I’m programmed to doubt him, to wonder what’s the catch, but as I search his eyes for signs of deception, all I see is his earnestness. I have a choice: I can either shut him out and protect what’s left of my heart, or I can trust him.
And I know what I want to do.
I pull his hands to bring him closer to me. I stretch up onto mytiptoes, and I kiss him. His mouth tastes sweet, and as I slide my hand up the back of his neck, I notice his skin is slick with sweat. A low growl rumbles from him, which is a little weird, especially when he jerks his head back, like he surprised even himself.
He looks past me, his breath hitching in his throat. “Don’t move,” he says, his eyes fixed on something behind me. But of course, I spin around to see what’s got him so concerned.
And then I wish I hadn’t.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
At first, I only register the smudge of shiny black in the near distance, until my brain makes sense of the image, giving it a shape. The shape of a bear.
I’ve never seen a bear before. Not in the wild, not in a zoo, not anywhere, and my first thought is that it’s cute. That this beast, capable of ripping us both to shreds, is actually really cute, with its shiny black coat and adorable brown snout, its pointy little ears sticking straight up. But then it does something definitely not cute—it stands on its hind legs, making it impossible to ignore its muscular haunches, its long claws.
“Oh, hey bear,” Kei says, in a loud, calm voice, and then to me, in a low mutter, “No sudden movements, and don’t look it in the eye.” Which is exactly what I was doing, so I avert my gaze.
“Hey, bear,” he says, again, stretching his arms out. He grabs my hand, lifting my arm, making us appear as one giant animal.
The bear lowers back down and starts to amble toward us.
“Kei,” I say in a strangled voice. “Should we run?”
“No.” He doesn’t take his eyes off the bear. “Back up slowly,” he says.
We creep slowly backward, our arms outstretched.
“Hey, bear,” he says again, dropping his voice into a deeper register. The bear pauses. It lifts its snout, its nosing twitching as it tries to catch our scent. “Go away, bear. Go on.”
The bear tilts its head, like it’s listening to us. It takes a step forward.
“Go away, bear,” Kei says, louder.
But it does not go away. Instead, it starts a slow jog toward us, its terrifying size and strength becoming more apparent with every step it takes.
“Yell,” Kei says to me, before letting loose a roar. I do the same thing, pulling it deep from my belly. The bear slows. Kei roars again, and so do I.
I roar, like the terrifying, dangerous creature that I am. I roar until the back of my throat burns and my jaw aches, but the bear continues its approach.
It’s now only a few feet from us, so close that I could stretch forward and touch its furry snout. If I had a death wish, that is.
“Get out of here, bear,” Kei booms.
The bear makes a snuffling sound, like it’s insulted. We are, after all, on its territory, not the other way around. It gives its head a shake, regarding us, as if it’s trying to determine whether we’re worth the effort.
A long moment passes, a stand-off between man and beast. I don’t dare breathe or move or do anything that may disrupt this detente. Finally, after an eternity, the bear twists its body around and heads for the tree line. I exhale for the first time in what feels like a long time as I watch its big bear butt disappear into the forest.
“Oh my god.” My shaking hands fly to my mouth. “Oh my god, Kei, you were amazing. That was so crazy!” I turn to hug him, to kiss him, to celebrate not being the bear’s dinner, but I stop.
All the colour has drained from his face, and his eyes are glassy, unfocused.
“Kei?”
He smiles at me, a weak, fuzzy sort of smile, and he looks like he’s about to say something. But then his eyes roll to the back of his head, and his torso sways. I lunge for him, but I’m not quick enough. He drops to the ground.
“Kei!” I cry, tearing open the plastic bag he relocated from his ankleto his wrist, looking for his insulin. I’m not sure exactly what I’m looking for, hopefully a pre-loaded syringe with the exact right amount of medicine to get him back up on his feet tout de suite, but aside from an almost empty bottle of water, the bag is empty.
I drop to my knees and cradle his head in my lap. I slap his cheeks, and his eyes flutter open. “Wake up, Kei,” I say, my voice cracking. “Come on, eyes open.” His eyes open, and he looks at me with that faraway gaze.
