Chapter 25 Whiz
WHIZ
“Zoey!”
The night swallows my voice and throws it back at me, distorted by distance and the thick trees lining the edge of the property. It starts to rain, slow at first, and then harder until my clothes are soaked through.
“Fuck. Zoey!”
When she still doesn’t answer, I push past the tree line, boots hitting uneven ground as branches scrape against my arms and shoulders. The woods aren’t dense enough to get lost in, but they’re dark enough that every worst-case scenario starts taunting me.
I pick up my pace as my eyes scan through shadows that shift with every whisper of the wind. Every sound puts me on edge… the crack of a branch, the wind pushing leaves, anything that could be something else if I’m not careful.
If they’re out here…
The unwelcome thought slams into me fast and hard.
“Goddammit, Zoey—answer me!”
I continue to yell for her, continue to walk forward and scan my surroundings. Time passes in a blur. It could be minutes or it could be hours.
Then movement catches my attention, and I squint in an effort to see through the pelting rain.
There!
I close the distance fast, relief and anger colliding in my chest when Zoey comes into focus. She’s sitting on a fallen log, shoulders hunched, clothes soaked. She doesn’t look up right away, like she knows it’s me but doesn’t care enough to acknowledge it.
“What the fuck were you thinking?” I demand, coming to a stop in front of her.
Zoey finally looks up, her eyes flashing in the moonlight. “I don’t need you to babysit me.”
“That’s not the point,” I fire back. “You don’t just take off when we don’t know who the hell is out there looking for us.”
“I’m not part of your club,” she shoots back.
“You’re connected now whether you like it or not,” I say, stepping closer without meaning to. “You work at Death’s Door. You were there when we got hit. That makes you a part of this, whatever it is. You’re visible now.”
Her laugh is humorless. “That’s what this is about? Visibility?”
“It’s about you being stupid.”
Her expression hardens instantly. “You don’t get to call me that.”
“Just calling it as I see it.”
“I needed air,” she snaps. “Not a room full of people watching me like I’m something to manage.”
“You think running into the woods during a potential threat is better?”
“I think I didn’t ask for a bodyguard!”
“Too fucking bad,” I counter. “You’ve got one whether you like it or not!”
Her eyes narrow, confusion blending with the anger. “Why?”
‘Why what?”
“Why do you even care?” she demands, pushing to her feet and standing right in front of me. “You don’t like me. You barely talk to me unless it’s work or you’re telling me what to do or you’re fucking me. So why does it matter?”
The question hits harder than it should because I don’t have an easy answer. She’s only speaking the truth, and that makes things worse.
I start to respond but stop, knowing full well this isn’t a fight I’m going to win by talking. This battle, the one with her and the one within myself, is a marathon, not a sprint, and I’ve been handling it all wrong.
That stops now.
I close the distance between us and tug her toward me, and then I’m kissing her before either of us can think better of it. I brace for her to push me away, but she doesn’t.
Her hands come up just as fast, gripping my biceps like she’s been waiting for this as much as I have, and that realization is a punch to the gut even as I deepen the kiss, even as the storm turns everything slick and chaotic around us.
This isn’t about control, not anymore. It’s about release, about shutting everything else out… Church, the fight, the goddamn gunfire still echoing in the back of my head. It’s about focusing on something that feels real in a way pain doesn’t.
Her breath catches against mine, and the world around us falls away as we lean into each other, into something reckless and inevitable that neither of us can or want to stop.
The common area is still lit when I come back, having left Zoey asleep in my bed. When we returned from the woods, she showered and threw on one of my t-shirts before falling into an exhausted sleep.
Lyric, Zombie, Quake, Copper, Pilot, and Pastor are all gathered around one of the tables, beers in hand, looking exactly like they’ve been waiting for something to break the night open again.
Their attention zeroes in on me when I walk in.
“Look who decided to rejoin society,” Zombie mutters.
I grab a bottle off the table and take a drink before responding. “Couldn’t sleep.”
“That’s not the reason,” Quake says, leaning back in his chair, an amused smirk on his face.
I glare at him. “Don’t start.”
“Oh, we’re definitely starting,” Copper says, grinning. “You just punched a prospect over a woman and then disappeared into the woods with her.”
Pilot whistles low. “That’s not subtle, man.”
“I didn’t punch him over her,” I snap.
“Yeah?” Pastor raises a brow. “What’d you punch him for then? His pretty eyes?”
“That kid was out of line.”
“Uh-huh,” Zombie says. “And you screaming ‘she’s mine’ in front of the whole room… That part just slipped out, huh?”
I take another drink instead of answering because there’s no answer I can give that’s not going to make this worse.
Lyric watches me for a second longer than the rest of them. “Everything okay?”
“I don’t know,” I admit finally.
“Damn,” Copper mutters. “We broke him.”
“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him, but there’s no real heat behind it.
“You like her,” Quake says, and it’s not a question, just a simple statement of fact.
I roll my eyes hard enough it almost hurts. “You’re all out of your fucking minds.”
“Yeah, that’s not a denial,” Zombie snorts.
“I don’t like her,” I insist. “She’s—”
“Smart, stubborn, way too good at her job, and doesn’t take your shit?” Pastor finishes.
“That about covers it,” Pilot adds.
“And somehow, she still puts up with you,” Copper taunts.
I shake my head, dragging a hand through my hair. “This isn’t that.”
“Then what is it?” Lyric asks quietly.
“It’s complicated,” I mutter.
“Life is complicated,” Zombie says. “Doesn’t mean you get to be an asshole about it.”
“I’m not—”
“You are,” Quake states flatly. “You’ve been riding her all week, snapping at her, pushing her away, then losing your shit when someone else steps in.”
I exhale hard, looking away. “It’s not that simple.”
“It never is,” Lyric says. “But that doesn’t make it okay.”
“She doesn’t need me involved like that,” I say.
“Bullshit,” Pastor replies immediately. “She invited your ass back to her place after a fucking funeral.”
“That doesn’t—”
“That means something,” Copper interjects. “You just don’t want to see it.”
He’s got me there.
“Look…” Zombie leans forward slightly, his tone shifting just enough to take the edge off. “You don’t have to have all the answers right now. But you’ve gotta stop fighting the part where you give a shit.”
“Or at least stop taking it out on her,” Pilot adds.
“Yeah,” Quake says. “Try talking to her instead of barking orders like she’s a damn prospect.”
I scoff. “Talking’s not really my thing.”
“No shit,” Copper mutters.
“Then figure it out,” Lyric advises. “Because what you’re doing now isn’t working.”
Why do you care?
Zoey’s question flutters in my brain, as does an image of the way she looked when she asked it.
I take another drink, slower this time.
“Listen,” I mutter finally. “I don’t—”
“What do you think Undertaker would want you to do?” Pastor asks and that shuts the entire conversation careening to a halt.
The jokes, the advice, the questions, they all stop as Pastor’s words weigh me down like a boulder tied to a mafia rejects ankle before he’s tossed in the river.
What’s worse than the weight is that I know the goddamn answer.
Undertaker would tell me to stop being such a pussy.