Chapter 5
CHAPTER
FIVE
ZIGGY
Leave him out here? That would require me not being obsessively addicted to his company. He might as well tell me to stop breathing.
Luckily for Kennedy, Wilde’s End isn’t a hard place to get around, once you know where everything is. We stick to the dirt road as we walk, and while I’m listening to him excitedly point out birds or trees, or whatever else he’s rambling about, I keep sneaking glances his way.
So Kennedy is giving up dating, is he?
Figures that the second my interest in love rattles to consciousness, the person giving it a jump start takes himself off the market indefinitely. It’s one thing to think you don’t have a chance with someone; it’s another to have it confirmed.
I desperately want to ask why. To find out how the man Wilde told me is a romantic has gone from all things hearts and rainbows to swearing off relationships. Only while he’s here, of course. It’s like the universe is really slamming home the reminder that I have no chance with him.
Which brings me to the only conclusion I can draw from that: the universe is an asshole.
I don’t have experience with men, have never been with one, but Kennedy makes me want to try. I’m inhumanly attracted to him, and it’s hard to determine whether it’s his physical features, who he is inside, or a combination of both.
Maybe … just maybe … if I can convince him that I’m worth breaking his no-dating rule for, then—
Sure. And maybe aliens will show up and take me away.
Proving that I’m worth him starts with actually being worthy of him.
“So where are you taking me?” he asks suddenly. And for someone so in tune with my moods and the way I don’t like to talk, the question surprises me. Until he adds, “To see your freaky doctor?”
It’s the usual yes/no question most people stick to around me. It helps because I don’t have to think about talking, but it occurs to me that it means I never really get the chance.
But Kennedy jumping to the assumption I’m taking him to Booker? Way off base. I shiver and shake my head.
“Hmm …” He rubs his scratchy jaw. “Who’s that other guy I’ve seen? He was wearing a ball cap and had his hair in a ponytail.”
That sounds like Rooney. I tap my lips three times, and he watches me, that look taking over his expression like he’s puzzling me out.
Kennedy copies tapping his lips. “Does this mean … whatever his name is?”
The answer to his question pops up in my mind, and it’s an easy one. One word. That’s it.
Rooney. Just say Rooney. Rooney. Rooney.
Roooooney. It’s lodged in my throat, growing and growing, but even when I open my mouth, when I form the word with my lips, the sound won’t come.
The harder I fight it, the longer it takes, the more my stress skyrockets, and then the stupider I feel for not being able to get the fucking thing out.
I can’t stop the sickening nerves or the lockjaw tension that builds whenever I imagine hearing my voice between us.
Pussy.
Wimp.
Ungrateful.
“Hey, it’s okay,” Kennedy says, the warm weight of his hand on my shoulder as he squeezes it.
But it’s not okay. Pressure builds in my chest, and I want to scream at how useless I am. How frustratingly pathetic.
But Kennedy squeezes harder this time and angles his face until he’s in my line of sight.
“Ziggy.” He makes a slashing motion over his mouth. “That’s Ziggy. Right?”
I study him, waiting for a sneer or fake pity to take over his face. I brace for him to shove me or for his lips to form one of a million insults I’ve had hurled my way.
Instead, he makes the slashing motion again. Then the corners of his lips twitch upward. “Do you have one for me?”
For … him? Slowly, I pull my focus away from myself and the ringing in my head to the man standing in front of me. The man who’s not shouting or pushing or mocking me.
I study him for a moment, everything from his golden hair to his golden smile, and I’m filled with the same warmth he’s always funneled into me.
It’s where my name for him came from. But as he watches me and waits, it gets too hard to lift my hands.
I never learned sign language because when I was younger, I had no problems with talking.
It was only as I got older and started learning how evil the world is that my voice shrank and shriveled inside of me.
Telling Kennedy the name I have for him would be easy, and I want to, but self-preservation wins out. There’s a chance it would give away how I feel about him, and when I can’t even have a goddamn conversation with the guy, that feels like skipping a lot of steps.
I shake my head instead. Normally, I’m not a liar, but there isn’t a whole lot that I won’t do to protect myself.
“Ah, damn. You’ll have to tell me when you think of one.” He resumes walking and chuckles to himself. “What about this?” he asks, holding a finger beneath his nose like he’s sniffing it.
I pull a disgusted face, and his chuckle turns into a laugh. “I’ll take that as a no.”
If I didn’t already have something, it would work, but Kennedy deserves to be known for more than his mustache.
I take a right off the path and follow a long, narrow one deeper into the forest. It’s the way to Lynx’s place.
He lives beside the crop fields and the battery containers, and maybe if Kennedy sees that, he can get an understanding of what I want to achieve in Old End.
Given they’re planning to market the houses there as high-end luxury weekenders or whatever, our batteries won’t have enough energy to supply those too, but I can work out a similar arrangement up there.
It takes ten minutes of walking and Kennedy telling me about where he used to live before we pass the tree line into the clearing.
It’s as large as a football field, with Lynx’s small house right on the edge, rows and rows of crops, protected by his intricate fencing, and then the shipping containers on the other side.
“Oh, wow,” he mutters, following me. “Is this where you live? It’s like a fairy-tale cottage.”
I almost laugh at that. Me? Grow food when I can barely cook it? I’m not sure exactly what I contribute to the town other than being an eagle-eyed lookout, but feeding people would never come close to being on the list.
I lift my hand and use my fore and little fingers to make horns above my head.
“That’s who lives here?”
I nod and, throat feeling tight, manage a whisper before I’m too in my head. “Lynx.”
Kennedy’s whole body jolts with tension, and I recoil. It’s on instinct, and I hate that it’s my instinct, but thankfully, Kennedy doesn’t notice because he’s back staring at the house. “Jesus fucking Christ, do you want me to get killed?”
He looks like he’s about to bolt, so I grab him before he can.
I know why he’s spooked, and I don’t blame him.
Lynx showed up where they were working a month ago and scared the shit out of them.
Wilde got in the way, protecting Hudson, and it all went downhill from there.
Lynx ended up slashing up Wilde with his knife, Bob attacked Wilde for threatening Lynx …
and Kennedy was there to witness the whole thing.
I give him my best pleading eyes.
“Ziggy …”
I yank on his arm more aggressively this time.
“I want to trust you, but that’s a big ask after what that psycho did.”
He’s making an excellent point that I unfortunately can’t argue with without words. Why do I have to be so damn at war with myself? I hang my head back toward the sky, keeping a firm grip on his arm, and give him a small, needy tug. Take pity on me, please.
Some of the tension drains from him. “Don’t get me killed.”
I quickly catch his eye, trying to pour all the promises I can into our eye contact. Get him killed? I would never. I’m no fighter, but I’d take on Lynx for him if I had to. Thankfully, I won’t have to since even Lynx isn’t reckless enough to attack again.
“I trust you,” he says.
And that makes me hopeful in a way I’ve never been before. All I want is to lean in and kiss him on the cheek in thanks, but my pounding heart refuses.
So I step back and gesture at him to follow me, then lead the way to the containers.
There are only two keys to get into the batteries, and they belong to me and Wilde. He has a basic understanding of how it all works, but it’s my baby. I put it together and am constantly tinkering and updating when I can. It’s expensive, but Wilde never has issues getting me what I need.
When I click open the padlock and pull aside the heavy door, Kennedy’s suitably impressed.
“What the hell is this?”
I point to the closest solar battery as Kennedy passes me and walks inside.
“Hudson mentioned you guys had electricity, but this is …” His head is shaking as he looks around at it all. “Wait a minute … did you do all this?”
I confirm it, and his jaw drops further.
“This is incredible. I don’t understand most of it, but to put this together doesn’t look easy.”
It’s not, and I sort of like that he knows that.
“How long did it take you? Weeks?”
I shake my head.
“Months?”
Not even close. When I wrinkle my nose, his awe fills his face.
“Years? Fuck me, Ziggy, you are one clever guy.”
Unfortunately, my mind is stuck on the fuck me, Ziggy part of what he said instead of the compliment. It takes me a moment to work out that he’s still talking.
“Do you think we could set up something like this? To get electricity on at the town?”
That’s the entire plan.
He bounces closer and grabs my face in both hands. “You’re a genius.” He gives me a little shake in his excitement. Then, before I know it, his arm is around my shoulders, and he’s got me pulled in close to his side.
I choke on air.
It’s so fucking warm here. He’s been working today, and his scent is a mix of sweat and something really, really appealing. I want to lean in closer and breathe it in, but even I know that’s crossing boundaries.
I might live out in the wild, but that doesn’t mean I don’t have manners.
Mostly.
Even if it is really hard to remember that with him so damn close.
“We’ll have to figure out a way to hide the containers so that they don’t ruin the luxury angle we’re going for.
And if we can get some electricity hardwired in, at least as a backup, that would be good too.
I doubt there’s much out this way, but I’ll find out whatever I can for you.
Oh! Maybe you could come into town with me one day this week?
I don’t really know what I’m looking for, so I’d probably need you to help me with the search. Then we can make a plan? Yeah?”
He looks over at me, almost nose to nose, and I’m trying to keep my expression as anything other than terrified. Terrified that I’m dangerously close to licking him, yes, but also terrified by everything he said. He wants me to … go into town. With him. Where the people are.
Lots and lots of people.
It’s been so long. The most I encounter these days are the Wilde’s End residents at the Cutty—our town bar—and even then, outside of holidays, there’s only a handful of people there at any one time. Plus, I know everyone out here.
Going to Wayward. Away from my protective bubble. It’s … unimaginable.
But then I think of the long drive and being huddled up next to Kennedy while we look at his computer. And all those worries? All those stressors and triggers and every reason not to just … leave my head. All I can concentrate on is dancing, green eyes under the excited tilt to his eyebrows.
I’m nodding before I’m aware I’m nodding.
Kennedy’s smiling before he’s probably aware he’s smiling.
Then the one voice I’m hoping we won’t hear today comes from behind us both.
“Well, this looks cozy.”