Page 12 of Little Bird
“It looks exactly the same,” I breathe.
Gunner just grunts, like that’s not the answer he wanted to hear, and turns for the stairs. “Figure it’s easiest to put you back in your same room,” he says gruffly. “It’s yours for as long as you stay.”
Right. I guess that’s as much of an invitation as I’m going to get. I scuffle after him, still trying to sort out what’s different about the place, and take the stairs two at a time. A right turn on the second floor, and then another when we hit the hallway. The third door down is my room.
When I walk past Gunner to enter, I find that the room is exactly how I left it. The same bedspread on the bed. A tatty old rug covering the wooden floor. My bookcases are still here, and my books. The ones I left, anyhow. The bird cage in the corner that once held any bird I found in need of help.
The chair by the window where I sat to write in my journals.
“Exactly how I left it,” I breathe, my heart expanding so quickly it feels hard to contain. “I didn’t realize how much I missed it.”
I turn, my instincts shouting at me to fly into Gunner’s arms and thank him for keeping it for me, and find him right behind me. Standing far too close, actually, with his hand up as if he was just going to touch my hair. His face, so stern a moment ago, is now soft and dreamy, and when his eyes meet mine they’re hazy. Unfocused.
I gulp, fighting the need to take a step back, and look up at him. Gods, the man is handsome. Rough auburn hair and scruff from the night out. Bright blue eyes and a sharp nose. Lips lush enough that they look built for kissing. He must be nearly 6’3”, his shoulders broad and strong, and I can see his muscles straining against the T-shirt. I lick my lips as his hand moves around to my hair, my body keenly aware that this is the biggest man I’ve ever been around, and something begins to hum in my lower belly. I glance up into his eyes and see them darting down to my mouth and back, and going several shades darker.
I’m suddenly having trouble breathing. Something is pressing on my chest, building tension inside me that I don’t understand. Gunner bites his lips as his gaze comes back to mine, and I have the split-second thought that he’s going to kiss me.
And that I want him to.
Then everything breaks apart like shattering glass. I remember that this is my stepfather—or once was—and take a step back just as he shakes his head and turns away from me, and the spell is broken. The air around us goes back to its normal consistency, and though he casts one quick look over his shoulder, his eyes are no longer dark or needy.
He’s put his mask back on.
“Get some sleep,” he says sternly. “You must be tired. I’ll be downstairs when you’re ready to discuss what we’re going to do about this.”
He walks out before I can answer, leaving nothing but his scent behind.
Along with the hum in my lower belly, which refuses to calm down. The ache in my heart at what just happened.
And the realization that he just deserted me here on my own, like he’d done his job and didn’t have any need for me anymore.
I hate that I even have the thought.
Hate even more that he already has the power to hurt me like that.
And as I turn to unpack the things I stole from Stella, I start building my own walls again. Because one thing is clear: If I’m going to stay here, I need to be a whole lot stronger. And a whole lot better at protecting myself from whatever Gunner might throw at me.
Taryn
I rifle through the drawer in my dresser, trying to remember what I left here. Gunner hasn’t been gone long, and though he told me to get some rest I immediately decided against it.
I don’t feel like sleeping. And I don’t like it when someone tells me what to do. It makes me immediately want to rebel against them.
I’m also not ready to go back downstairs, though. Going through my old room sounds like a better option.
Honestly, most of the stuff in here is pointless. Old socks. Pens and pencils I didn’t bother to take with me. Some of my old journals. I put those to the side, surprised that I left them at all, but then remember the rush we were in. My mother was in my room telling me to hurry and I was still horrified at having been caught in Gabe’s lap, grinding on him like I’d lost my mind. I wasn’t being careful about what I grabbed. And then once we were in the city, I hadn’t felt like I could come back for anything.
I huff a soft laugh at that, fully aware of the irony that I’m back in my room now only because I was arrested and chose to run from the city rather than succumbing to whatever my mother and Johnny have planned.
Then I see something I’d forgotten existed and smile in earnest. I reach gingerly for the Nikon 35mm, my heart skipping several beats at the sight of the beat-up black casing. My old camera. The one my dad gave me when I was nine. I brought it with me when we moved here and spent whole summers taking pictures of Gabe playing in the water, Gunner chopping wood, and my mother laughing in the sunlight.
God, those were good days.
Cannisters of film line the drawer around the camera and I frown, trying to remember what they might hold and figure out whether the film is even good anymore. Hawke’s Wood is a small town, but there must be someone here who can develop them. If that film isn’t ruined, I’ll end up with pictures straight out of the past.
The thought makes my heart sing.
I put the camera to the side, deciding that I’ll also buy film when I’m in town, and then stand back. This was the last drawer I had to go through, and that means I’m officially out of excuses to stay in my room.
