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“But it’s not fair!” he shouts when he jerks awake again. “I want someone who wants me. I want someone who puts in an effort to be with me. A relationship takes two people, and they have to be equal partners. And no matter how badly I want you, I can’t make you want me. So I’m backing off, and if you want me, you have to try harder…”
He slumps into sleep again, and I’m so stunned by his words that I let him be for a moment.
Twins, that’s what he’s been doing. Acting normal. Not makinga big deal out of the kiss. Not being extra flirty. He wants me to make an effort. He wants an equal partner in a relationship, and I don’t know if I can be that for him. I spend so much time alone, preferring it to anything else, even. I don’t know how to be what he needs. What he wants.
He’s not asking you to change who you are. He’s asking you to make an effort.
But what if that makes me uncomfortable? What if I say or do something awful to push him away for good? Doesn’t he realize I’m doing him a favor by letting him start things? I don’t want to start anything that he doesn’t want.
I tell myself that I don’t have to make any decisions now. Right now, I have to get Kellyn to the capital so Serutha can put him to rights. How far away are we now? Three weeks? A month?
How long can that arrow stay in there before more serious things happen?
“Kellyn,” I say.
“Hmm?” he asks sleepily.
“Just checking on you.” Though to be honest, I have no idea what I’m checking for. But as long as he’s coherent every time I wake him, he should be fine, right?
And Twins, but I hope he forgets everything he said to me today.
We ride through the night. Though most of those guards were unconscious, I don’t know how many of them were dead. I just hope their injuries are severe enough to seek help and not pursue us.
Kellyn returns to himself over the next couple of days, and he tries to hide the pain in his arm.
“Here,” I say, handing over a makeshift sling.
“Thank you.”
If he remembers anything of what he said while concussed, he doesn’t say anything about it.
With the other horse long gone, we have to continue to share. We spend more time walking than riding, however, because the poor gelding can’t carry two for as long.
“I can hold the reins,” he says one morning after we’ve had a good night’s rest. He climbs atop the horse behind the saddle, clearly intending me to take the spot in front of him.
“You’re injured. I’ll continue to take the reins.”
His eyes shadow beneath his brow.
“If something were to start chasing us, it’s better that I be in control. Me taking the reins isn’t going to make you less manly.”
“That’s not—”
“Isn’t it?”
When he doesn’t answer, I say, “Scoot forward.”
He does.
Every day, we replace the bandages on Kellyn’s arm. I boil water from the stream to clean the bloodied strips, then replace them. He needs to keep the open wound covered, lest infection set in.
But after another week on the road, I feel the extra heat from his right arm. That night, when I remove the bandages, a smell comes from the wound, and white liquid drains from it.
I draw in a breath through my teeth. “We need to clean this out.”
He’s silent a moment. “All right.” He reaches on the ground with his good arm, finds a broken stick, and bites down on it.
“Do it,” he says, the words barely intelligible around the wood.
