Page 66 of Running Feral

I move forward until I’m perching on the couch with him. He sways, like he’s inexorably leaning into my orbit, and it makes my heart squeeze uncontrollably.

“I should shower,” he says, still sleepy.

“Yeah.” I push one dark curl out of his eyes, but it immediately tumbles back. “Do you want me in there with you or to go alone?”

His whole posture changes, shrinking in on himself.

“Alone, please,” he says in a small voice that I fucking hate.

“No, baby, of course. I didn’t mean you can’t. And I didn’t mean it in a weird way. Just in case you felt weak, or anything. I’ll be out here, okay? I won’t come in unless you yell for me.”

Tobias looks at me. He looks at me hard, like he’s looking inside me, and I have to resist the sudden urge to squirm.

“Gunnar, I don’t…” His voice trails off, but then he takes a deep breath and tries again. “I don’t know how I can thank you for all of this.”

Like always, I have the lingering fear that he’ll think he owes me something in return. It’s weaker now, though.

I trust him. I don’t know if I trust myself to help him in all the ways he needs, no matter how much I want to. But I trust him to tell me when I screw it up.

“You never need to thank me, Tobias.” I don’t let myself touch him as I say it, but I try to get all the meaning I can into it. “I’d do my small part a thousand more times for nothing in return. All I need is for you to be safe.”

It’s clear from his expression that he doesn’t believe me, but he doesn’t fight me on it. I lean back, giving him as much space as possible to get up and head to the bathroom. He gives me another lingering look as he goes, walking slowly, still obviously hurting. I look away, though.

At first, I was worried about poisoning him with my anger. Now I’m trying to remind myself not to get too lost in my own handwringing that I lose sight of what’s important.

And no one is here to tell me what to do.

~

Unfortunately, I have to work. After a mostly sleepless week and one entirely sleepless night, it’s the last thing I want to do, but it’s my bar and no one else is going to do it for me. Today we’re supposed to be reopening, now that the repairs are mostly finished, and I badly need some money coming into the register to start plugging the hole that Eamon put in this place.

Who knows how long the insurance claim will take to come through, if it does at all? I deleted the security footage, but this whole situation still stinks of impropriety. I wouldn’t be surprised if they found a reason to deny the claim or even accuse me of being in on it.

Insurance fraud charges are the last thing I need, so I’m trying not to think about it. I almost didn’t file the claim. It’s not fraud. It was a crime that I had nothing to do with, and Tobias had no control over. But I get how it could be difficult to see it that way if you’re not on the inside.

Hopefully, the company takes it all at face value that someone just broke in and trashed the place, and doesn’t consider my many, many police reports about Eamon and Tobias to be connected.

These are all the thoughts racing through my head as I get the bar ready to open. I asked Tobias if he wanted to hang out with me down here, but he refused. I hate it. I’d feel so much better if he was in my line of sight. It’s not like Eamon doesn’t know where he is, and at least if I can see him, I can see exactly what’s going on with him.

He put his foot down, though. I think my irritation must have been obvious to him, because after he told me he wasn’t comingdownstairs, he’d practically given me the silent treatment. Something about him is different this time. He’s more closed off.

I get these moments where he looks at me with intense vulnerability or gratitude, but then a wall comes down. I have no idea if it’s something I’ve done, or just something going on inside his head.

Like everything else the past few days, it seems to make me angry. Not at Tobias, but at the situation. Or maybe at myself for not being able to fix it.

Which is why I’m currently angrily cleaning things that have already been cleaned, like a housewife in an old mafia movie, when Sav comes in.

He looks around the place, giving a low whistle. I’m aware that it’s not completely back to normal, but he doesn’t need to point it out. At least it’s up to code.

“Where the fuck have you been?” I can’t control the snappiness in my tone.

Sav doesn’t say anything. He looks at me, his eyes wider than usual, but the same inscrutable expression as always on his face.

I huff, but my irritation is still riding shotgun, and it refuses to let me back down yet, so I ignore him and get back to cleaning. Sav continues to walk inside, doing a slow inspection of the place before joining me behind the bar.

“You don’t look good,” he says.

I stop what I’m doing and practically throw my rag across the bar when I look at him.

---