Page 128 of Hounded

Turning, I extended my hand toward the sunny scene before him. A group of kids chased each other with water guns two lots away, and a family of five crowded around a fire pit in the spot beside ours, holding skewered hot dogs over an open flame.

“Does this look like rehab?” I asked.

Indy’s brows dipped in a frown. “After this.”

A heavy breath left me. Rehab had been my Hail Mary.My last resort. And it had failed.

“No.” I shook my head, then immediately questioned my certainty. “Maybe,” I amended, then corrected myself once more. “I don’t know.”

Indy nodded and looked away. His face scrunched until it seemed he might start sobbing again.

I stepped closer, and he turned into me so I could stand between his legs. The open truck door blocked the view of the campfire crew, so I laid my palms on his thighs and rubbed slowly over them while glistening tears dripped from his lashes.

“There’s something wrong with me,” he mumbled, raking his fingers down his damp cheeks. “Fucking everything is wrong with me.”

He looked spent, so low after his high, and weak. Moving around beside him, I slid one arm under his knees and the other across his back to scoop him into a cradle hold.

“Let’s get you inside,” I murmured as I lifted his blanket-shrouded body out of the truck, caring less about the weenie roasters gawking than about how good it felt to have Indy so close.

The drive here had been tortuous when I’d wanted so badly to comfort him. It felt a bit like a betrayal to close myself off, knowing he used the drugs to get to me. But, by his own admission, he was chasing memories of me, immersing himself in lives past, and that stung when his addiction was taking him away from the me who was here and now.

He lay against me as I carried him up the steps into the trailer. The place was a wreck. I hadn’t been alertenough to realize during our Ohio stopover, but since we’d only ever used the Airstream parked and hadn’t packed or secured anything before we left New York, our time on the road had tossed the contents from every surface into piles on the floor.

I shuffled through the mess to deposit Indy on the couch. He slumped on the cushions, scooting away from the bloodstains I’d left there earlier.

Those must have jogged his memory, or at least spurred him to speak because he said, “You got better.”

I nodded, then headed into the kitchen. He hadn’t eaten since breakfast and must have been thirsty after all the crying. And the amphetamines.

I raided the pantry for something he would like. A few seconds of rifling yielded a package of blueberry Pop-Tarts, and I filled a glass with milk before carrying both back to the living room. Indy sat, staring out the window where the curtain had slid aside, watching the kids soak each other with water guns.

Setting the food and drink on the coffee table—clear for once since everything was on the floor—I sat beside him. He didn’t move closer, just kept looking ahead with his brows pinched.

“They attacked you.” He sounded distant. “Why? I thought they wanted me.”

I clasped my hands in my lap, though I wanted to hold his instead. The subject was sobering. I meant it when I said he saved me, and I tried not to think about how frightened I’d been while pinned down in that greasy garage.

If it had been Indy—because theydidwant him—could I have fended them off? Or would I have been equally helpless and forced to watch them destroy him?

After a moment, I tried to explain. “I’m not supposed to be here. My…” I fidgeted with my collar, trying to ease the phantom tightness. “My owner wants me in Hell. She sent the other hounds to take me back.”

Indy glanced over. Concern deepened the wrinkles on his face. “What if they do?”

“They won’t.”

Indy’s hand found my knee, and he squeezed it hard. “Loren,” he said, then repeated, “What if they do?”

That was the crux of it. The reason we were here, a truth he would not like. I didn’t like it, either.

Lifting his hand from my knee, I brought it to my lips and kissed his knuckles. “Then you’ll still be safe because I’m going to lead them away.”

Indy blanched. “What?” He yanked his hand back and recoiled, nearly tumbling off the couch.

I moved after him, needing him close for a few minutes more. “They have my scent,” I explained. “They can track me, and they’ll follow me to you. I have to go.”

He gathered the blanket to his chest and hugged it, paling while his eyes swam with fresh tears.

“You’re leaving?” He sounded choked. “When?”

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