For starters, now is not the time or place to notice such things. I can read a fucking room. But also, self-preservation is working in overdrive, and she’s made enough mistakes for theboth of us. If there’s any hope of walking away from this without ending up in orange, I need to be on my A-game.
And my A-game does not include distractions.
We already made a stop at a ranger supply shed off one of the service roads. Most people don’t know exists. I grabbed some gloves, heavy-duty trash bags, a pry bar, and two shovels. Basically, things that make sense when you know bones don’t dissolve the way skin does. They’re also things you don’t think about unless you’ve had to think about them before… I didn’t explain any of that to her, and she didn’t ask about it, a fact I was thankful for. She doesn’t need to know, and frankly, I don’t want to share.
Inhaling a deep breath, I glance down at the speedometer before flicking my gaze to the rearview mirror. Anywhere but at her. “Are you warm enough?” I ask after a beat.
Silence can be useful, but ignoring someone entirely feels like the wrong call.
Alma nods just once. “Yeah.”
Her voice is solid, a little too solid if I’m being honest. Part of me wants to ask her how she’s holding up, but that would be another mistake to add to the evening’s running tally. Questions like that crack things open, and I’m not sure either of us is ready for what might come spilling out.
Instead, I make a last minute decision, a small one that’s not exactly practical, but arguably necessary. Flipping on my signal, I take the next turn without explanation.She notices immediately.
Her head snaps toward me, brows furrowing as the truck straightens onto the new road. “Uh, where are we going?”
“Quick stop.” That’s all I offer.
Her brown eyes flick out the windshield as the convenience mart comes into view, fluorescent lights buzzing like insectsagainst the dark. She looks back at me, clearly trying to reconcilegas stationwithdead husband dissolving in a sulfur pit.
Pulling into a space, I put the truck in park, and before she can ask anything else, I’m already reaching for the door. “Stay here,” I tell her.
She blinks. “I—what?”
“I’ll be right back.”
She opens her mouth, then closes it again, hugging the hoodie tighter around herself. “Okay.”
I step out before either of us can overthink it and hustle inside. The store smells like stale coffee and disinfectant. It’s late enough that the clerk barely looks up, too. I’m just another guy in a hoodie grabbing things he probably doesn’t want to think too hard about.
I move quickly, down one aisle, then another. Grab, grab, grab. No hesitation, no second-guessing. I don’t stop to justify it to myself because justification is pointless. What matters is what comes next, and what comes next is a couple of long nights in a ranger outpost cabin with a woman who’s still standing by sheer force of will.
I’m checked out and back outside in under three minutes flat. Alma’s sitting rigidly when I wrench open the door, her hands knotted in the sleeves of my hoodie. Our gazes fuze for only a moment before I toss the bag into her lap. She looks down at it in confusion, then back up, her brow arched curiously.
Down.
Up.
Down.
She opens it and her eyes widen like saucers. “You bought…stuff for s’mores!Are you serious right now?”
I chuckle before I can stop myself. “What?”
Her voice pitches up another octave. “You just—” She gestures helplessly at the bag. “We just dissolved my husband in a volcano pit and you bought marshmallows?”
“And chocolate,” I add mildly. “And graham crackers. Gotta have the full experience, ya know?”
She stares at me like she’s trying to decide if I’ve finally lost it or if this is some kind of elaborate stress hallucination. “Why?” she demands.
Shrugging, I reverse out of the spot and pull back onto the road. “If we’re going to be stuck in a cabin, we’re gonna need something to do that isn’t staring at the walls and spiraling. That’ll get us through the night. I’ll grab actual food tomorrow.”
Her mouth opens.
Closes.
She looks down at the bag again, then lets out a sound that might be a laugh or the last thread of her sanity snapping clean through. “You’re unbelievable,” she mutters.
