Page 35 of Found by the Pack
By the time I pull into the lot behind the apartment complex, the storm’s fully broken open. I kill the engine and unbuckle.
“I’ve got you,” I tell her as I come around and open her door. “Can you walk?”
“Yeah,” she says, voice thin.
I wrap an arm around her waist anyway, guiding her up the stairwell to my unit on the second floor. She’s shivering, so I move fast.
Inside, the apartment smells like cedar and clean laundry. I keep it minimal—books stacked neatly in the corner, a guitar I don’t play anymore against the wall.
She sways a little once I get her to the couch.
“You should lie down.”
She blinks. “No sleep. Right?”
“Right.”
I grab a towel from the linen closet and press it gently to her temple. The cut’s shallow, but still bleeding a little. “Boone should be off shift by now. I’ll text him.”
She doesn’t say anything.
I move around the kitchen, finding the scones I packed from her truck and setting them on the table. I open the fridge, pull out two cans of ginger ale, and bring one to her.
“Here. Sugar might help.”
She takes it. Her fingers brush mine. I don’t flinch, but something in me pulls tight, like a chord strummed too hard.
“Thank you,” she murmurs.
I nod. Then I sit. Not too close. Just enough.
She glances at the wall of books. “You read all those?”
“Most of them,” I say. “Some twice.”
“Favorite?”
“Depends on the day.”
There’s a silence between us that isn’t uncomfortable. Just... heavy.
Eventually, she sets the can down and leans her head back. Her skin is pale, her lips parted slightly as if she’s still trying to catch her breath.
I want to ask what happened. What she was running from. What’s got her so damn scared.
But I don’t.
I just sit there, watching her fight sleep, watching the storm gather in her eyes.
And thinking that, for the first time in a long while, I want to know.
Really know.
Her.
Even if it’s complicated.
Even if it’s messy.
