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CHAPTER 16

Tyler

This lost girl with the stormy eyes has become my caffeine, my morphine, my new drug of choice. I can no longer get through a day without a shot of her, whether it be seeing her or just a simple text message. And like any addiction, as much as I enjoy it, I know it’s something that I can’t do forever, and I’ll eventually have to quit it and forget it.

For the past month we’ve texted and had random conversations in the garage while I work, and she’s become the closest thing to a real friend I’ve had in a long time. With each day that’s passed, I’ve noticed little changes in her. Her confidence has grown. She smiles and laughs more. She’s developed her own style. She reminds me of how Boomer was when I first found him, so scared and timid at first, afraid of me getting too close to him. Slowly, over time, he learned to trust me and grew attached to me. I realize that was a mistake on my part because it prevented him from going out and living a normal fox life.

I can almost feel the same thing happening with Holly, because as much as I want to see her go off on her own, move to New York, and do amazing things with her life, I’m going to miss the hell out of her.

I’m selfish as fuck. I want to keep her all to myself.

Finders, keepers…

Right now she’s burning the shit out of my clutch and giving me whiplash while I try to teach her how to drive my old pickup. I can’t even be mad because she looks so cute and serious in the driver’s seat, barely able to reach the pedals or see over the steering wheel.

“Aren’t there easier cars?” she asks as she stalls it again on the dirt road and both our heads slam forward. My inner mechanic groans.

“Yeah, an automatic, but I don’t have one.”

“Maybe having other people drive me around wasn’t so bad after all,” she says, trying to start the truck again.

“You’re doing great.” I try to make my voice sound reassuring. “You’re going to pass that test.”

I hate this shit of her parents not letting her have a car or wanting her to have a phone. I can’t wrap my head around what they think they’re accomplishing. Making her walk or take a taxi everywhere is in no way safer than driving, and if they think it is, they’re out of their damn minds. The more she tells me about them, the more I don’t like or understand them. It’s almost like theywanther to continue to be secluded.

She doesn’t know it, but I already have a car for her, waiting in the parking lot of my brother’s motorcycle shop. It’s just a little all-wheel-drive SUV with about ninety thousand miles on it, but it’s clean and dent-free, and it runs well. If she’s moving to New York, she won’t need a car anyway, from what I gather, but at least while she’s here, she’ll be able to get around like the adult that she is. In the meantime, I don’t want to think about her moving to New York because it makes me feel ragey.

“I think without this clutch thing I might be okay,” she says, almost sideswiping the corner of the garage with the side mirror as she parks. I nod and rub the back of my neck, which is startingto ache from the constant jerking of the truck. Seeing her smile and learn something new makes it worth it, though. It reminds me of when my father taught me how to drive his old truck. This same truck, actually.

I jump out and walk around to the driver’s-side door, open it, and help her out. She touches my shoulder lightly as she jumps down but quickly pulls it away as soon as she’s on her feet. That old familiar burn of rejection manifests in my chest.

What I wouldn’t do to feel her hands on me. Just once, even for sixty seconds. Fuck, I’d settle for ten seconds.

A gust of wind blows, and she hugs herself against it as we walk around the garage to the side door and step inside, but I don’t go to my workbench like I normally do. Usually, she likes to sit on a mat on the floor and play with Poppy and Boomer, or she sits on a stool and watches me work, but today I don’t have much work to do, and I’d rather be inside with the fire going, just chilling. I’m getting sick of spending all my time with her in my workshop-slash-garage, surrounded by tools, weights, lawn equipment, and my collection of horror masks. The thing is, she’s never been inside my house because she’s afraid of small spaces after being kept in a room for eleven years. My house is tiny, just three hundred square feet, with only one way in and one way out. A claustrophobic’s worst nightmare.

“You feelin’ good today?” I ask her casually, leaning against my workbench.

She smiles. “Yeah, I’m happy.”

“I want to go in the house,” I say.

She stares up at me, and as usual, my eyes take a sweep of her, wearing jeans with tattered holes in the knees, black boots, a soft sweater, and a leather jacket that’s more stylish than warm. I’m struck by how incredibly beautiful and normal she looks, like anyother girl hanging out with her friends, and it makes me believe she’s going to be okay out in the world. Her damage is easier to hide than mine. It’s not until the long sleeves are gone, and the sun sets, that glimpses of her reality come to light.

“Oh,” she says. “I can go home, then. I can call a taxi…”

“No… I want you to come with me.” Her eyes narrow on me as she absorbs the words she’s never heard from me before. I wonder if she’s been hoping for them or dreading them.

She looks out the window toward the house, worry creasing her brow.

“Holly… it’s okay if you don’t want to. I’ll take you home. But there’s a fireplace in my house, it’s warm, you can sit on the couch and be comfortable—instead of on the ground. I’m a little tired of you sitting in the dirt every time you’re here.”

Torment flashes all over her face, the fight-or-flight instinct kicking in. Her teeth clamp on her bottom lip, her pink lipstick smudging along her perfect white teeth. It only makes me want to kiss her and smudge it even more. She has no idea she makes me feel this way, and it’s real innocence, not that fake clueless act some women put on in an effort to flirt.

“How about this,” I say as softly as I can force my voice to be without it fading to inaudible hisses. “You go inside first. I’ll wait here. Look around. Leave the front door open. You won’t feel trapped. See how you feel. If you don’t like it, just come back out.”

“Really? I can do that?” she asks.

I nod.