Page 25 of Watch Me Burn
Now it’s different. More complicated. I’m chasing the possibility of being truly seen by another human being, the chance to lay myself bare—every scar, every kill, every twisted impulse—and have her choose me anyway. Not despite the broken pieces, but with full knowledge of the wreckage underneath the polished version I show the world. The man whose hands know the texture of a dying heartbeat.
I thought my obsession with Luna was overwhelming, consuming every rational thought. But this love is worse, sucking me under like quicksand.
Saturday night is another step in my careful progression of leading Luna toward the truth. My seduction of her, not as the wolf whose existence confines itself to her bedroom, but as Damien, the man who can offer her the world if she’ll accept the darkness that comes with it.
The question that haunts me, the one I can’t answer despite Cade’s concerns, is which version of me she’ll choose when the masks fall away.
And what I’ll do if she chooses neither.
Chapter seven
Luna
The fox kit’s eyes watch me warily as I clean the infected wound on his hind leg. His mother paces in her cage, emitting occasional sharp barks of concern. The whole family was brought in this morning after a homeowner found them huddled under his deck—the mother limping badly, two kits showing signs of mange, and this little guy with what looks like an old bite wound.
“Easy, little one.” I apply antibiotic ointment with careful fingers. “This will make you feel better.”
The kit’s siblings watch from behind their mom, pressed together for comfort. Wild foxes rarely tolerate human contact this well, but desperation and pain sometimes have a way of overriding natural instincts. The mother’s leg was caught in an old snare, probably abandoned by some careless trapper years ago. She’s been dragging it around long enough for the wire to embed itself into the muscle. I’m pretty sure I’m going to have to amputate it this afternoon, but I hope we can save this little guy’s leg.
“Talking dirty to the patients again?” Maren appears beside me, arms crossed and grinning. “Ricky’s gonna get jealous.” She sets down a fresh bottle of saline solution. “Hey, I’m not judging. We all have our types, but a jealous raccoon ain’t no joke.”
Her words are light, but there’s something tense about her today. I noticed it the minute she arrived this morning. There’s something brittle in her smile, something forced about the way she’s trying too hard to be her usual crude,sarcastic self. I’ve known Maren long enough to recognize when she’s putting on a show.
I finish bandaging the kit’s leg and place him back with his family. The mother grooms him, her rough tongue working over his fur in quick, anxious strokes.
I move to the sink to wash my hands. “Is something wrong?”
Maren shrugs, but her eyes don’t meet mine. “Wrong? What could be wrong? Just living the dream, baby.”
“Maren.”
She fidgets with the hem of her scrub top and lets out a heavy sigh. “JT and I are fighting. Or maybe not fighting exactly. More like existing in the same space without actually connecting.”
I dry my hands and turn to face her. “What’s going on?”
“He hasn’t been calling me as much when he’s on the road.” Her voice is smaller now, vulnerable in a way that she doesn’t often let bleed through. “Used to be, he’d call every night when he stopped. We’d have phone sex or video sex before he crashed for the night. Now, when he calls, it’s like he’s checking off a box, you know? ‘Hey, babe, still alive, talk to you later.’”
I lean against the counter, giving her my full attention. JT’s been driving long haul for as long as he and Maren have been together. The distance and uncertainty of that lifestyle are hard on relationships.
“Maybe he’s just tired? Those runs can be brutal.”
“That’s what I keep telling myself.” Maren’s laugh comes out wrong, with sharp edges and no humor. “But even when he’s home, he’s not really there. He comes through the door, grabs a beer, and plants himself on the couch with the remote. We don’t talk anymore. Last weekend, he watched football for two straight days. I could’ve been giving the mailman a lap dance in the doorway, and he wouldn’t have noticed.”
A snort escapes me before I can stop it. “The mailman would’ve appreciated it, though.”
“Right?” She tries for a smile, but it falls apart before it fully forms. What replaces it makes my stomach drop—a frown that looks wrong on Maren’s face. “Idon’t know what to do, Lu. Something’s not right with him, but every time I try to bring it up, he just says he’s fine and changes the subject.”
I reach for her, pulling her into a hug. She sags against me. “When’s he due back?”
“Next Friday.” Her words come out muffled against my shoulder. “He’s hauling a load to Florida, then picking up something in New York on the way back.”
I pull back just enough to look at her face, hands still on her arms. “Talk to him then. Don’t let him brush you off with football and beer. You deserve better than that.”
Maren nods, but the doubt is plain in her eyes. The worry that maybe the conversation she’s dreading will confirm what she already suspects—that whatever they had is slipping away, mile by mile, highway by highway.
“Enough about my disaster of a love life.” Maren steps back, shoulders straightening. Her cocky grin slides back into place like armor. “Let’s talk about your hot date on Saturday.”
I don’t push. I know better than to press when she retreats behind that smile.
