She’s right again. I’m floored by how perceptive Avery is, and I want to hear more.
“And Hux?”
“Huxley struck me as quite basic when I first met him. That stereotypical jock, maybe a bit shallow. He’s had a rough time, and I know he wouldn’t have been injured if it wasn’t for me bringing out family drama his way. But I’m glad I could be with him in his recovery. He’s so strong, yet so stubborn. He tries to battle his demons alone, but it’s the moments when he cracks and lets me help; that’s when I feel the most connected to him. We’ve built a bond through his struggles. His willingness to fight, and to fight for me, shows me whatkind of man he really is. I’m indebted to him, but that’s not why I fell for him.”
A trickle of emotion rolls through my spine. I can’t name exactly what it is, but it’s a visceral reaction to the admiration in Avery’s voice. The depths of what she feels. Any pretence I had of her surface-level feelings has been shattered.
“And then there’s Dax,” Avery breathes, the smile evident in her voice. I don’t need to hear the rest; it’s evident in the way she speaks. In the way she sighs, “I love Dax.”
I don’t say anything; just adjust the sleeping bag around us and let the silence settle again. Her hand presses lightly against my chest, and for once, I don’t think about how awkward it is or how much I shouldn’t enjoy this moment. I just let her drift into a peaceful state, keeping watch over her in the dark. I toy with my final question for a while, unsure if I’m pushing my luck. If I really want the answer. In the end, my willingness for self-sabotage wins out.
“Dare I ask… what do you see in me?” Avery hums lightly, rousing to look up at my jaw. The movement presses her chest further into my side, the entire length of her touching some part of my body. I swallow and press forward, somewhat awkwardly. “You’re cuddling up to me, despite being here against your will. There must be a reason.”
The question lingers in the air, and for a moment, Avery doesn’t answer. Her breathing evens out, soft and steady against my neck, but I know she’s not asleep. I feel her body tense slightly, her fingers brushing absent patterns over my heart, and I wonder if she’s stalling or just doesn’t know how to frame her answer. Each second of silence feels like a weight pressing down on my chest, compressing my ribs until the quiet isn’t just uncomfortable; it’s unbearable. I regret asking, wanting to take it back.
"You really want me to answer that?" Avery asks, her voice low, almost fragile.
"Yeah," I lie, too far gone to leave it alone now. The answer can’t be good. I’m just the guy who’s trapped her here, a means to survive. The outsider. The interloper. The one who took her away from everything she cares about under the guise of protection. The Souls have her love, her trust, and her admiration.
I let the silence stretch between us again, suffocating and heavy,while Avery settles back against me. Her body fits perfectly against mine, but the space between us feels like a chasm. I clench my jaw, staring into the darkness. I have no right to be mad; I’ve done all of this to myself. But then she speaks, sending me into a spiral for the remainder of the night.
“Well… for some reason, even though I hate that I still believe it, I see potential in you, Wyatt. I can’t bring myself to think you’re beyond redeemable.”
I hold my jaw in a squared position, a numbness creeping through my face and spreading south. I might be having an epitome or a seizure, but I don’t let it show outwardly. She thinks I’m redeemable after everything I’ve done. After the hurt I’ve caused. I close my eyes, pushing the unfurling emotions aside with one single thought left in mind.
We must reach civilization tomorrow. For her, we have to.
Chapter Seven
Deja Vu carries me through the forest. The sun still filters through the trees in patches, those same patterns tracing the leaf-ridden ground. Our supplies are lighter today, a vague reminder that they’re starting to run low. My legs still ache, my stomach growls with hunger, and my feet are blistered from miles of trudging over uneven ground, but none of it feels as hopeless as before. Because Wyatt is openly talking to me.
“Your hair’s a mess,” Wyatt teases, his voice breaking through the quiet. I throw him a glare, and he nudges my shoulder.
“Thanks for the update,” I shoot back, a grin tugging at my lips. He’s as disheveled as I am, maybe more. His shirt is rumpled, his jaw covered in scruff, and his hair is pointing in about six different directions. “You’re just annoyed you woke up spooning the dog instead of me.”
I hold his gaze, referencing how I slipped out of the tent this morning to pee, and Baxter promptly took my place in the sleeping bag. Wyatt got a mouthful of fur as he whispered secret words into Baxter’s ear. I wish I knew what he said.
After a moment, a full-bodied laugh escapes Wyatt, scaring away the nearby birds. It shocks me too. I’m treading this newfound commodore as tentatively as the snaking roots camouflage across the forest floor. He lightly shoves at my arm, seeming to find these excuses to touch me, playfully telling me to shut up. Setting his green eyes ahead, I allowmyself another moment to look him over. He appears different today. Lighter, somehow.
We continue on, minutes turning into hours, the day becoming more lost than we are. My feet are dragging; my calves have long gone numb. Leaning against a tree trunk, I open my mouth to demand a break when a distant noise gives me pause. Instead, a raspy croak of my dry throat causes me to cough. Wyatt looks back, retracing his steps to hand me a bottle of water from his pack. I wave him away, signalling to the air. Baxter heard it too, his ears pricked high.
“Did you hear that?” I rasp, my voice still rough. Wyatt freezes, his head tilting slightly as he listens. The forest seems to hold its breath. Then the sound comes again, faint but unmistakable. His eyes lock on mine, and I see the same spark of hope flaring to life in his expression. Far away, a carhorn blares, and another responds.
“We made it?” Wyatt asks quietly, like he’s afraid saying it too loudly might scare the sound away.
I’m already pushing off the tree, exhaustion forgotten. My legs carry me forward faster than they have all day, weaving between the trees. Wyatt is right behind me, his sneakers crunching the undergrowth, and Baxter barks once, dashing ahead as though he knows exactly where to go. If the horns blare again, I wouldn’t know since my pulse is thundering in my ears.
We don’t stop until the trees thin out and then halt altogether, our aching feet stumbling onto a paved sidewalk. Before us, lines of buildings border parallel roads that all lead to a large church in the town’s center.
“We fucking made it!” I shout, excitement bubbling over. A few people look up from their local businesses, wide-eyed and wary of the dirty, disheveled couple who have appeared seemingly out of nowhere. Baxter trots back towards us, rubbing against Wyatt’s leg while his tail wags vigorously. He leans down, ruffling Baxter’s fur.
“Good boy,” Wyatt mutters, his voice low but tender. I stall, waiting for Wyatt to lead the way, but instead, he straightens and turns to me. A flicker of indecision crosses his face, and then his arms are banding around me in a crushing hug. I don’t even consider my own arms wrapping around his body; they just do.
“You did good too, Avery.” Wyatt lets out a breathy laugh—the kindof sound that’s filled with relief. Baxter barks once, most likely wanting the attention back on him, and we slowly break apart. The warmth of Wyatt’s chest doesn’t retreat far, his hands hesitant to withdraw from my waist. As he slips away, my heart lurches at the same time as my hand, grabbing his in a sweaty hold. I can’t explain the need for it, but I don’t want to lose this connection to him. Not when we've just found it.
Wyatt doesn’t object, his thumb passing over the back of my hand. He inhales deeply, taking in the town in one sweeping gaze. Then, without another word, we’re moving again, directly to the closest diner.
The building is small, nestled between a hardware store and a barbershop, with a flickering neon open sign in the window. The scent of frying bacon and freshly brewed coffee hits me like a wall, and my stomach growls so loudly that Wyatt snorts.
