Chapter 2 Ruger
Ruger
I’m halfway through putting the kindling I cut earlier into the bucket beside the fire when screaming erupts outside.
I make my way to the front door, assuming it’s likely the Nelson kids from across the street, but since I’m expecting my sister at any minute, I should probably make sure it’s not them.
I still don’t know if agreeing to this was the dumbest decision I’ve ever made.
I remember Wrenley. She was a little out of her element when she was here, needing more layers of clothing than I’ve ever seen on a person, but that’s exactly why I think it’s a chance it’s her.
When I step outside, I have to bite back my laughter.
My sister’s friend is practically dancing on her tiptoes, arms wrapped around her head like that’ll protect her from the vicious assault of a few tiny bats.
I have Canadian blood! she shrieks. It’s basically maple syrup! I’m gonna give you type two diabetes!
I lean against the railing and shake my head, wondering how someone can be this entertaining and awkward at the same time.
For the record, the bats couldn’t care less. They’re probably just pissed she woke them up.
Are they gone? she yells, spinning in a circle. Do I have any in my hair? Oh my God! What is that? It’s a bat… in my hair! I’m gonna get rabies!
There is no bat in her hair.
She crouches slightly, flailing her arms in a kind of frantic self-exorcism.
I sigh, walk down the steps, and head toward her. As I reach the woman pulling at her hair, I don’t say a word. I simply throw her over my shoulder in a fireman’s carry.
She’s lighter than I expected. Warm too. Which is unfortunate because I really don’t need to start noticing things like that. I’m also realizing I should have thought this through more because now her panic is aimed at me, her fists hitting the small of my back.
I’m being kidnapped! Someone save me before I get thrown into a bunker!
Calm down, Canada. You’re about two seconds from giving yourself a heart attack.
I adjust my grip, resisting the urge to drop her right back where I found her as she demands I put her down.
Seriously? This is the woman who wants to move to Alaska? She can’t even hack being in my front yard for two minutes.
I want to die on Canadian soil, she whines, and I once again roll my eyes as I open my front door and deposit her in the entrance. She stumbles, then spins around, ready to yell some more, but stops dead when our eyes meet.
Her mouth drops open.
Mine might, too, if I weren’t trying to hold on to my last scraps of dignity after witnessing what might’ve been the most ridiculous display of panic I’ve ever seen.
Because while I remember her being dramatic, I also remember thinking she was beautiful, particularly her eyes.
They’re brown, but they have this golden shine that makes them even more brilliant and hypnotizing.
Now that she’s standing in my entryway, unencumbered by layers of winter gear, she looks incredible.
Her curls are wild, her cheeks flushed, and her chest is rising and falling like she just outran a pack of wolves. And yet—
Beautiful. Still completely unhinged. But gorgeous.
And those eyes, wide, warm, and brown, are blinking up at me like I’m the surprise here.
Oh, she breathes.
A beat.
It’s you.
My brow arches. Who exactly were you expecting to find at my house?
I don’t know, she says, brushing her striped shirt down. A bear?
Wouldn’t I have been furry, then?
Not if you grabbed me with your mouth.
I’d still be furry. I tilt my head. And you’d be wet.
Well, she says, crossing her arms, that’s presumptuous.
I blink once because I have no idea what the correct response to that is.
Wrenley, apparently deciding silence means she made her point, whatever that is, lifts her chin. Anyway, it’s nice to see you again, Ruger. Your bats are evil.
They seemed to like you fine when they were all over you.
All the blood drains from her face.
They actually touched me?
Shit. Bad joke.
For real? she squeaks.
No, I say immediately.
Unfortunately, she’s already spiralling.
Oh my God. She starts brushing frantically at her shirt and jeans. What if they bit me? Do bats bite people? I feel like they bite people. They’re basically flying disease goblins.
They didn’t bite you.
I need a decontamination shower!
A sudden thump of footsteps cuts through Wrenley’s freak-out, followed by the front door swinging open hard enough to slam into the wall.
Jesus! I immediately walk over to make sure my sister hasn’t dented my wall.
Wrenley? Remi’s eyes are wild as she rushes inside, phone still clutched in one hand. There was screaming, and then I looked up and saw Ruger carrying you into the house like a caveman, and I thought maybe he had it handled, but then there was more screaming and— Are you okay? Are you bleeding?
I’m not bleeding, Wrenley reassures her friend, then gestures at me. I was, however, relocated against my will.
A second ago, you were saying that you were being attacked by bats. Wouldn’t that mean I was saving you? I try to defend myself.
Remi looks between us. All that was over a few… bats?
Bats suck blood!
Not the ones here, Remi says, and I can tell she’s trying to hold back laughter.
And how do we know that? she asks.
Remi raises a brow. They’re little brown bats, Wren. Basically, the golden retrievers of the bat world.
Told you you weren’t under attack, I say and instantly regret it when both women seemingly turn on me.
And you. My sister points a finger at me. You thought the best course of action to save my best friend was to manhandle her and treat her like a sack of flour?
She was flailing like a Muppet having a nervous breakdown. I was trying to help.
You could have helped by using your words. You know, explaining that the bats are just harmless, mosquito-eating, cute little freeloaders who live in your yard.
Wrenley raises a finger. Question, why do you let Satan’s moths live in your yard?
I shrug. What Remi basically said. Mosquito control.
Remi nods. Yeah, they eat something like a thousand bugs a night. They’re like nature’s exterminators.
Wrenley narrows her eyes at us. They didn’t look cute dive-bombing my head.
I shake my head. That’s not what happened.
She glares. I hope you get pooped on.
Remi coughs into her hand, trying not to laugh. Okay, okay. Let’s move away from bat topics.
I can’t think of a more unfortunate way to re-meet my future wife than watching her nearly send herself into cardiac arrest over my bat boxes.
Which, for the record, everyone should own.
They’re cheap, easy to build, and natural mosquito control.
I made mine out of leftover scrap wood in a few hours.
So… Remi does a little spin, then gestures to my small entrance. How do you like your new home?
Wrenley turns slowly, taking it all in.
The entryway is narrow, more like a hallway than a room, with a worn staircase tucked to the left side. Through one archway is my modest kitchen, which is dated, to put it kindly. Through another small archway to the right is my living room. My two mismatched couches are partially visible.
The floor creaks beneath her boots. The walls are nicked and smudged in a way that says this house has been lived in. It’s not picture-perfect, but it’s home. At the end of the day, I love coming back to it.
It’s nice, she finally says, and I let out a breath, like knowing she’s okay with my place somehow makes a difference in this arrangement.
I drag a hand down my face, still watching her as she cranes her neck to peer into the living room, like she’s bracing for a skulk of foxes to be playing poker in there.
It’s not like I’m dying to share my space with someone who screams like she’s in a horror movie over a few bats, but I said yes.
I’d like to pretend it’s because I’m sick of the town asking when I’m finally going to settle down, and sure, I heard it more than any man should.
But I don’t care what the town thinks. Alpine Harbor could hold a weekly town meeting titled Why Ruger Seale Needs to Get His Shit Together, and I still wouldn’t lose sleep over it.
While everyone here seems deeply invested in my future, they conveniently forget I came home on the heels of a breakup.
She wanted to be on Broadway, to still be awake at three in the morning eating pizza on crowded sidewalks.
I wanted the exact opposite. I wanted to wake up and drink my coffee in silence.
I wanted to know the faces I saw in the grocery store.
I wanted to walk outside, up a mountain, and back down it before dinner and never see another soul.
Eventually, I realized loving someone doesn’t automatically mean you belong in the same future. That realization broke her heart. Mine too.
Twenty-something me didn’t handle the act of breaking up as well as I should have, but I’m not sorry for what we shared or that it ended. What I am sorry for is how long it took me to realize we were slowly giving pieces of ourselves up trying to build a life together.
I vowed to never do that to another person.
Which is part of why this works. I know Wrenley wants bigger things that I can’t give her here.
Walking in knowing how it ends means there’s no chance for either of us to hurt the other.
And from what Remi told me, she could’ve gone far in the fashion industry had it not been for her Prada-wearing asshole ex who had no problem ending things but also couldn’t handle the idea of someone else eventually having her.
So, he used his influence to quietly burn her career to the ground before she even had a chance to rebuild it somewhere else.
That kind of thing sticks under my skin.