Page 67 of Until You Found Me

“I’ll scare all the animals away,” she says sadly. “I can stay home if it’s easier. Arthur has a shotgun. There’s cameras now.”

He isn’t letting her out of his sight and it’s only half because of what she told him last night. Her ex lurking in the shadows is a bigger threat at the moment.

“Do you wanna come?” he asks softly. “Forget scaring animals and forget that fucker. Do you want to come with me?”

Her nod of agreement is careful and full of restrained hope.

“Then that’s what we’re doing.”

He’s granted a quick smile in return and an even quicker peck on the lips that he misses the moment it’s taken away. “Lemme get started on breakfast—”

“Nah, I got it. Stay in bed. Scrambled eggsand bacon?”

She wants to tell him he doesn’t have to. He can see the words on the tip of that pink tongue he’d like to suck into his own mouth. She stays quiet, settling back against the pillows and grabbing the TV remote with a nod. “Breakfast in bed. A girl could get spoiled.”

“Don’t get too excited, I only got a fifty-fifty track record of not burning those eggs.”

He stops at the door, casting her one last, lingering glance, licking his lips at the sight of her bare legs against the sheets and the hem of his t-shirt brushing her thighs. He wonders if she might let him taste her again. If he could postpone breakfast and get back in bed to bury his face where she’s warm and wet. Reluctantly, he turns away and leaves the room for a stop at the bathroom. She’s not in the mood for sex right now. The conversation they had isn’t meant to turn anyone on, and it doesn’t. He’s simply always turned on now.

He’ll have to jerk off in the shower before they leave and feels guilty for thinking about her like this when she’s struggling. He’s living in a state of semi-persistent arousal and isn’t quite sure how to handle it. It simmers under the surface, ready and waiting after years of dormancy. He wonders if this is how normal people feel all the time, but he still isn’t normal by any stretch when his switch can only be flipped by one woman. Far as he can tell, most men cast a far wider net. Doesn’t matter though, he’s only grateful to have found her. Figuring out how to control his dick all over again is a welcome price to pay.

Yeah, he’s definitely gonna have to rub one out before they leave. He sighs, glancing down into the bowl before he flushes, only to find it crimson red.

This isn’t the first time he’s pissed blood. Something aboutmissing his regular insulin doses breaking other parts of his body as if he has any choice in the matter.‘Drink more water and stop trying to ration your insulin. Your body can’t handle it.’Audrey told him last time, along with a list of other warnings that left him glazed over. Then he got a bill for twelve hundred dollars a few months later that he’s still paying off.

That’s what he gets for allowing himself to panic and going to the clinic instead of waiting for urgent care to open. He thought he was dying and paid the price of being wrong. It’ll go away this time, he tells himself. It always does.

He grabs the insulin from the cabinet and injects himself with a practiced flick of the wrist. Always does it in here so Tessa isn’t given a visual reminder of how fucking sickly he is. His father’s voice in the back of his head calling him an expensive, broken nuisance ensures that he hides the details of his illness no matter what.

He has breakfast to cook and rabbits to hunt, so he washes his hands and heads out to make his girl a full plate. He’ll be fine, just fine. They have more important concerns than whatever his body is complaining about today.

* * *

They skipped therapy for a walk in the woods. Bagged four rabbits and lost twice as many deer, but it’s enough to sell to the butcher and so he’ll consider it a win.

The snow has melted, and the weather warms in a heat wave before Christmas. It’s nice enough to sit on a downed log for lunch, Tessa’s knee brushing his and her smile soft as she tells him about a memory she gathered only a few moments ago.

“I can see my grandmother’s face, but I don’t know her name. She was so pretty, with long gray hair. She made moonshine in the basement and dandelion wine in the summers.” She laughs, shaking her head. “We went out to gather them together. I’m sure it’s illegal to have a child picking your wine flowers.”

“Weeds. Dandelions are weeds.” Logan grins.

“Well, my grandmother said they tasted good.”

He moves the dirt around with the toe of his boot to reveal a little yellow patch peaking out, like something a child might stitch to their backpack. He picks it up and rubs it between his fingers while she tells her story.

“I don’t know how old I was, but we picked weeds all day and baked brownies that night. She had the best laugh.”

“That’s a good memory.”

“It is, right? Finally, a good one. I wish I knew her name or remembered the recipe for that wine.”

“Now we’re talking. Haven’t had dandelion wine since one of Carley’s friends made us try it. Was pretty good.” He raises a brow, handing her the worn patch he found in the shape of a flower.

She takes it to twirl with her thumb and forefinger. “What’s this for?”

“Someone must have dropped it, found it just under the dirt. Lots of people walk these trails. Buttercups mean friendship and you’re my best friend so maybe we were meant to find it.”

He expects she might tease him, and he’s ready for it, but her face goes soft instead, her eyes shining.

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