Chapter 8 #2
When his gaze strays from the stars to her face, he’s surprised to find it creased with emotion that betrays how worried she is for him. Hell, he must be in bad shape if her tears are dropping onto his skin.
“You’ll be so angry when you find out,” he tells her, his eyelids sagging.
“When I find out what?”
“Everything I’ve been keeping from you. You’ll take that gun on day thirty and shoot a bullet right in my brain. I’ll deserve it.”
“Should I make some sausage out of you afterwards?” It’s a light-hearted joke coated in worry, and he huffs in amusement, not expecting that she’d remember his comment from the night they met.
“You’d better. Don’t waste anything.”
“You still plan to offer me that choice, huh?”
“A deal is a deal.”
She hums an agreeable sound, leaning her head back against the wall again to gaze up at the stars.
He only wants to look at her. His eyes droop, and his body starts to give out, but he fights it. “You’re so damn pretty.”
It’s a comment he never planned on saying, but she smiles, her voice light. “Now I know you’re delusional.”
“Why aren’t you mad at me?”
“Because you haven’t given me a reason to be. Your brain is scrambled, that’s all. You need rest, Wyatt.”
“Will you stay?” It’s a silly question considering he’s pinning her to the floor, but he asks anyway, needing the reassurance.
“I’ll stay.”
“Even if you hate me later?”
She hesitates, her tone gentle, if slightly placating. “Even if.”
* * *
When he wakes, he’s in his bed again, and he’s alone until Addison appears in the doorway with a bowl and a spoon. “Hey, you’re awake.”
“Did you feed them?”
She sets the food down on the table and dips the bed with her weight. “Who?”
“The polar bears.”
This is serious, but there’s a twitch of amusement on her face. “Yes, yes, I did.”
“You’re smiling like it’s funny, but it’s not. They’ll get upset. I saw three this morning. They’re one of the few animals that see humans as prey. You need a healthy fear of them if you’re gonna be in Alaska.”
“I am aware.” Her hand lands on his forehead, prompting a frown. “Still hot, but not as bad as earlier.”
“The brown one’s been trying to murder me. I told you, but you don’t believe me.”
That little brown bear has been trying to slice him open with its claws, and Addison watches the whole thing like it’s adorable.
“Brown one?” She smiles again, holding up one of the mutated polar bears, her hands under its armpits and its paws in mid-air. “This polar bear?”
“You’re in on it,” he groans. “I knew it the whole time.”
She puts the monster on the ground, where it scampers off to plot their demise. “Wyatt, it’s just the cat. Too small to hurt anything. You don’t have to worry about him.”
“But you fed him, right? And the others outside? If you don’t feed ‘em they’ll eat us.”
She isn’t understanding the gravity of this situation. The more she sits there and smiles at him like he’s making some sort of joke, the more worried he becomes. Doesn’t she know this could be life or death? They have no room to fuck it up.
“I fed them,” she says, her lips pursed in amusement. “And I can’t wait until you’re better to tell you all about this conversation.”
“Okay, good. Good.” He takes hold of her hand and pulls her closer, whispering a warning. “It’s important. The truce could be broken if they don’t eat.”
“They’ve eaten all their snacks. The truce still holds.”
“Did you push the button too?”
She pauses, brows creasing until realization hits. “Oh, oh, okay. I think you’re blending parts of your life with something you saw on TV. It was a good one, I’ll give you that. Remember those two full series I told you I watched? That was one of them.”
“If you’re not gonna push it, I will.” He moves to get up and do it himself, but she guides him back into bed.
“I pushed the button.”
He’s so fucking weak it’s easy for her to keep him flat on his back. Her touch is gentle, but he feels out of control and confused. So tired he can hardly think straight and so hot he may as well be bathing in lava.
He narrows his eyes. “Are you fucking with me?”
“Never. I took care of everything, I promise.”
She promised, and she’s not a liar, so it must be okay. He relaxes again with an exhale, patting her on the thigh like they’re familiar enough for that when part of him whispers they aren’t, even if he can’t remember why not. “You do that, don’t you? Take care of things. I’m so lucky you’re here.”
“You might think differently later,” she sighs.
“I won’t. You need to go look for Emma, can’t stay here with me,” he mumbles, some of the fog lifting long enough for his words to be lucid and relevant.
“We’ll look together when you’re better.”
“Wasting time on me. Every second matters.”
“It’s not a waste. This is where I need to be right now. I can’t lose you.”
No one ever gave a shit about losing him. He didn’t know how badly he wished someone would until she was sitting here beside him.
“You won’t,” he replies.
“Good. Because we still have a trip to take, don’t forget. I’ve decided I’m holding you to it. We need to see those mountains, and I’ll even get in the hot tub, despite it sounding very unpleasant. So you have no choice now, you have to get better.”
Makes sense when she says it like that. They have plans, and he has to get his shit together so they can follow through.
It’s not long before he’s passed out again, but this time he doesn’t dream up old memories. This time, he dreams of white-tipped mountains with Addison and Emma by his side.
* * *
“Fuck.” Wyatt shields his eyes from the sunlight blaring into his retinas.
“How do you feel?
“Like shit.” His dismay only grows when he remembers a few highlights of his recent behavior. “I’ve been seeing things?”
Addison nods, putting a hand to his forehead. “But you’re asking about it now, and that’s a good sign. People who are hallucinating don’t know they’re hallucinating. The fever broke, thank god. You had me so worried.”
“How long was I out of it?”
“About two days.”
“You stayed the whole time?”
“Of course. You’d do the same for me. Besides, you might have to when this baby comes. I have no idea how that’s gonna go.”
He never assumed he’d be around for that. Figured she’d get sick of him and move on, or find a better situation once prepared to leave on her own. She’s temporary, but she’s telling him that some part of her future might include him. He can’t help but feel special about that.
His memory of the last few days is hazy. Shuffling to the bathroom now and then. Eating whatever she shoved at him. The dreams and delusions stuck harder than what happened in between.
He shoved her into some of his worst nightmares, and she just…went with it. It’s only a miracle that she isn’t looking at him like he’s pathetic.
“Did I say some weird shit?” He’s fishing to see what she’ll let him get away with. He isn’t ready to talk about most of it yet.
“Nah, not really,” she lies, taking mercy on him. “Except for the polar bear thing. That was pretty funny.”
He facepalms, and she laughs, the best sound he’s heard in a while.
“There is one thing I need to say, though,” she continues. “I pray every day that we’ll find Emma, but it’s not your sole job to fix this, okay? It’s not the only thing you’re good for. You’ve already done more for us than anyone has in a long time.”
“We’ll find her.” He rests a hand on her knee before remembering they don’t do that, but she’s quick to cover it with her own. “And thanks for dealing with me while I was seeing things.”
“Wyatt, I—”
“You could have tied me to the bed to live out my delusions alone until the fever broke.”
She huffs, “That would have been extreme. Though from the way you were talking, you seemed to assume you deserve that sort of thing. Kept saying you were lying to me…”
Fuck. The last thing he’s ready for now is a full conversation about all the truth he’s grown accustomed to omitting. Soon. He will tell her soon. Maybe she’ll even understand, and it won’t be nearly as big a deal as he fears.
“I don’t remember saying anything about that.” It’s the truth. He may remember his lies, but his memories over the last two days are more than muddled.
“Oh.” Her smile quickly morphs into an exhausted yawn. “I’m sure it’s nothing. Your brain was working overtime.”
“You look tired. Should get some sleep.”
“I’m fine. Do you want some tea?”
“I’ll make it. Go get in bed. I’ll bring it to you,” he tells her.
“You’re still hurt. You shouldn’t be overdoing it.”
“I can walk. My legs are numb by now. I have to move around some.”
She isn’t wrong. He’s still healing from his injuries and tired from the fever.
Everything aches like he’s been hit by a train and dragged a few miles for good measure.
He’ll probably spend the next day or so sleeping off this nightmare before he can do anything productive, but he can meander to the kitchen and put water on the stove well enough.
She doesn’t protest again, which only confirms how tired she is.
When he brings out a cup of steaming hot tea, she’s already passed out in the chair.
He wants to pick her up and put her in bed, but the sheets need washing after he’d been sweating on them.
Who is he kidding? He can barely pick up the cup he’s holding with both hands.
He grabs a blanket and covers her. Tucks it around her shoulders and indulges for only a moment in how beautiful she is while she’s asleep.
Then, he rips the sheets off his bed and drops them on the floor, crawls in, and watches the sunrise cast a glow across the room.
There is no one else who would do for him what she did. Things are different now in ways he’s still processing, and he doesn’t have a clue how to handle any of it.