Page 20 of Lost in the Wild

I’m definitely on the verge of a cardiac event. Every time I look at her, my pulse accelerates.

She leans forward now, rolling her glass between both palms. The ice clinks in her ginger ale, the liquid swilling side to side and sparkling in the dim light, and it’s almost exactly the same color as her eyes.

“Are you sure you’re alright?” Evie nudges my foot beneath the table. “We can leave. Go back to the room, or find somewhere quieter. Whatever you like.”

What I like is watching her pink lips purse around that straw whenever she takes a sip. Especially when her cheeks hollow like that, sending a bolt of lust through my body.

“Ginger ale,” I grit out, forcing my tongue to form words. Conversation. Conversation, damn it. “You sure you don’t want something stronger?”

Evie grins and shakes her head. She’s still leaning forward, elbows propped on the table, but the strain around her eyes eases when I speak. She’s worried about me, and I both love and hate that.

“Nope, I don’t drink. Never have. I cause enough chaos when I’m clear headed, thank you.”

Now that I can believe.

Quiet spreads between us—companionable at first, but then it stretches on too long. Turns sour.

“You hate this,” Evie says softly after a while. Fuck, she sounds so sad. “You hate being here, don’t you?”

And I know I should be speaking more, should be asking her questions and cracking jokes if I want this to be a real date, but it’s like the noise and heat and closeness of the crowd is pressing in all around me, stealing my focus and setting me on edge. If I grip the table any harder, I’ll crack the wood.

“Let’s go,” Evie says, her voice calm and clear. Gone is the panicky chatterbox from the mountain. My city girl stands tall when she slides out of the booth, and she doesn’t hesitate before touching my shoulder. “Rowan. Come on, let’s leave.”

Leave. Yes.

Need to get away from all this noise. This heat, this hubbub, other people’s breath in the air; the buzz of electric lights and the itchy sensation of their eyes on me. Need a fresh breeze on my cheeks and packed dirt under my feet and to rip this damn shirt off already before the collar strangles me.

My limbs are stiff as I unfold from the booth. Evie coaxes me all the while, tugging gently on my arm, murmuring soothing nonsense like she’s dealing with a spooked horse.

She deserves so much better than this.

Something glimmers in the corner of my eye: it’s the light catching on Evie’s glass, on her barely-touched ginger ale. The drink I bought her but couldn’t let her finish.

Despair pricks my bones, fresh and icy and more powerful than I’ve felt in a long time. Evie tugs me through the bar and I let her.

See, this is why I live on the mountain. This is why I keep away.

I’m too broken for anything else.

The stars are bright when we stumble out onto the street, strewn overhead like a glittering blanket tossed across the mountain range. My ears ring from all the noise, and my breaths are ragged as Evie drags me away down the sidewalk.

Somewhere, a few streets away, a car backfires.

Panic surges, white and hot and blinding.

When I come back to myself, we’re in an alleyway between buildings, the distant thud of music from the bar still audible. Evie’s pressed up against a painted wall, her body tense, and I’m plastered against her. Protecting her from phantom gunfire with my body.

“It’s okay,” she’s saying, even as she trembles against my chest. Her cool palm cups my cheek, stroking my newly shaven jaw. “It was just a car. Rowan, it was a car.”

When I stagger back, that icy despair drills deeper, chilling my insides. What was I thinking, coming back here? Even for a night?

“Fuck. Evie.” My words are thick, my tongue heavy in my mouth. There’s a metallic tang at the back of my throat: the taste of panic. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have—shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay.” The tension slowly leaves her shoulders, and Evie pushes off the wall, stepping after me. Stepping close. Why would she do that? Isn’t she scared of me now, after seeing me lose control?

But my brave chatterbox places both palms on my chest, rubbing soft circles until my ragged heartbeat slows. She comes so close that our boots touch, so close her cinnamon scent fills my lungs—and even though I know I’ve already blown it, my body starts to unwind at her touch.

“You don’t like sudden noises, huh?”

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