“Watching TV. Do you mind?” She cocks a brow.
I feel my cheeks getting hot, and I look away. “That’s not what I meant. I wanted to say you don’t have to stay here. You can go back to your place. I appreciate you help, but you can go.”Because you’re making me want something I can’t have,I add silently.
“I’d rather stay. To watch over you while you’re not well, you know,” she replies shyly, and suddenly her tone and her words… They make me see red.
“I don’t need someone to watch over me. I’ve been living on my own just fine my entire life. It’s not my first battle scar, and it’s not gonna be my last, so don’t worry, princess.” I know I’m behaving like a total ass, but she scares me. So instinct takes over.
Her eyes widen, and she looks down at her hands. She’s clearly hurt. “I just wanted to help. To repay you for all those times you helped me.”
I gather my remaining energy and laugh at her. “I don’t need your help, princess. I don’t need anyone’s help. It’s you who needs help, always getting into trouble.” I let out another mocking laugh, hoping she won’t detect the fakeness of it. “I have to come and save your ass every time. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since you moved in.” I force my face to smirk, hoping she’ll leave now. “You’re the only one here who needs saving.”
She jumps up from her chair, her eyes ablaze. “I don’t need anyone watching after me.” She growls and walks to the door. She touches the handle and turns toward me. “I’ve had enough people in my life telling me how incapable I am of living on my own. I refuse to let another person”—she points her finger at me—“join the party.” She flips the same finger toward her chest. “I can do it. I can do everything I set my mind to! And I don’t need you near tosaveme.” Her lips thin, and her nostrils flare as she tries to put her shoes on, but her laces refuse to listen to her.
I want to stand and help her, to say how sorry I am for the words I’ve said, but it’s better this way. Stirring those feelings in me isn’t a good thing. She’s the first person to do that, and I’m afraid I’ll get too attached and won’t be able to let her go.
Because she will. Go, I mean. She’s clearly destined for bigger things than living in our small town with an insignificant person like me.
She opens the door and leaves, her ponytail flying behind her back. Her hips sway with her fast, angry walk. She left her jacket on the bench by the door, but I don’t think she cares. Her blood was so heated, she probably doesn’t need it.
Talk about heat and blood. I groan as I look down at my hard cock tenting my sweats. If I thought shy Alicia was hot, I don’t have a name for angry Alicia either—a goddess of war and sex combined in one hot-as-fuck package. And I know everything she was saying was heartfelt, I know. I know she was offended when I started patronizing her, but the way she made me feel was dangerous. I didn’t want to upset her, but I needed her to go.
* * *
A couple of days pass, and I haven’t seen her. I’ve been sneaking around my windows, trying to get a glimpse of her. No cars have arrived or left other than two delivery trucks dropping off some big boxes by her front door. I wanted to go help her carry them inside, but by the time I put my boots on and went outside, there were no boxes in sight.
At some point, I even “accidentally” let Ghost out, sending him her way. He returned after sitting on her front porch for an hour. If that didn’t work, I don’t think anything will.
ChapterTwelve
MARK
Today is my first day of my forty-eight. Life at the station is getting back to normal. Almost everyone is back after the flu struck, so we’re steadily getting our missing hours back. This morning I dragged the new rocking chair I made outside to sit, covering myself in a blanket like a grandpa. The mug in my hands is full of hot coffee, I have my loyal sidekick by my feet, and I feel good as I rock back and forth. And I don’t need anyone caring or feeling pity for me. I’m just fine.
And that’s when I see her for the first time since I was a dick to her.
I almost convince myself not to talk to her, but I can’t, especially seeing her lock her front door behind her, a bunch of crap in her arms.
“Where are you going with all that stuff?” I call, maybe a bit too loud. She has a giant backpack slung over her shoulder, with all sorts of things sticking out the top, and there’s something hanging from the bottom. It’s heavy and smacks her thick thighs with every step she takes, nearly knocking her down. I look closer and notice it’s a freaking tent clipped to the bottom of her bag. She’s barely able to move, dragging her feet with every step under the weight of all the shit clipped to her body. She looks like a giant, pissed-off turtle, carrying her whole house on her back.
“Not your business,” she snaps back and proceeds through her backyard toward the woods. She’s wearing tall black hiking boots, black leggings, a long red puffy jacket, and a black beanie on her head. Her long braid is hanging over her shoulder. She most definitely looks like she’s going camping. In October. In Maine… when the bears are hungry and roam the woods for food, and the ground freezes at night.
“I hope you’re not going camping, because you’ll sure as fuck freeze to death out there.”
She doesn’t turn toward me but throws up a gloved middle finger. At least she had it in her to dress appropriately.
“All right, boy. I’ve tried,” I say to Ghost as I relax back into the chair. He doesn’t even look up from the ground as he cleans his junk.Did I say ‘a loyal friend’?
I need groceries, because some of us have real-time responsibilities rather than camping in October, so when my coffee is done, I go inside, grab my keys, and walk to the truck, whistling for Ghost to follow.
Groceries in my truck, a few things for my wood-carving hobby, and one unpleasant encounter with Justin Attleborough later, we go back home.
By the time I’m done with my chores and start making linner—lunch and dinner, as I always told my sister—it’s past 4:00 p.m. I glance outside. It’s getting dark, but there’s no light coming from the front of the house next to mine. She usually turns the light on early, way before it’s dark. I peer into her windows—nothing. A weird feeling sets in the pit of my stomach. Where the hell is she? Still out there? Did she really decide to stay there for the night? Even for an experienced camper, winter camping is possible but not pleasant. But something tells me she’s not exactly an experienced camper.
I fry my ground beef and boil the pasta, mix them together, and make myself a hefty plate. But I can’t eat. The feeling in my stomach has intensified ten times since I looked out the window. I’m sure it’s the remnants of my job talking, caring about other people.
Ghost lets out a pitiful whine. “I know, boy. I know,” I say with a heavy exhale.
I know there is no way I’ll let her stay there alone, so I go to the garage, grab my rescue backpack I got a long time ago, when I had to be ready to stay alive in the wilderness for days, and go back to the kitchen to put the food into a thermos. I fill another one with hot coffee, pull out a few bottles of water, and stack it all into the bottomless pit of my backpack. Then I think and grab my thermal sleeping bag. It’s not winterproof per se, but it’s October, and the weather shouldn’t be too bad.
