Page 53 of Worth the Ruin
“Mel’s ankle is hurt pretty bad, so we won’t be able to hike out again just yet.”
“We’ll try to find a way to that side of the island tomorrow.”
Mel shakes her head and I quirk a brow.
“They should keep clearing houses. If I can’t walk anyway, they might as well use the time to complete the mission. Everyone can use those supplies, Traeger. This is for all of Haven.”
Well, I can’t argue with that, and I decide not to point out that this means that we’ll be stuck together in this apartment for at least a couple of days.
“Negative,” I finally say into the walkie. “Go ahead and stick to the plan. Clear the houses and you’ll get to us eventually.”
“You’re sure?”
“That’s an order, Landry,” I say, though it isn’t with any real kind of command.
“Yes, sir. I’ll check in tomorrow as we progress.”
“Sounds good. Be safe.”
I toss the walkie into the chair and rise to put another piece of wood on the fire. I wander back to the bedroom to see about sleeping arrangements, but it’s damn near freezing. The temperature dropped like crazy when the sun set, and the fireplace doesn’t really provide much heat this far back.
“Living room camp out it is,” I call out from the bedroom. The couch is small, really just a loveseat. I know she could fit fine, but it won’t be the most comfortable of sleeping arrangements and I don’t want her sleeping on the damn floor either. So I heft the mattress from bed and, after some rearranging and a few half-hearted protests from Melody, settle it right in front of the fireplace. She still looks too pale, though there’s a flush in her cheeks that I don’t like, and another spikeof worry slashes through my gut. She could easily get sick being that cold and wet and pushing herself too hard.
“Get some rest, I’ll take first watch.”
She looks like she might want to argue but I give her a pointed look and she relents. She really must be hurting. I help get her settled onto the mattress and covered in as many blankets as I can find. I pull a chair from the dining table over towards one of the windows and settle in.
“Thank you,” she whispers softly, surprising me, before passing out completely. My lips curl up a tiny bit. It’s a simple thank you. Nothing more.
But I’ll take it.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
MELODY
I’mninety-percent sure that my ankle isn’t broken, just really,reallysprained. I woke up this morning to find it completely black and blue and swollen to twice its normal size. It reminds me a little of how both ankles had looked almost every day at the end of my pregnancy, minus the bruising, of course. But they werehuge, like ham hocks with bunny slippers stuck on the ends. I smile a little at the memories before forcing them away. I’d been able to run on it yesterday thanks to adrenaline and my keen eagerness to not end up a Happy Meal, but thinking about putting weight on it now makes me want to cry.
So, as much as I hate to, I accept that I’m going to be mostly a bump on a log for at least the next day or two. I feel a little off, too, like maybe I have the beginnings of the flu, but I figure it’s probably just from being drenched and freezing yesterday, plus exhausted. So, it’s probably fine. I’ll just rest and feel better later. Not much else to do, after all.
I frown when I realize that Traeger’s gone.
“Traeger?” I call, but no answer. I actually wonder for a heartbeat if he’s finally gotten tired of me hating him anddecided to leave me behind. I honestly wouldn’t blame him if he has. I know deep down that it hasn’t really been fair how I’ve been treating him since Jonah, but…well, J had called me out perfectly: I am entirely emotionally damaged. Jonah being hurt had scared me to my core, but it had also given me an excuse to close Traeger out and not have to face any of the fucking terrifying things I’m feeling for him.
Because, yes, I’m still feeling them. I was able to cover them in anger there for a bit, but that stopped working pretty quickly. I still ignore them and shove them away every time they try to peek their little heads out…ok, so more like I pummel them with a hammer when that happens, like a giant game of Whack-a-Mole: Emotions Edition, but it’s getting harder to keep that up. Despite being afraid of what I’m feeling for him, I’m getting so tired of fighting it.
And, yet, I keep on doing it. I don’t know how to make myself do anything else, to just let it fucking go and dig myself out of the cold, walled up cocoon I’ve wrapped myself in. I put my head in my hands and groan, but then I hear noise outside and put the pity party on hold for now.
I heave myself off of the mattress, presumably lookingsupercool and not at all ridiculous, and hop on one foot to the window. I look out to find Traeger tying ropes between the line of trees surrounding the workshop-slash-apartment. I squint and see that there are cans and bottles hanging from the rope, clinking and banging together as he works.
“He’s creating a warning system,” I say to the empty room, nodding in approval. “Smart man.”
I watch him as he works, but I’m really thinking about how he looked yesterday, stripped down to nothing but his tight black boxer-briefs; the way the water droplets clung to his muscles; the way all that ink danced over his skin and made me want totrace every pattern with my tongue; how it felt to be wrapped up with him in that blanket, skin on skin.
In that moment, I’d completely forgotten about trying to hate him and all of my admittedly misplaced anger. I’d forgotten about everything outside of the two of us. It didn’t matter how we’d gotten here or everything that had gone wrong. All that mattered was that we were here, together, wrapped up in each other and hidden away from the world.
I sigh and turn away from the window to survey the apartment. The furnishings are worn, but nice, lots of rich wood and soft leather. Sports memorabilia and triathlon awards—Charlie Rocker was really fucking good, apparently—line the walls and sit on shelves, giving it a very bachelor-pad feeling, but there are homey touches too: handmade quilts stacked in the corner, aWorld’s Best Uncletrophy on the mantle beside a picture of a handsome man with a gap-toothed little girl in pig tails and a little boy with red hair and freckles at a baseball game.
I hop through the living room and into the kitchen. I figure I might as well make myself useful and check out the food situation while Traeger works on security. I glance out onto the small balcony and nearly choke in surprise, barely stifling a scream before it tears free from my throat. In the chair, there’s a fuckingbody. Not a Bloody, just a run of the mill dead person. I ease forward to get a better look through the glass. He’s been dead for a long while by the looks of it, and by his own hand, judging by the pistol lying on the wood beneath his decomposing hand and the gaping hole in his temple. A twinge of sorrow rushes through my chest. This must be the World’s Best Uncle.
