Chapter 21
TWENTY-ONE
DAKOTA
Afternoon bleeds into evening without a word.
Julien’s hunched over his project. He’s shaved bark from a branch he dragged in earlier, piling it into a rusted pie tin he found under a stack of water-damaged comics.
The lighter sparks. A tiny flame catches the tinder, casting his face in flickering orange. He pulls two cans from his pack and punctures the lids with his knife before setting them directly on the small fire.
“Dinner,” he says. “Gourmet chef’s special.”
“Five stars.” My voice comes out raspy.
The tiny space fills with the smell of warming soup, almost homey if you ignore the monsters waiting outside and the chasm between us.
Minutes later, the soup bubbles, spitting droplets into the fire. He wraps his sleeve around one can, lifts it off, and slides it across the floorboards, stopping inches from my boot.
“Careful. Hot.”
“Thanks.” I blow on the steaming can. “For this. And for earlier.”
He nods once, focusing intently on his own meal. “Anyone would’ve done it.”
Not anyone. Just him.
I wait until the can cools down to swallow a spoonful, scalding my tongue. “Tasty.”
“It’s canned.”
“I have low standards.”
The corner of his mouth twitches.
We eat without looking at each other. I scrape the bottom of the can with my finger, catching every last drop of warmth before the night chill sets in.
“Think they’re still out there?” I set my empty can aside.
Julien rises to peer through a crack in the wall. “Few stragglers.”
“When do we leave?”
“First light. We’re close. One hour on foot if we’re lucky.”
Where we’ll hopefully meet the others, and then I’m not his burden anymore.
“Did I… did I slow you down today?” I ask. “When I followed you instead of running?”
“Yes.”
The honesty stings worse than if he’d lied. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. We both made it.” He doesn’t look at me. “That’s what matters.”
“You have a cut.” I gesture to his neck. “From earlier.”
His hand rises to touch it. “It’s nothing.”
“It’s bleeding.”
“It’ll stop.”
I dig in my pack for the first aid kit. “Let me—”
“I said—” He meets my eyes, his body tense before dropping to the ground. “Will you take a look at it?”
I edge closer to examine the cut. It’s close to the other one, shallower but angry, red-rimmed with dirt collecting along the edge. Not dangerous, but infections happen fast.
“Hold still.” My fingers hover over his skin.
He’s warm, pulse thumping visibly beneath the wound. I dab antiseptic on a cotton pad and press it against the cut.
He hisses through his teeth but doesn’t pull away.
“Sorry,” I mutter, though I’m not sure what I’m apologizing for. The sting? The fight? The fact that I didn’t run when he told me to?
“I’m good.”
I clean carefully around the edges. “You’ve got dirt everywhere.”
“Hazard of rolling in ditches.”
“And climbing fences.” I apply antibacterial ointment, fingers trembling. “And playing hero.”
His jaw tightens. “Wasn’t playing.”
“Right. Sorry.”
Our eyes lock for an uncomfortable second before we both look away. The fire pops, spitting an ember onto the floor. He crushes it with his boot.
“Almost done.” I place a small bandage over the cut, smoothing the edges with my thumb.
His skin is rough beneath my fingertips, stubble scraping against my knuckles. He smells like sweat and pine and something uniquely him that I shouldn’t notice but do.
“There.” I drop my hands, retreating to my side of the treehouse. “All fixed.”
He catches my wrist before I can fully retreat, tugging me toward him with a sudden jerk that sends me tumbling against his chest. My free hand lands on the solid plane.
“I’ll take watch,” he murmurs, his arm snaking around my waist and arranging me against his side. “You need sleep.”
“I—” Words evaporate as his thumb traces circles on my hip beneath the fabric of my shirt.
He shifts, pulling me down until my head rests in the crook of his shoulder. “Better for warmth.”
Warmth. Yes. That’s all this is. Just like yesterday.
I let my muscles relax against him, too exhausted to maintain the wall between us. “What about you?”
“I’ll sleep after.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
He ignores it, his fingers drifting up my spine and settling at the nape of my neck. The gentle pressure makes my eyelids heavy.
“Still mad at me?” he asks, voice so low I almost miss it.
“Not mad.” I snuggle closer.
“Hurt then.”
I don’t say it, but he probably knows the answer.
I am hurt. Of course, I’m hurt.
I feel a jagged, gaping hole where my dignity used to be.
The Yes he dropped earlier when I asked if I slowed him down. No hesitation. No polite lie to spare my feelings. Just the brutal, unvarnished truth: I am dead weight.
I’m the luggage he’s too honorable to dump on the side of the road.
And why wouldn’t he have a backup plan that doesn’t include me? I’m not his family. I’m just the girl whose father blackmailed his family, the sister of the woman he actually cares about.
And that’s okay.
It is fine.
I shouldn’t want more. I shouldn’t want to be the exception. Even if… I want to be the blue he talked about. It’s pathetic, really. Maybe that’s all I am—desperate for any scraps I can grasp.
I burrow even closer, hating how good he feels.
Hating that his heartbeat is the most steady thing in my world right now.
I’m leeching off his warmth like a parasite while knowing that the second we get to Pine Lake, the second he hands me off to the others, his job is done, and we’ll go back to how we were before.
“No.” My voice is muffled against the rough fabric of his shirt. “Just tired.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” he rumbles, his chest vibrating against my cheek.
“Julien—”
“Get some sleep.” He tucks me closer, his chin resting on the top of my head. “I’ve got you.”
For how long?