idea, and she’s already failing at providing direction. “Okay. How do you want me?”
It’s an innocent question, but he shakes his head with something akin to fond amusement. “First, you gotta stop talking like that.”
“Right. Sorry.”
He scratches the back of his neck, considering his options before making a small request that sounds far too defeated. “You were right. It’s easier if you turn around.”
She can do that. Looking him in the eye isn’t a requirement for their end goal. She stands on what begins to feel like wobbly legs and turns her back to him. The sound of his chair scraping against the floor is obscene, and the hair on the back of her neck prickles upward with growing anticipation.
She may as well be waiting to hear the sound of his zipper and feel the force of him taking her from behind for how nervous she is. What’s happening here isn’t meant to be sexual, but she can’t help but breathe a little faster at the warmth of his body a few inches from her back.
Kara bites her lip, willing herself to stay still and be patient.
Truth be told, she hadn’t thought he would agree. Now she’s wound tight, waiting for the first brush of his fingers. Wishes she had worn a short-sleeved shirt for more exposed skin. Then, the first hint of his fingertips across the back of her hand where it hangs at her side, has her tingling.
It’s the smallest step that feels like a mile. It shouldn’t fill her with such pride for how brave he is, but it does. His palm cups her hand even while fear seeps out in every quiver.
Be still, she tells herself. Just wait. It takes everything in her not to turn and rush into his arms, but there are some things he needs to do on his own, and this is absolutely one of them. Slowly, their fingers slot together side by side, not curling into a hold just yet, but simply weaving into place as a test of what’s possible.
Warm breath puffs on the slope between her neck and shoulder. She shuts her eyes, imagining him behind her with his nose inches from the shell of her ear. She tilts her head the barest bit, offering a safe place to press his face, reminding herself to breathe as she waits.
He never gets there. The dog barking outside startles them both. Their hands snap apart and he springs backward, knocking over a glass of water on the table by accident while a chair tumbles onto its side.
They were so painfully close that her disappointment is palpable, but she shoves it aside and scrambles to grab a towel, only to get an earful of protest.
“Stop! Don’t need help all the time. I can do it myself. Ain’t so fucked in the head that I can’t pick up a damn chair or clean my own messes,” he yells, hands waving wildly in all directions. “What the hell are you doing out here with me, anyway? Middle of nowhere in some broken-down house. Tending to me when you could be out there living your life. Is this what you want? To spend every day cleaning up after me? Watching me shiver in a corner? ‘Cause it won’t get better. You should go back where it’s safe. Where you got people that….”
He trails off after having gone from zero to sixty in no time flat.
She does her best not to react. If he needs to yell at her, she can take it.
His regret is visible and instant. They stand silently in the middle of a puddle while he struggles with how to take it back before giving up and bolting for the bedroom again, leaving her alone to slump against the kitchen sink and over-analyze all her wrong turns.
She’s pushing too hard. Too fast. He doesn’t need her plans or half-remembered library psychology. Doesn’t need or want her efforts to help that only end in shunting them further back. She won’t cry this time. Won’t fucking do it. Can’t keep unraveling when there’s a setback because there’s going to be plenty. That’s how things are now, and she’ll go through every one of them rather than not have him here at all.
Kara grabs a chunk of bread and forces herself out the door to feed a bossy dog. He’s already hopped the fence to wait impatiently for his meal.
“You caused some trouble today,” she says sadly, tossing him the food. “Gonna come inside this time? Wade might like to meet you.”
She steps closer, and he snatches the last hunk of loaf off the ground and runs for the fence again. He’s the clumsiest dog she’s ever seen. Legs for days and ears that struggle to stay pointed up, flopping in different directions. He fumbles at the fence and lands on his face when he gets to the other side, proving that while grown shepherds may be graceful, puppies are an unfortunate mess.
“Story of my life,” she sighs. “See you tomorrow.”
Wade might be watching from the window, but she doesn’t check. He needs some space without her in it, and the traps still need to be set. She still needs to gather water to wash up herself, and there’s firewood to chop.
The flower bush stares at her from across the yard, the little petals fluttering in a gentle breeze. She plucks a fresh one today just like before and tucks it behind her ear for safekeeping while she goes about her tasks. He’s getting a damn flower with his dinner tonight, she thinks stubbornly, and that’s all there is to it.
Chapter 10
If being conflicted about his own feelings were a sport, Wade would be in the hall of fame.
He’s angry at himself for yelling at Kara. Hasn’t done that since they were kids and he lashed out after suffering the end of a belt, and she came to his room to check on him. Saw her flinch back then as if he might strike her, and swore to himself that he’d never make that mistake again.
He lasted two decades before regressing. Maybe that counts for something, he hopes.
All the worst parts of himself that he thought he had conquered are back and stronger than ever. Maybe they never left at all. He was only fooling himself into thinking he could be the type of man she deserves. He wants to beg her forgiveness and promise to never do it again, but that could only be another lie. He doesn’t trust himself anymore not to hurt her and she shouldn’t either. Instead, he sits on the bed with his head hung, replaying their exchange on a loop.
