Page 89 of Snake

“You got it.” She stood and held out her hand. “Anywhere.”

Cox took her hand and stood.

Unable to help herself, Autumn threw her arms around him.

At first, he stood stiffly, exactly as he had when Tally had hugged him. But then Autumn felt his body shift, felt his arms come around her body, his hands hook over her waist. He lowered his head, tucked his face against her neck, under her hair. His hold of her became tighter and tighter and tighter, until she could scarcely breathe, but she held on and let him squeeze.

“Outta here,” she whispered when he was holding her as tightly as she could bear, and he nodded against her neck.

––––––––

~oOo~

––––––––

Cox lived on the other side of town from his mother, in a slightly larger but similarly humble bungalow. His was white with black trim, and the porch was a little bigger, too, wrapping around the far corner of the house. That porch had not a single thing on it, not a plant, not a chair, not even a welcome mat. The neatly mown yard was likewise unadorned. A large detached garage sat off to the side, closed, the windows on the side covered with yellowed newspaper.

On the way over, they’d passed the Sonic, and Autumn had pulled in and ordered food for them both; she hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before, and, though a couple of women had brought food over to his mother’s house, the smart money said Cox hadn’t had any. When she’d asked him directly, his only response had been a confused look, as if food itself was a concept he’d never encountered.

So she ordered them both cheeseburgers, fries, and soft drinks, and they’d sat in Shannon’s SUV (she was going to have to figure out transportation soon) while she watched him eat like a robot. Once or twice his hand froze halfway to his mouth, and she’d had to reach over the console and gently lift it until it continued on its journey. But ultimately he ate most of the meal. Autumn’s appetite had rekindled the moment she’d smelled the food; she felt a bit guilty about that.

When more distracted, halfhearted directions got them to his house, he continued on autopilot as he climbed out of the truck, walked to the front door, and unlocked it. He was aware enough to hold the screen door as she followed him in.

Cox stopped in the middle of the room, stalled out again. Autumn stood beside him, looking around, waiting to give him what he needed, if she could.

Inside, his house was much like outside: well-maintained but spartan. The walls were white and nearly vacant, the curtains plain and grey. A long, black leather sofa, pub style, sat in the middle of the longest wall, facing a large television hung on the opposite wall. The wood floor was plain, but gleaming. A basic black end table sat at one end of the sofa and held remotes, a paperback book, and a lone coaster.

At the back of the long room was a dim hallway. Off to the left was a doorway that pushed a slant of bright light into the room. She saw the edge of a stainless steel refrigerator.

This house looked like he’d just moved and hadn’t had a chance to settle in yet, but she suspected he’d lived here for quite some time. Did Cox have nothing in his life, no comforts, no pleasures? A throb of hurt tightened Autumn’s chest at the thought.

“I ...” he said, staring into middle distance.

She slipped her hand in his. “What, hon? What can I—” she stopped, remembered what Pops had told her, and revised her question. “What do you need?”

Her instinct was correct. He focused on her. But it was a long, sad moment before he could muster a word.

“Tired.”

“Then let’s get you to bed. Where is it, down the hall?”

He looked around as if he didn’t know this place. “Uh ... yeah. Yeah.”

When he started walking, his hand closed over hers, and he led her down the hallway, past an open door to a bathroom, past a closed door with a hook-and-eye lock on the outside, to the open door at the end: his bedroom.

It looked like everything else: the barest possible elements to support a life. Queen-size bed, a dresser, one nightstand under a lamp. The same plain white walls, grey curtains, gleaming wood floors. The bed had nice linens and good pillows, though, and when she led him to the side, she saw that the nightstand had two shelves filled with paperbacks.

He stood there and let her undress him, helping with his boots, stepping out of his jeans, but otherwise meekly letting her tend him. When she turned the covers back, though, his hand clamped suddenly and with force.

Turning to face him, she saw that riotous need in his eyes again, but now with a frantic shadow, something that almost looked like terror. But he didn’t say a word.

Autumn made a guess at what he needed but couldn’t say. “If you want me to stay, I will.”

He searched her whole face, looking for the lie. But she could not have been more sincere.

Finally, he made a single, rusty nod.

Autumn put him to bed. She stripped down to her underwear and climbed in with him.

---