Page 43 of Wild Child
The roar of the storm unfolded around us while we fell into silence. The silky touch of his fingertips against the delicate skin of my inner arm didn't change. He kept his hold, and my heart thrilled to it. His shoulder moved against mine as he shifted, grunting with the effort of adjusting in such a small space. Alone, this tent would have been just right for his massive body and penchant to sprawl in sleep. Together, I felt like we tried to squeeze two feet into one shoe.
Unable to help myself, I asked, "Do you still sleep like a star?"
He laughed under his breath.
"Always. I always will."
The rain picked up overhead, falling twice as fast.
"Do you still hum in your sleep?" he countered.
In the darkness, I smiled. "It's not a hum," I muttered, but couldn't keep the amusement from it. "It's . . . a reverse snore."
Devin barked a laugh. His grip didn't give away. "Call it what you will," he murmured, "but it's definitely a hum."
"Are you sad to go back to North Carolina?"
The question blurted out of me like it wanted to squeak its way out. My heart sped up in response, a dullthudagainst my chest in the burdened air that followed. A hint of vulnerability lay in the question, like a little girl inside of me that really wanted to ask,do you really want to be away from me?
"I wouldn't be," he said quietly, "if you came with me."
The storm shattered the silence with a percussive roll of thunder that made my bones shake. Instinctively, I shifted closer to him. He released my wrist to wrap an arm around my shoulder and pull me close. Right now, I had no answer to give him.
Except, in some ways, this one.
My eyes fell closed. My heart slowed. Devin's smell escorted me into a calm, dreamless sleep.
* * *
The thunderstorm left a wet world behind.
Sparkling sunlight slanted down from the clouds when I emerged from the tent in the morning. Drops of water slid down the rain fly, jostled loose from the opening teeth of the zipper. The air felt crisp in my lungs. Birds twittered nearby in a strange dichotomy of sound after the crash of thunder in the night. The bowl of the mountains echoed each blast of thunder for hours.
My arms spread in a long, silent stretch as I studied the meadow, the smell of dew and wet grass thick in the air. Steve's tent remained shut, but Kimball's flap lay open. Steps through the calf-high grass led all the way into the trees across from us, and I thought I saw a flicker of movement not far from the stream. When I shoved on my boots and hastily tied them, my eyes caught onto the fire ring Devin had made last night. The charred logs lay saturated, not a hint of smoke left behind after torrents of rain.
The muscles in my legs were cramped from being so tightly bundled against Devin all night. The sensation was familiar, one from my childhood. Having it again came with a reassurance I hadn't expected.
Perhaps we couldn't avoid the return crash.
Like pieces of a puzzle that just fit. Could time change our edges so drastically that we couldn't return? Maybe time hadn't changedmyedges. Maybe I was still the same person, interlocking with the same Devin. Or maybe we changed in the same ways because we'd always fit.
Kimball appeared out of the forest with a wave. "Morning!" His greeting rolled across the open meadow. I waved and made my way to the creek as he shoved something into his back pocket. A radio? No.
Or was it?
Something like an antenna stuck out of his pocket before he pulled his shirt and jacket over it, hiding it completely.
"Sleep okay?" he called with a bright smile that belied my suspicion. In the light of a gorgeous day, I felt sheepish for the thought.
So what if hedidhave a radio?
"Good sleep," I said. "You?"
His grin widened. "Like a baby."
I gave a smile and kept going, but my thoughts remained uneasy. Normally, I wouldn't have thought twice about my hikers having a radio with them. Backups to mine were always welcome. Technology could fail right when we needed it most. Besides, there was no inherent issue with them having access to our route or the outside world.
Yet, something about Kimball having a radio—and not saying anything about it—set my teeth on edge.
