Page 18

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.

It’s better if she hates him. If she thinks he’s dangerous because he is, or if she assumes he doesn’t want her around. Maybe then she’ll stop fighting to stay out here.

He’s only a burden. He won’t let her waste away in exile with him. She has another life to get back to and someone who cares about her. She seems determined to shut Luke out, but Wade isn’t so sure that would be the case if she weren’t so focused on his piss-poor recovery.

So instead of apologizing, he suffers alone in the bedroom. Hopes she’ll leave him be to wallow, while at the same time, every noise festers excitement that it could be her.

She’s been gone for hours. There’s plenty of chores to be done, and he has no doubt that she’s more than self-sufficient. She probably thinks he needs space or she’s rightfully angry with him. He tries not to assume she left for good, though the idea takes shape without his consent.

It would be for the best. Even if she hasn’t left yet, it’s the only thing that makes sense long term, but that doesn’t stop his anxiety from shifting into overdrive.

He watches the window for the next five minutes before giving up to carefully peek out the bedroom door and out into the hall. The living room, dining room, and kitchen windows provide no relief, but he finds the mess he made still scattered across the tile floor.

He collects the glass shards and tosses a towel over the puddle while his heart races.

What if she actually left? That’s what he wants, right?

That’s what he thinks is best for her? Faced with the very real possibility that she has no intention of coming back, he’s ready to collapse where he stands.

Frantically, he races from window to window, hoping she might appear as reality begins to settle that she won’t.

It’s about as useful as someone checking the fridge for the tenth time while knowing it’s empty.

Carefully, his fingers ghost the blankets she put up for him to mask the sunlight, making it easier to venture out into the open. What has he done? She’s the only person who gives a shit about him, probably the only one who ever will, and he’s ruined that as easily as breathing.

He can’t function here without her. Can’t fucking make it. He was barely hanging on before, but going it alone is a torture he isn’t ready for, despite telling himself that spending the rest of his days in solitary at Paradise Falls was possible if it kept Kara safe.

She left.

She’s gone. He drove her away.

Wade rubs the tattered hair tie in a panicked pattern, knowing full well his silent request for reassurance will go unanswered. He’s ready to melt into the ground and never get back up when she appears from the woods with a water bucket in her hands and a flower in her hair.

The relief is all-encompassing, enough to have him bracing against the wall for support or end up on the floor. Can’t control his smile or how all that matters now is making things right again, but it’s all short-lived.

The dog barks from somewhere in the distance and she pauses, looking back with a frown, only to follow the sound into the woods.

He pounds on the window for her to stop, yelling her name at the top of his lungs, but she doesn’t hear him.

He can’t leave the house on his own on a good day.

It’s not a specific fear, but a conditioned response that short-circuits him.

Never leave the cell. Never refuse direction.

Those rules and more churn in a muddled, leftover mess.

He’s spent so long under the threat of punishment that even normal tasks have him bracing for repercussions.

The only thing strong enough to overcome that is his worry for Kara.

She hasn’t called out for him. At least he doesn’t think so.

His hearing has gotten better, but long distance is still muffled.

She could be wailing his name for all he knows.

Rather than wait and risk it, he takes a deep breath and grabs the shotgun before running out the door.

Doesn’t pause to put on shoes. Phantom missing toes tingle as branches crunch under his feet.

It’s not hard to find her. All he has to do is follow the barking.

There’s a dead rotter on the ground beside Kara and the puppy, who’s struggling in a tangled bush. Blood drips from one of his paws, looking far too much like a bite.

“I can’t untangle him. He won’t stop moving,” she says, failing at wrangling an upset dog.

She reaches for a cluster of overgrowth by his neck only to end up on the receiving end of sharp teeth, pulling her hand back with a hiss.

Wade grabs the dog by the back of the neck on reflex and holds tight, keeping him from lashing out again. “Are you okay? He getcha good?”

“No, it’s fine. Hold him still.”

She hacks away at the bush for what feels like forever until, finally, it gives way. The dog fights at first, but Wade’s grip is strong, and eventually he goes limp after realizing he can’t protect himself.

“Wrap your belt around his snout. I got him.”

She does as he asks, making a makeshift muzzle from her belt so he can safely scoop the dog into his arms. Leaving him to fend for himself isn’t an option and neither of them suggests it.

They aren’t looking for a feral pet, but maybe they’ve gained a temporary house guest.

* * *

They treat the dog’s wound the best they can back at the cabin.

It oozes in a swollen mess but the bone isn’t broken, and a douse of peroxide might keep away infection.

They both expect the dog to bolt into a corner or charge them the moment he releases the muzzle and they brace for it, but the end result is anticlimactic.

The dog doesn’t move an inch. He lies in a confused heap for a few moments before licking his injured and bandaged foot.

“I was ready for Cujo,” he whispers with a sigh. “Lemme see your hand.”

She holds it out for him to inspect from a reasonable distance. “Didn’t break the skin. He’s just scared. He had reason to be after the rotter got him.”

“Animals don’t turn, right? Dunno if the news got that far before everything went dark. I haven’t seen any that have, but…I ain’t seen much.”

“I haven’t seen any either. We would have by now.”

He nods. “Right. It’s fine. Dog’s gonna be fine.”

“He better be after all that.” She purses her lips in mock frustration, directing her comment to the animal in a fond tone. “You’re a pest.”

He isn’t sure how she does that. Takes whatever the world throws at her and somehow never loses that part of herself that still cares. He should apologize to her now. It doesn’t matter if he thinks she needs to leave. There’s no reason their time left here has to be miserable.

“What do you think he is?” she asks, as if he wasn’t a complete jerk to her earlier. So willing to sweep his mistakes under the rug for a chance at moving forward again. “A Shepherd, right?”

“Looks like it to me. Or a giraffe. One of those.”

“More like an alligator. Hey, that’s a cute name, actually. Gator.”

“Nope. Not keeping him. Give it a name and that’s it. It’s over. We’ll never shake him then.”

“Pretty sure I said I wasn’t trying to.”

“He bit you. It’s a dangerous animal.”

She narrows her eyes, holding up her intact hand. “It’s touch and go, but somehow I’ll make it.”

Wade scowls. She’s relentless when she’s like this, and it’s no use trying to convince her. “You wanna name him, then fine. Gator it is. He’s got a name until he’s healthy enough to go back outside.”

“Okay, sure,” she agrees, almost too easily.

“We don’t need a pet.”

“Alright.”

She clearly doesn’t believe him. Doesn’t understand that keeping this dog just means they’ll get attached, and that’s a terrible idea.

Something could happen to him. He may never adjust properly and learn to behave like a normal dog.

If he gets too comfortable with people, it’ll be harder for him to live alone again in the wild.

This world is cruel to innocent things. Wade’s not here to bond with a dog only to have it ripped away, but he’s not willing to argue with Kara again either.

He watches as she makes a fire for the puppy to curl up by, smiling when he reaches his nose toward the warmth as if the little monster didn’t already nip her.

“I’m sorry about before,” he says suddenly, knowing she deserves to hear it.

“I know you are, and it’s okay. Really.”

“It isn’t. Got no business yelling at you. When you were gone, I thought maybe….”

“Maybe what?”

He shrugs, unable to admit his fear of abandonment, though it must be crystal clear regardless if the gentleness of her reply is any indication.

“I would never leave like that. You’re stuck with me, Wade. Sorry to break it to you, but that’s just how it is. I know you think things won’t get better, but they will. They already have, and I wish you could see that the way I do.”

“It doesn’t feel that way,” he says sadly. “It feels like I’m stuck. Still a prisoner, even though they let me go because I can’t get outta my own head.”