Chapter Nine
The drive back to town somehow seems longer than the walk. I’m twisted towards the passenger window, watching the forest pass. It’s surreal that only this morning we were waking up for another day of trekking. Now we’re back to reality, and I can take a moment’s pause to realise what actually happened between these tree trunks. Avery and I bonded. Solidified something that’s been disjointed between us for years. At least it was good while it lasted.
Since hoisting Huxley’s SUV onto the back of his truck, Jimmy the mechanic has been harassed by Baxter constantly trying to sit on his lap whilst driving. Jimmy doesn’t seem to mind, chuckling and stroking Baxter’s head with one hand, the other lazily tossed over the wheel. He seems like he’s a decent man, about middle-aged, wife, and kids. He wears a white wife-beater despite the winter and has faded tattoos trailing his arms.
“You don’t talk much, huh?” Jimmy asks over the sound of the radio. I shrug, not sparing a glance away from the window.
“Just thinking is all.”
“About your girl waiting for you?” Jimmy reaches over to elbow my arm, bobbing his eyebrows rapidly. I clench my back teeth together, not bothering to explain how much Avery is not my girl. Clearly, this small town doesn't read the tabloids often .
“She’s probably long gone by now,” I sigh, scratching a hand over my jaw. Jimmy’s smile fades but his curiosity is piqued.
“Why’s that?”
Looking up, I search for patience and find little. “I told her to. She’s better off without me.” A solemn atmosphere settles in the cab, punctuated by a small humming sound from my temporary companion.
“Hmmm. Well, they say the best way to love someone is to let them go and see if they come back.”
“I don’t love her,” I answer far too quickly. Surprised by my own reaction, I settle back into the seat, deciding I need to take a long, hard look at myself in the mirror later. Probably followed by an hour of screaming in the shower until I have no voice left to say stupid shit to strangers.
“Fair enough.” Jimmy chuckles low, the sound rumbling through the cab. His attention shifts back to the road, but I catch the faint smirk still lingering on his face. I tighten my jaw, my fingers twitching against my thigh. The silence between us feels heavy now, only interrupted by the hum of the engine and the occasional excited bark from Baxter.
The forest blurs past the window, and my thoughts circle back to Avery like they always do. I try to focus on the trees, counting them, measuring the distance between their trunks, anything to avoid the gnawing ache in my chest. But her face creeps in, her wide smile and large eyes gleaming with affection. I’ve seen her look at the others like that. I make sure it’s never meant for me.
“Doesn’t seem like you don’t love her,” Jimmy says after a beat, his voice casual but probing. I whip my head toward him, but he doesn’t look at me. His gaze stays fixed on the road, one hand still lazily stroking Baxter’s fur.
“What do you know about it?” I snap, all of my irritation flaring back up in a second. Jimmy finally glances my way, his expression calm, almost pitying.
“Not much,” he admits, “but I’ve seen enough men like you to know when one’s lying to himself.” My chest tightens, the truth of his words landing harder than I want to admit. I shift in my seat, turning back toward the window, the reflection of my face barely visible against the darkened glass.
“She’ s better off without me,” I repeat, this time quieter, as if saying it softer will make it true. Jimmy doesn’t press further, and for that, I’m grateful. The drive stretches out in silence, my thoughts growing heavier with every passing mile.
Love . What would be the point of loving her? In fact, it would be the worst thing I could do. It would drag her down and smother her in my darkness until she couldn't breathe. Avery deserves more than that. She deserves light and softness—things I can’t give her no matter how much I want to. I dig my nails into my palm, the pain a welcome distraction.
“Irish wolfhound, I reckon,” Jimmy says after a good long while. I glance over and raise a brow at the sudden announcement. “Your dog. From the fur, I’d say he’s part Irish wolfhound. We had a mutt when I was growing up, same wiry fur. He was a fantastic dog, boundless energy, extremely loyal. My pops never let me have any pets, but one day this dog started following me home from school. I called him Wolfy and fed him my sandwich crusts so my mom thought I ate them. Then Wolfy started coming in the house, stayed in my bedroom.”
Maybe it’s the need to talk about anything else, but I find myself contributing to the conversation. “And your dad, he let you keep him?” Jimmy grins again, his eyes dropping to meet with Baxter’s.
“He didn’t know. Too busy with his affairs, see. By the time he noticed a scruffy dog wandering around the kitchen, I was about ready to graduate from high school, and it was too late by then. Wolfy was only with us a few more months, but I sure loved that mutt.” Jimmy smiles at Baxter and gives him a stroke between his ears. I turn back to the window, giving them their privacy.
Before I know it, we’re pulling into the garage, and my nails have embedded half-moon bloodied marks into my palms. I have an idea of what I’ll find when I hop out of the truck, or rather, what I won’t find. I gave her an out. She’d be a fool not to take it and run while she can.
Pulling myself to stand straighter, I plaster on a blank expression and follow Jimmy into his small office. It’s more of a storage cupboard, with spare parts and paperwork covering what I presume is a desk underneath. He shows me to a chair and grabs a notepad before leaving me alone with my thoughts once more. It’s a dangerous place to be, so I latch onto the distant radio instead. There’s a segment on about trying to reconnect old, jilted lovers through the phone lines. Fuck.
“So, damage isn’t all that bad,” Jimmy returns some time later. I’d lost myself to the bubbles running through the water dispenser. Dropping into a chair hidden by coats, he shoves things around for some space on the desk to show me his scribbled list. “Mostly cosmetic. The rear panel will need replacing. I can bang out the side doors and that big dent in the hood, and replace the windows, no issue. Will need new tires on the right side. You’re lucky all that rain didn’t do any internal damage with the car left on its side like that.”
“Do you have the parts here?”
Jimmy looks around and then strains to peer back towards his workshop. “I have a few odd bits I can piece together, but they won’t be the same color or official BMW supply. If you wanted those, I’d need to order them in.” I quickly wave my hand. At this rate, I think I’ll order Hux a brand new SUV and scrap this one once it’s got me to where I’m going.
“That won’t be necessary. Just enough to get back on the road.”
Jimmy nods, jotting down some prices and notes. “Alright then. Give me a few days, and I’ll see it done.” He stands, and I quickly follow suit. There’s no point delaying the inevitable. I may have arrived as half of a pair, but I expect I’m leaving alone. She’ll be long gone by now.
“Name your price to have it ready by tomorrow morning.” At this, Jimmy smiles a wide, toothy grin. We settle up our business, and I grab my backpack from the cab. There’s barely anything left in it now, except for a few spare clothes that need washing, my toothbrush, and a blank notepad. I didn’t think too hard on the reasons for grabbing it at the last minute. It just feels soothing to have one nearby.
Heading out of the open garage, Jimmy rushes up behind me, his smart phone in hand with a message open on the screen.
“Looks like you’re in luck,” he smiles, his eyebrows dancing again. I peer at the message, although Jimmy gives me a playful shoulder barge. “She’s stayed after all.”
“What are you talking about?” I frown, brushing down my shoulder as if I’m not in a sweatshirt that’s grubbier than Jimmy’s wife beater. Producing a handful of business cards from his pocket, he flicks through them until he produces the one he’s looking for .
“There’s a room sorted for you at Bonnie’s Bed and Breakfast. Ask at the reception for details. They don’t accept pets though, I’m afraid.” Jimmy gives Baxter a forlorn look that doesn’t look anything like regret. Another situation that appears out of my control.
“Do you know of a place Baxter can stay?” I sigh.
“Oh, I’d be happy to look after him for the night. My girls will spoil him rotten.” Baxter barks, jumping up at Jimmy and reveling in all of the fuss he’s being given. I look to the concrete ground, swallowing past a lump in my throat.
“You know what, Jimmy. Why don’t you keep him safe for me?” On a long exhale, a weight is lifted from my shoulders. Whistling sharply, I call Baxter over and kneel down, accepting his licks on my face. “Be a good boy, okay?” I whisper a silent goodbye and let him return to an elated Jimmy, knowing it might possibly be the last time I see him.
It’s better this way. Baxter’s an old dog, sentenced to die, forgotten in a shelter before I found him. At least this way, he’ll be loved and cared for. He’ll have a stable home, which isn’t something I can currently provide. More importantly, he won’t be with me anymore. No one prospers when they’re with me.
But dare I dream that there’s someone willing to try?
With the pack on my shoulder, my feet swiftly carry me to the address listed on the business card, which turns out to be on the opposite side of town. At the far end of a gravel driveway, I walk up the wooden steps of a charming two-story building. Ivy creeps up one side of weathered brick walls, framing the windows with its pale leaves. The front porch is adorned with rocking chairs and overflowing flower boxes. A wrought-iron sign hanging above the front door reads ‘Bonnie’s’ in looping cursive.
I take a steady breath and push open the heavy oak. A bell jingles overhead, and a woman emerges from behind the reception desk. She’s older, with a kind face and silvery hair pinned into a loose bun. She appears to have a keen resemblance to Linda, the diner waitress. Her smile widens as I approach.
“You must be Wyatt,” she says, her voice warm. “Your friend said you’d be along shortly. Room three, upstairs. She’s waiting for you.” Her words hit like a punch to the chest. Jimmy wasn’t lying—Avery's here. She’s actually here .
Nodding mutely, I accept the brass key she hands me and climb the narrow staircase. The dimly lit hallways smell of lavender, due to vases of the flowers on low tables, mingling with the faint aroma of freshly baked cookies wafting from somewhere below. The wooden steps creak under my weight, my shadow cast across the floral wallpaper as I approach a door at the end of the hall, labelled with the number three.
Pushing the key into the lock, I twist slowly, unsure if I’m ready for what’s waiting on the other side. Why hasn’t she run at the first opportunity? Then I grow a pair of balls and push the door open.
Avery stands by the window, facing outwards. She doesn’t turn at the sound of the door, lost in her own thoughts, permitting me a moment to just stare at her. Her hair is loose, tumbling down her back in soft, golden waves. She’s shed the baggy sweatpants and sneakers, dressed in a simple knit sweater and leggings that cling to her slender frame.
There is a pile of folded clothes on the edge of a queen-sized bed, seemingly for me. The room for two is small and cosy, with a small bathroom off to the side. A pair of armchairs sit by the window, with a small table between them holding another vase of lavender.
I pause, unsure what to say. Whether I should disrupt her at all. But then, impatience for answers gets the better of me, and I step further into the small room. “You’re here,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. Avery’s head whips around, her expression unreadable. Clearing my throat, I clarify, “I didn’t think you’d stick around.”
“Wyatt,” Avery replies, a quiet plea that wrings my insides. In the dim light of the lamp, her eyes are red and puffy. She’s been crying. All pretences that I’ve guarded myself against her charms fall away. Crossing the room in a few strides, I reach for her, and she comes willingly. Crashing against my chest, I hold her there, stroking her hair and letting her tremble against me.
“Is it Fredrick? Did something happen? Fuck, I never should have left you.” I chastise myself. Avery shakes her head, turning so her cheek is pressed against me.
“It’s Axel. He’s in the hospital.”
My world tilts until I’m dropping on the bed’s green quilted throw, taking Avery with me. Just like that, our private world has shattered. Reality has come crashing back in .
I don’t immediately ask the questions burning my throat, as if delaying the knowledge of what happened will make it any less my fault. Once again, as always, I was tunnel visioned. Avery’s safety was my priority, and now visions of Fredrick’s men storming the frat house and becoming enraged at her disappearance fill my mind. Perhaps they took her disappearance out on the Souls. I was stupid to think they could defend themselves against convicts and thugs. I’ve been stupid in so many ways. There is nothing I can do now, but the temptation to put my fist through a wall is strong.
Instead, I focus on what’s right in front of me, bundled in my arms as if she belongs there. “Why did you wait for me? Why haven’t you gone to be with him already?”
Avery pulls back slightly, just enough to look up at me. Her blue eyes, glossy with more tears, search mine as though the answer is hidden somewhere between us. She opens her mouth, hesitates, then closes it again. I brush my thumb over the healing split in her lip from the crash, giving her all the time she needs. The air is thick with her indecision, her pain, and her haunted whisper.
“Because I didn’t want to go alone. I… needed you.”
I nod, not trusting my voice. The admission twists something deep inside me. Avery, who’s always been so self-assured, so steady in the chaos, is admitting she needs me. She chose to wait for me.
Her words crack something in me that’s been brittle for too long. I cradle her, soothing her as if I have the right to. The urgency to leave and be by Axel’s side is crushing, but there’s that small, selfish side to me that always seems to speak a little bit louder than the other voices in my head. She needs me. The car won’t be fixed until tomorrow. We have tonight, thanks to some sort of divine intervention. And maybe, just maybe, I need her, too.