“Okay, I’m coming.” Finally, she relents and lets him guide her up that rickety staircase to the attic.
He’s not sure why he’s going up instead of out the front door, but in his overheated brain, it makes perfect sense that the plane would be waiting for them here.
Everything hurts so much more than usual. He’s so damn tired and weak that by the time they bust through the door, he’s leaning half his weight on her. He shoves a chair under the handle to keep the looters out before his legs collapse, and he slumps to the ground.
She catches him with a surprised gasp as they sag down together. Branches scrape against the house as the wind howls. A storm is brewing outside, even stronger than the one in here.
Addison’s arms wrap around him, and much as he hates letting her take care of him, it’s difficult not to accept it this time. He’s in no shape to argue. Deep down, he likes it more than he’ll ever admit.
Her fingers comb through his hair as he settles in her lap, her voice raw and shaky. “We’ll find the plane, I promise. We’ll find it, and everything will be just fine.”
“It’s close. Do you see it?”
“Not yet.” Her hand strays down to lie over the middle of his chest, where his heart rises up to slam against it. “You need tobreathe slower, okay? You’ll pass out soon if you keep going like this. Breathe with me, in and out, real slow.”
“But the plane?”
“I’ll find the plane for both of us, don’t worry.”
“If you take it for yourself, I’ll understand. I won’t be angry,” he says with a shivering exhale.
“Now, why would I do that?”
“Leaving is what people do. Before the outbreak and after. Besides, you don’t owe me shit. I’m a fucking liar, anyway. Been lying to you this whole time…take it. Just take the plane and go.”
Her brows furrow, that hand on his chest pressing gently while his head goes heavy in her lap. “I think you don’t know what you’re saying. Once this fever breaks, you’ll be right as rain again. Just you wait and see.”
Maybe she’s right. She seems certain enough. Everything is confusing, up is down, and left is right, but what he knows for certain is how good it feels when she runs her fingernails across his scalp. A tingle up his spine is the only flutter of pleasure he’s felt in so long, so he tries to focus on that and nothing else.
He’s hot for some reason, but suddenly there’s a blanket over his legs and halfway up his ribs. Doesn’t know where she got that from or when she grabbed it. It reminds him that he’s been running around shirtless and pantless except for his boxers. That means she’s seen what’s etched into his back and legs.
That’s okay. It’s not the first time, and it won’t be the last. He still can’t figure out why she sticks around, though. He’s too broken to be worth a damn, but she hasn’t left. Yet.
What they have is innocent. She’s a new friend at best and nothing more. He would never risk that, yet in moments like this, when she smells so good and feels so warm against him, when he’s never felt safer than he does with her…yeah, in moments like this, he wishes they were more.
“I didn’t save her,” is what he says instead of vomiting a litany of emotions at her feet.
“Who?”
“My wife. Or Gwen. Or Emma. Anyone. I can’t protect you either.” All he does is fail the people he cares about. He failed his wife, for not being the type of husband who would make her stay. He failed Gwen for not convincing her to get on the damn plane sooner. He failed Addison already for letting a week go by without finding Emma.
“How about you let me protect you this time?”
Her words are like a cool balm on his tattered soul, offering something he’d never ask for but craves like a hit of cocaine.
“Let me keep you safe,” she whispers again, her voice strained as she leans back against the dusty attic wall. “I think I see constellations up there. Did you paint those when you lived here?”
He rolls over onto his back with his head in her lap and looks up at the mural of a night sky in this old farmhouse she’s convinced he grew up in because he’s a fucking liar that lies. “No. Do you like it?”
“I do. I like it very much.”
“The archer, it’s there, see it?” He points haphazardly in that direction, noticing the blood on his fingers for the first time.
“I see it.” She runs her hand up his arm to bring it back down. “Don’t worry about that. It’s just a scratch.”
“Just a scratch,” he mumbles, even more tired than he had been a moment ago. “Did you fix me up?”
“Mhmm.”
