Page 36 of Craving Chaos

“Sorry, I’m just so relieved. It makes me a little stupid.”

“Not stupid.” He continues plucking. “I appreciate the way you can stay positive even when things suck.”

“It helps that we have food. Things suck a lot less when you’re not starving.”

“Yeah. I counted twenty-eight cans of food left in the cabin, only three of them beans. The rest are all fruits and vegetables. I figure if we can keep to one can a day and otherwise rely on catching our food, we could make it a month.”

“That’s essentially one meal a day, and a low-calorie meal at that,” I point out.

“Plus, any extra meat we have. If we can catch more than one or two animals a night, that’s not so bad.”

“True, though catching anything at all isn’t a guarantee.” A somberness settles over me as reality hits. “You really think we’ll be here that long?”

“At least. It’s mid-February.”

“The seventeenth. I’ve been keeping track.”

“And this far north, we’d likely need to make it to mid-March before nighttime temps aren’t totally unbearable. The trip out of here could take a day or a solid week before we run into anyone. We have no way of knowing.”

I watch as feathers drift to the ground and begin to form a fluffy pile. “I learned how to fight and count cards,” I say distractedly. “I mastered jiujitsu and am comfortable with all sorts of guns and knives. I thought I’d done so well preparing myself to handle anything. Those tools I considered survival skills mean nothing out here.”

“I’m in the same boat. No shame in it.”

“I suppose you can’t prepare for everything.”

“Nope. You do your best to get through, and when it’s over, you get even.”

“No shit,” I agree. “When we get back home, I’m finding each and every one of those motherfuckers.”

“You’ll have to get in line.” He lifts the bird and examines its now naked neck and chest.

“I keep thinking about it, and it feels like too much of a coincidence that the guns sat there for that long untouched, and when we finally go to move them, those assholes show up.”

“Someone was definitely tipped off,” he grumbles.

“Maybe the others will have learned something by the time we get back.”

“They probably think we’re dead.” His tone is morose, but I’m oddly entertained by the thought. Renzo sees my smirk and cocks his head. “That funny?”

I shrug. “Can’t say I won’t enjoy seeing my cousins’ faces when I stroll back into town.”

“You say that like they might be glad to be rid of you.”

“Nah, but we’ve always pulled little pranks to piss off one another. This wasn’t a prank, but it’ll still shock them. I’ll enjoy the big reveal.” The part that worries me comes after. I’ve worked so hard to gain their trust and respect. Will the guys try to stash me away in a glass case after having to face the possibility that I’ve died?

It’s been five days since we met at the warehouse. They won’t have written me off yet, but after another month, they’d be foolish not to assume the worst. The prospect of regression is frustrating, but I can’t exactly blame them for wanting to avoid losing me again.

My gaze drifts to Renzo as he works, and I think about how he tried to keep me in the cabin for protection. He may not be family, but I shouldn’t discount his worries about my safety. I was terrified when I thought he might die and leave me out here alone. Is it so ridiculous to think he might feel the same? And what did I do? I bit his head off for wanting to keep me alive.

Hell, I might have overreacted.

I have so much baggage about men not taking me seriously or being overprotective. But I’m woman enough to understand that there is honor in protecting the people you care about, and sometimes, I may have to let myself be the protected rather than the protector.

An hour later, the bird is plucked, rinsed, and ready for the skillet. I watch Renzo intently as he cleans his hands in the water bucket. It’ll need to be rinsed out. If I did overreact yesterday, this would be a great opportunity for a do-over.

I shove my hands in my jeans pockets and rock back on my heels. “You want me to swap out the water, or would you rather do it?” The hesitation in my voice sounds foreign to me. I rarely ask for other’s opinions on my actions. Renzo is an exception.

I try to tell myself it’s because of our circumstances, but I know I’m full of shit.

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