Page 28

Two weeks later, I stand on his porch. I don’t remember the trek up the hill. Panic flutters weakly inside my skull, but my stomach is growling something fierce.

When was the last time I've eaten?

I’ve been collecting some canned food, but most days I don’t have an appetite. Lately, all I’ve been doing is sleeping.

Or crying.

The front door swings open, and Mac stands there, arms crossed, face growing somber by the second.

Probably because I look like shit.

He stands back and jerks his head inward, and I shuffle past him wordlessly, grateful to be out of the endless cold.

Only, as I walk past I notice deep lines are etched into his face, under his brown eyes are dark as if he hasn’t slept, and I swear his cheeks look a little thinner, as if he hasn’t been eating either.

Odd, considering I can smell whatever he’s whipping up in the kitchen.

In the entry, my icy fingers fumble at my clothes, but Mac wraps warm hands over mine. “Keep your fucking clothes on.”

My heart stutters, and I look up at him, tears forming as my stomach growls.

But before I can say anything, he offers a weak smile. “You’re getting too thin. Shoulda come back sooner.”

I shake my head. “Cost is too high.”

He doesn’t say anything, only steps away, muttering to himself.

Mac has no clue how much being here right now is even costing me. But I’m hungry and don’t feel right.

And it scares me.

So, he can use my body if that’s what he wants. Even if it destroys my heart.

Because at the end of the day, I’m his to break.

“Let’s get some food in ya.”

He gently leads me toward the kitchen.

As we walk past the living room, I notice a hole in the wall, as if someone’s fist went through it. And the coffee table is flipped over.

What the fuck happened here?

Inside the kitchen, I sit at the table, only Mac doesn’t snap the customary handcuff on and his . . . Where the fuck is his shotgun?

Something isn’t right.

Mac smiles and places a mug in front of me. “Drink this. Will help warm ya up a bit.”

The smile doesn’t reach his eyes, which are dark, but not in a lusty or threatening way. They look void, dead.

And something deep inside my chest hurts because of that.

I wrap my hands around the steaming mug of brown water, eyeing it warily, trying to push down the worry clawing at my throat.

“It's tea. Made from flowers and herbs and shit.”

He turns and walks back to the countertop, then chops potatoes and carrots before throwing them in a pot over the fire.

I sip at the tea, which doesn’t taste like much, but he’s right. With each swallow, my insides warm.

My head spins slightly, even though I’m sitting. Not a good sign. I probably should’ve come back sooner, only I can’t go through those feelings again, can’t be fucked so thoroughly it leaves me wanting more that will never be returned.

“Um, before you keep cooking . . . I can’t do what we did last time.”

I close my eyes and take a deep breath. “I mean, I won’t do it again. And if that’s a problem, then I’ll leave now.”

When I open my eyes, Mac is still, every muscle in his body tense. He doesn’t say a word, just stares at the carrot on the counter in front of him. Then his shoulders slump. “Got carried away last time. Won’t happen again.”

I let out a deep breath. “So, it’ll just be like the first time? Quick and simple?”

“No.”

He shakes his head, his back still turned to me. “No sex. At all. Ever again.”

What. The. Fuck.

Now it’s my turn to tense, and I’m not even sure why. I should be relieved. It makes things easier.

Except for the sting of rejection.

I almost want to laugh . . . and cry.

He’d have to actually care about me to reject me. Sex is only a transaction between us. Nothing more.

Mac doesn’t want me to be his the way I want to belong to him.

While I finish my tea, I push down those thoughts and focus on different questions running through my mind. I gulp the last of the warm liquid, then take a deep breath. "How am I supposed to trade you for food then? Letting you fuck me is all I have to offer."

He turns and walks over, his fingers tipping my chin up. “I said no more sex.”

My eyes start to well. “Why?”

The question slips out before I can stop it and, at this point, it has nothing to do with food and everything to do with him rejecting me.

“Because you ran away.”

He clenches his jaw, a muscle ticking near his eye. “Would let yourself starve because of me.”

I duck away from his touch and stare down at the table, something thick catching in my throat. “Then do it from behind so you don’t have to look at me . . . if I’m disgusting.”

“The fuck you just say!”

I flinch, then look up as he jumps back. He’s completely rigid, fingers interlocked so tightly behind his head, the skin of his knuckles goes white as he paces.

“Mac?”

“You’re not disgusting. Not fucking at all. You’re damn sexy. Beautiful, even.”

His fingers rake into his hair and he pulls it. “I’m a damn old fool. A damn monster.”

My bottom lip trembles as he continues to mutter and scold himself. He stalks out of the kitchen, then something crashes in another room, followed by the loud sound of splintering wood.

I jump up, then stumble into the hall where I find him mid-swing, holding a chair that the next second collides with the wall.

“Mac!”

I’ve never seen him like this. His distress is eating a hole in my heart, so I walk to him, placing a hand on his forearm. He whips around and his eyes are wet.

Fuck.

I can’t help the small whine that escapes.

The fragments of the chair fall from his hands and I step closer, wrapping my arms around his waist and squeezing tight.

But he doesn’t hug me back.

“I’m sorry, Cal. Told you I wouldn’t hurt you and . . . that’s exactly what I did.”

He pats my shoulder and tries to push me away. "Go lay down on the couch. I'll wake you when the stew is ready."

“No.”

I bury my face in his chest.

“Cal, please go lay down.”

“You’re . . . I . . . I upset you.”

“No, Cal. I fucked up and I’m angry at myself. Not you.”

His fingers brush through the back of my hair. “Please go rest and let me take care of you. The proper way.”

I shake my head, squeezing him tighter.

I’m floating again.

Fuck.

I pull away, scared, but realize I’m not really floating. Mac is carrying me.

He places me on the couch, eyes narrowing. “Rest.”

This time, I comply, sinking deeper into the cushions and stretching out.

He steps away, only to return a moment later and drapes a blanket over me, yet avoids eye contact.

I grab his wrist, and when he meets my gaze I ask the question I’ve been wanting to ask for the longest time. “Why did you stay behind?”

His Adam’s apple bobs, a light pink coloring his cheeks. “Figured I could be of use around here. Keep whoever was left back then safe.”

“Everyone?”

He stands and looks around, rubbing the back of his neck, mumbling to himself. “Fucking swear, Colt and Rex are out there somewhere laughing their asses off.”

There are those names again, and my brow quirks. “Your friends from four years ago?”

He nods.

“Why would they be laughing?”

He groans and scratches the side of his head, the pink on his cheeks now turning a dark red that extends to his ears.

Oh.

I’ve been such a dumbass.

I look around the room at the tossed coffee table, the books scattered on the floor, and the hole in the wall that’s probably from him punching it.

All this time I stayed away for nothing. He’s right. I should’ve come back sooner. Should’ve been open about what I was feeling.

Biting my bottom lip to keep from smiling, I turn back to face him. “Did you stay behind because of me?”

“Fucking hell, Cal.”

“Did you?”

He takes in a deep breath, his chest expanding, then he slowly releases it. “Yes, Little Fawn. I stayed behind because of you.”

Me. He stayed. For me.

Mac leans over, soft lips pressing against my temple. “Take a nap. I’ll wake you when the food’s ready.”

“I, uh . . . I have feelings for you. I like you. A lot.”

More than a lot, but I’m not ready to voice that just yet.

“Me too.”

His words take a moment to sink in, but when they do, the weight bearing down on me since this whole ordeal began ebbs away like a calm, receding tide.

It’s been just us for a little under four years, and while Mac’s always been watching over me, taking care of me, I’m the dumbass who never returned the favor, never took the time to really get to know him, to check in on him and make sure he was ok.

Otherwise, I might have figured out sooner he liked me too.

But now I know, and if the jerk thinks he’s going to shut me out he’s dead wrong. I’m his Little Fawn and he’s my bear.

I’m his. And he’s mine.

We belong to one another. Now and always.

My eyes flutter closed as I snuggle into the couch, warmth and love encompassing me as sleep takes over.

“Just tell me. . .”

He sighs, his voice softer, more exposed than I’ve ever heard when he whispers, “You’ll stay and be mine."

“I’m not going anywhere ever again.”