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CHAPTER

FORTY

SASHA

I’m sobbing so hard, my vision is blurry, and I know I need to stop, or I’m going to end up crashing again, but the tears keep coming. This isn’t like when I left Wayward. I was terrified then. I’m heartbroken now.

It was easier when I thought Lynx wanted me gone, but knowing that wasn’t the case after all is making my decision impossible. I keep my foot on the accelerator, force myself to just drive, but the further I get from Lynx, the smaller my heart feels. Like it’s tied to him and is unraveling by the mile.

I get to the winding road above Hobby Straight before I have to pull to the side and stop. I can barely see through my crying, and I refuse to end up in the same position I was last time I drove through here. All I know is that I don’t want to go. It’s not only Lynx, either, but this whole place that’s worked its way into my heart. For a stupid little nothing town, it’s strangely warm, and I think if I’d had more time to get to know everyone, I really would have found a place there.

But I refuse to keep torturing Lynx. He can’t tie his happiness to me, and I don’t want him constantly on edge every day purely because I’m not by his side. It’s not possible to always be together, and I wouldn’t want that anyway. How do I stay knowing that I’m hurting him?

But how do I walk away?

My heart is aching, and if he feels even the smallest percentage of what I feel, it’ll haunt me. I want to make him feel good, to see him smile, to make him happy.

I wrap my arms around myself, trying to hold all the shattered pieces in my chest together. I wish there was another way. Some way to make this work without me having to leave. Antonio or not, just by being here, I’m hurting him. There’s no easy answer.

Lynx needs help, a lot of it. Maybe … maybe if I could convince him to talk to someone? Maybe if he had a trained professional to help him process all his trauma, things would be different. He should have been given help when he was a kid, but from everything he’s said, I doubt it. I doubt he had a chance to process it at all.

Could I be the one to make it happen?

I can already see the way Lynx would react. His revulsion over outsiders or having to show weakness would be the first things. Denial that it could work would be the second.

I don’t see any other way though.

It’s either I leave, or he does the work to help himself. Because I saw exactly how he felt before I left, and though the needy part of me was flying at being wanted that much, the rational side of my brain knew it wasn’t okay.

I want someone to choose me.

I don’t want it to be because they’re terrified of my death.

Finally, the tears stop, and I let out a weak, pathetic laugh. Am I being too picky? I don’t think asking for a boyfriend who’s either not a murderer or not completely traumatized is too much to ask, but maybe I’m wrong. After all, it hasn’t been achievable so far.

I close my wet eyes and rest my forehead on the steering wheel. My cry has drained me, and I’d love nothing more than to curl up in Bob’s bed and fall asleep with him, surrounded by that safe feeling I’d had for the first time in my life.

Will I ever find that again?

Maybe if I go to Portland and settle down with some accountant called Brad who wears socks to bed and doesn’t believe in ghost stories, my life will be different. Maybe I’ll even like it. Maybe I won’t spend the rest of my life thinking about Lynx and aching for the End.

But how do I do it? Now the car has stopped, I don’t have it in me to keep going. Portland is forever away, which was the reason for going there, but my whole body is rebelling at the thought of that drive.

I climb out of the car to stretch my legs, nothing but the tree-covered hill behind me and below. From here, you’d have no idea that a self-sufficient town was operating just off this road.

I let myself, just for a moment, picture staying. I picture building my own cabin and never using it because Lynx’s feels more like home. I picture showing up at the chop shop every month to help with the Peril casualties. Learning how to look out for myself and to live off the land. Finding my place in their world where I’m actually making a difference.

It’s absurd how much I can want something that I’ve never wanted before.

Maybe it’s worth a try? Maybe Lynx meant everything he told me, and he’d actually give therapy a go? Even if I have to beg him to do it for me, I’d use any excuse to get him there. I have no idea if it would actually help if he didn’t want to be there—I know that when my parents sent me as a teenager, I completely clammed up—but isn’t it worth a try?

If it gave us a chance to see if we could make something work, wouldn’t I be better off staying here and working on it before running away?

Running away is all I’ve ever known how to do, but since meeting Lynx, I’ve proved to myself that I can learn new things.

This could be one of them.

I climb back into my car, and this time, it’s easier to get it started. When I turn around and head back in the direction I came, this feeling of rightness settles over me. Like this is exactly what I’m supposed to be doing.