Page 71 of Ravaged Wolf
“I’m so fucking sorry.”
She stomps out of the stream and trudges up the bank, peeling the wet shirt away from her back. “I have cramps, you know. I’ve had them this whole time, and I just didn’t say anything because I really liked what we were doing. And I’m really hungry, and the blackberries aren’t cutting it.” She sinks to her knees right in front of me and sits back, propping her butt on her heels, so we’re eye to eye. “I didn’t think I’d ever be the more emotionally stable one in a relationship, but I kind of think, between you and me, I am.”
The words gut me—kick me in the nuts, really—but there’s something in the way she says it, a sliver of pride maybe, like she’s pleased that she’s not the one losing it, so I can live with it.
“Thank you for being the emotionally stable one,” I say.
“You’re welcome.” She wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I mean, I would saymoreemotionally stable, but—you’re welcome.”
“I never thought I’d get this chance, and I am ill-fucking-prepared.”
“Me, too,” she says. “I have no idea what I’m doing.”
“Can I take you home and feed you?”
“Okay.”
I stand and reach down for her hands. She slips hers in mine, no hesitation, and my chest cracks open, leaving my heart exposed. Raw.
I help her to her feet. “I’ll find you a hot water bottle.” Somehow. I might need to rig something up with rice in a sock. I once saw a scavenger female sticking something like that in the microwave.
“I’ll have to do the laundry when we get back,” she says.
“I’ll do it.” I keep hold of her hand and lead her back down the mossy bank and across the stream to our shoes.
“I don’t want to be left alone somewhere,” she says. “I want to go with you.”
“We’ll do it together. You can measure the detergent. I’ll pour.” I glance at her out the side of my eyes. Can I tease her? Or is it all still too heavy, too dark, too broken to ever be anything but a disaster waiting to happen?
“Okay, but I want to select the temperature. You can select the cycle.”
“You know I’m picking heavy duty every time,” I say, squatting to help her on with her shoe.
“As long as you don’t pick normal or delicate,” she says, balancing herself with a hand on my shoulder as she points her toes and slips her foot into the sneaker. “Normal and delicate is no good for us.”
I duck forward to drop a kiss on her moss-stained knee. She looks down and wrinkles her nose.
“I better wash myself again, too,” she says. “And frankly, you’re a little grubby yourself.”
I tug her laces tight and loop them in a bow. “We’re grubby together, so it’s all right.”
She squeezes the hand on my shoulder. I double the knot and then glance up. She’s smiling at me with tear tracks streaking down her slightly grubby face.
“I’m happy to be grubby with you,” she says. “We’re both a mess, so it’s okay.”
She’s telling the truth. Her sweet, tentative, terrified happiness flows into my chest and wraps around my worn heart.
Despite it all, it’s a good day.
Maybe the best day ever.
15
IZZY
I never thoughtI’d be sexually frustrated, but I guess wonders never cease. I don’t like being away from Trevor tonight, out in the woods stirring a potion as thick as tar, but on the upside, I get a break from blue lady balls.
All Trevor and I do is kiss—all night long and every second we can get alone. For the past three weeks. It’s amazing. I have no basis for comparison, but I can’t imagine a male kissing better than Trevor. He kisses like he’s in heaven and suffering the torments of hell at the same time, and it’s doing wonders for my ego, but it’s destroyed my patience. And my focus. And my sense of proportion.
