Page 16 of Wild Heart

"You like it here yet?" he asked.

Natalie took a long breath. "I think I do."

He nodded, and she saw it again, the quiet undercurrent of care, the steadiness beneath his guardedness. And for the first time, she didn’t feel like a visitor. She felt like she might stay.

And Mason, standing beside her with arms crossed and eyes on the horizon, didn’t seem so hard to reach after all. Not anymore.

Natalie turned slightly on the observation deck, brushing a strand of wind-tossed hair from her cheek. The air smelled of something old and untouched, like moss and memory. She closed her eyes for a moment, breathing it in. There was contentment in it, a fleeting, delicate thing she hadn’t felt in months. Then the sound of boots crunching on gravel pulled her back.

Davey.

He appeared at the crest of the trail, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his hoodie, shoulders hunched like he was trying to disappear into himself. His expression was wary, but not quite sullen. He looked like someone dragged out of the warmth of bed and into the unrelenting clarity of mountain light. The wind pushed gently at the hem of his hoodie, revealing a faded band logo stretched over a long-sleeved shirt beneath.

"Mom said I can’t just sit around anymore," he muttered, coming to a stop just a few feet away. "Told me to talk to you."

Mason didn’t turn from the railing. He let out a low grunt, the kind that lived somewhere between acknowledgment and dry amusement.

"That’s usually how it starts," he said. "Her telling you to get off your ass."

Natalie shot him a look, the corner of her mouth twitching despite herself.

Davey blinked, uncertain. He shifted from foot to foot like the earth beneath him was somehow unreliable. "I don’t know what I’m supposed to do."

"Anything," Mason replied, still not looking at him. "Feed. Clean. Build. Doesn’t matter what. Just do something."

Davey snorted, kicking at a loose stone on the deck. "You make it sound easy, but you know the ropes, and everyone has their role to play while I feel like the spare part."

Mason finally turned. He looked at Davey with those weathered, gray-blue eyes, serious, calm, assessing. But there was no judgment in them. Only something measured. Quiet. The kind of look that reflected the person within, not just the words they spoke.

"I didn’t say it was easy. Starting something new never is but all of us have been there, on that day, feeling like the spare part. But we all got through it and so will you. Man, you’ve lived here all your life and if anyone is part of this, you are, so don’t over think it."

Davey crossed his arms. "And if I screw it up?”

"Then you learn by your mistake and try again."

Davey looked at him like he wasn’t sure if he was being tested or offered a lifeline. "Do you think I can do this? Learn to be useful and really help Mom."

"I think showing up is the hardest part," Mason said simply. "You did that already."

Davey stared at him like he was waiting for the punchline. When it didn’t come, something in his expression cracked open. Not much. Just a fraction. But Natalie saw it. The softening of his mouth. The surprise in his eyes. Like he’d been given something he didn’t know he needed. Mason reached into his back pocket, pulled out a pair of worn work gloves, and handed them to Davey.

"I’ll be by the fox enclosure this afternoon," he said. "Come find me. I’ll put you to work."

Davey took the gloves slowly, like they might vanish if he moved too fast. He turned them over in his hands, fingers brushing the leather. "You’re always chill about things? I wish Mom was like that."

Mason huffed a quiet laugh. "I’m more like your mom than you know. Just better at hiding it."

Davey smirked. "Fair."

He looked at Natalie then, and she smiled at him, warm and encouraging. There was something about him that reminded her of the gang-kids she used to see on the city streets. Tough on the outside. Hurting underneath. It was in the edge to his voice, the way he spoke in short bursts, his reluctance to meet their eyes for too long. He nodded to her, and then turned, heading back down the trail.

Mason watched him go. "He walks like someone who expects to be called back."

"He looks like someone who expects to be misunderstood," Natalie added.

Mason gave a thoughtful nod. "Same thing, sometimes."

When the trees swallowed Davey’s figure, Natalie let out a slow breath.

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