And I ache for him.
Ache with how unfair the world was to such a beautiful man. How they took his strength and used it, cheered when he bled, then discarded him like garbage when he couldn’t keep giving.
He trusted me with that truth. And it makes me feel warm, proud, and furious all at once.
I try to coax him—soft touches against his arm, whispered questions.
He only shakes his head. “Not tonight.” But still, he pulls me close, into his lap, wraps his thick and unyielding arms, caging me to his body.
“Go to sleep, petal,” he commands gruffly.
I fall asleep eventually on his chest, but it’s a restless drift.
The next morning, I wake to him already dressed, strapping a rucksack across his shoulders. I blink blearily, push my hair back.
“Bear?”
He doesn’t look at me at first. Just stands there, larger than life, hands clenched on the straps like he’s holding himself together.
“Come with me?” he asks.
“Wh-where are we going?”
He holds out one hand. “Trust me?”
It’s not a question about the destination. Not really. It’s another test.
Will I fight him?
Will I try to argue for town, for escape, for a different life I’m having a hard time forecasting or even imagining right now?
But I’m too tired of wrestling with the future.
So I slide my hand into his. “Okay.”
Something eases in his face.
Just a fraction.
11
LILY
We don’t use the truck, but that doesn’t mean we’re not going far.
And I’m proved right when we hike higher, with me perched on his back, winding paths only he seems to know, until two long hours later, the trees part and a shallow pool shimmers in the sun.
Water trickles down smooth rocks, green moss feathering the edges. It looks untouched... sacred.
Breathtakingly beautiful.
He sets the pack down, pulls out food. Bread. Jerky. Apples. We have a mid-morning picnic at the edge of the pool, toes dipping in the cool water.
But he’s quiet, still brooding, his eyes often fixed on the horizon instead of me.
I chew my apple, then glance at him. “Do you regret telling me?”
His jaw tightens. Then he shakes his head. “No.”
