Chapter 22
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MELODY
I’m ninety-percent sure that my ankle isn’t broken, just really, really sprained.
I woke up this morning to find it completely black and blue and swollen to twice its normal size.
It reminds me a little of how both ankles had looked almost every day at the end of my pregnancy, minus the bruising, of course.
But they were huge, like ham hocks with bunny slippers stuck on the ends.
I smile a little at the memories before forcing them away.
I’d been able to run on it yesterday thanks to adrenaline and my keen eagerness to not end up a Happy Meal, but thinking about putting weight on it now makes me want to cry.
So, as much as I hate to, I accept that I’m going to be mostly a bump on a log for at least the next day or two.
I feel a little off, too, like maybe I have the beginnings of the flu, but I figure it’s probably just from being drenched and freezing yesterday, plus exhausted.
So, it’s probably fine. I’ll just rest and feel better later. Not much else to do, after all.
I frown when I realize that Traeger’s gone.
“Traeger?” I call, but no answer. I actually wonder for a heartbeat if he’s finally gotten tired of me hating him and decided to leave me behind.
I honestly wouldn’t blame him if he has.
I know deep down that it hasn’t really been fair how I’ve been treating him since Jonah, but…
well, J had called me out perfectly: I am entirely emotionally damaged.
Jonah being hurt had scared me to my core, but it had also given me an excuse to close Traeger out and not have to face any of the fucking terrifying things I’m feeling for him.
Because, yes, I’m still feeling them. I was able to cover them in anger there for a bit, but that stopped working pretty quickly.
I still ignore them and shove them away every time they try to peek their little heads out…
ok, so more like I pummel them with a hammer when that happens, like a giant game of Whack-a-Mole: Emotions Edition, but it’s getting harder to keep that up.
Despite being afraid of what I’m feeling for him, I’m getting so tired of fighting it.
And, yet, I keep on doing it. I don’t know how to make myself do anything else, to just let it fucking go and dig myself out of the cold, walled up cocoon I’ve wrapped myself in. I put my head in my hands and groan, but then I hear noise outside and put the pity party on hold for now.
I heave myself off of the mattress, presumably looking super cool and not at all ridiculous, and hop on one foot to the window.
I look out to find Traeger tying ropes between the line of trees surrounding the workshop-slash-apartment.
I squint and see that there are cans and bottles hanging from the rope, clinking and banging together as he works.
“He’s creating a warning system,” I say to the empty room, nodding in approval. “Smart man.”
I watch him as he works, but I’m really thinking about how he looked yesterday, stripped down to nothing but his tight black boxer-briefs; the way the water droplets clung to his muscles; the way all that ink danced over his skin and made me want to trace every pattern with my tongue; how it felt to be wrapped up with him in that blanket, skin on skin.
In that moment, I’d completely forgotten about trying to hate him and all of my admittedly misplaced anger.
I’d forgotten about everything outside of the two of us.
It didn’t matter how we’d gotten here or everything that had gone wrong.
All that mattered was that we were here, together, wrapped up in each other and hidden away from the world.
I sigh and turn away from the window to survey the apartment.
The furnishings are worn, but nice, lots of rich wood and soft leather.
Sports memorabilia and triathlon awards—Charlie Rocker was really fucking good, apparently—line the walls and sit on shelves, giving it a very bachelor-pad feeling, but there are homey touches too: handmade quilts stacked in the corner, a World’s Best Uncle trophy on the mantle beside a picture of a handsome man with a gap-toothed little girl in pig tails and a little boy with red hair and freckles at a baseball game.
I hop through the living room and into the kitchen.
I figure I might as well make myself useful and check out the food situation while Traeger works on security.
I glance out onto the small balcony and nearly choke in surprise, barely stifling a scream before it tears free from my throat.
In the chair, there’s a fucking body. Not a Bloody, just a run of the mill dead person.
I ease forward to get a better look through the glass.
He’s been dead for a long while by the looks of it, and by his own hand, judging by the pistol lying on the wood beneath his decomposing hand and the gaping hole in his temple.
A twinge of sorrow rushes through my chest. This must be the World’s Best Uncle.
“Rest in peace, Uncle Charlie,” I say quietly.
I wonder who Charlie was. Why did he live up here above a workshop?
Who lived in the big house before it burned?
What had made him take the road out instead of trying to survive?
To be fair, he could just as easily ask me why I hadn’t, why I even worried about surviving at all.
For a long, long time, there wasn’t much hope.
There was only fear and death and surviving day-to-day, hour-to-hour.
So why had I kept going? I…don’t know, really.
For Jonah, of course, but beyond that, I’m not sure why I fought so hard all this time.
Jonah would say it’s just because I’m a stubborn asshole, and I guess part of that is right.
Even so, I never would have survived long enough to finally see some good in the world again at Haven without Jonah.
He kept me going, he pulled me out of the deepest darkness a person can be lost in.
I miss him so much and wonder if there’s ever a chance of us being together again.
I really don’t know, so I don’t dwell on it for now, instead focusing back on my original mission: food.
I leave Charlie on the balcony and hobble the rest of the way to the kitchen, poking around in the cabinets and the small pantry.
There’s a decent amount of non-perishable stuff still here, so I’m relieved we won’t be surviving solely on jerky and protein bars for the next couple of days.
There’s a large bedroom decorated half in dinosaurs, half in princesses, with a twin bed on either side.
My heart twists. He must have had this set up for his niece and nephew.
I try not to wonder what happened to them.
I gently close the door and poke my head into the other doorways down the hall: a bathroom and a closet.
I hop to the master bedroom at the end of the hall and cock my head as I read what’s scrawled across the wall above the now empty-bed frame in sharpie:
I couldn’t go on without them.
Crack the code and you deserve my stash.
God speed.
MMBBKGJGMJRNR
“What the fuck?” I mutter. I shake my head, not in the mood to deal with this bit of crazy right now.
I’m still not feeling one hundred percent, my ankle is throbbing like a bitch, and I’m freezing even in the hoodie and sweats Traeger found for me.
I move to the walk-in closet. There are a handful of clothes hanging on a short rack, shoes lined up neatly underneath, but the majority of the closet is taken up by floor to ceiling cabinets.
I open one and gape before smiling widely.
“Jackpot.”
“Melody?” Traeger calls from the living room.
“Back here!” I yell, throwing open the next cabinet and the next.
“What are you doing in there? You shouldn’t be up.”
He stands just outside the closet, arms crossed over his chest.
“I’m fine,” I say, rolling my eyes, but I can’t stop smiling.
“What’s with the grin?” he asks slowly, sounding a little confused and a lot apprehensive. I guess that’s fair.
“I’m grinning because Uncle Charlie out there—dead guy on the balcony, by the way if you hadn’t noticed yet—had a Bulk-N-Buy membership and he went shoppin’.
” I beckon him inside and he strides forward, eyes sparkling with excitement.
He sucks in a harsh breath when he steps up beside me and I glance up at him.
“Holy fuck. Tell me this isn’t what I think it is,” he says quietly, eyes sliding closed and head bowing.
“Are you praying?” I ask with a laugh, so giddy by what I’ve stumbled upon that any trace of anger or any of that bullshit that I’ve been holding onto for all these weeks is nowhere to be found.
“You bet your ass I am,” he says, and, after finishing apparently, opens his eyes. He reaches forward to grab one of several white boxes from the middle shelf. “Twinkies, Melody. FUCKING TWINKIES.”
I laugh again, shaking my head, and he grins back.
There’s an entire shelf of Twinkie boxes, another of soups and other canned stuff—veggies and fruits, and corned beef hash, which most people find disgusting but I happen to fucking love.
Another shelf is full of chips and trail mix and beef jerky.
So much food, the kind I wasn’t sure I’d ever see again.
I hop as gracefully as I can to the next cabinet and throw it open.
“Oh my God! Pop Tarts!!” I cry. “AND SODA!”
“Shut the fuck up.” Traeger rushes over and stands just behind me. “They’re probably flat as hell…”
“One way to find out.” I reach in and tear open one of the cases like a feral animal, clawing at the cardboard in desperation. I grab two cans and turn, handing one to Traeger. “Cheers.”
“Slàinte Mhath,” he says, making me arch a brow.
He merely gives me a sly look and takes a long sip.
“Fuck that’s good. Or it probably isn’t really, but it is.
It soooo is.” His eyes slide shut again and he shudders in pleasure, a low groan rumbling in his chest. I take a sip and understand exactly what he means, nearly whimpering when the first heavenly taste touches my tongue.
I don’t care if it’s expired. I don’t care if it isn’t as bubbly as should be.
It’s sweet and a little fizzy and brings on a heavy helping of nostalgia.
“Best. Day. Ever.”
He laughs and snatches my can from me before I know what he’s doing and can stop him.
“Hey!”
“You get your ass back in bed and get your foot elevated. I’ll bring a picnic.”