Page 162 of Heart So Hollow

My breath catches and a painfully terrifying jolt shoots through my chest as I let out something between a curse and a yelp and whip around on my heels. My heart feels like it’s about to burst and I don’t even feel the rocks and twigs jabbing the soles of my feet as I tear back down the path.

Something grabs my arm and jerks me back around. I let out a scream as two arms wrap around my chest and squeeze my shoulders with a vise grip. I feel someone against my head and the rush of a breath against my cheek.

“The fuck are you doing out here without any clothes on?” a deep voice reverberates in my ear.

I stop struggling and try to look over my shoulder, “Bowen?” I hiss.

He loosens his grip on me and straightens up. I spin around to see him laughing and brushing his hair out of his face. He’s changed out of the khaki pants and black t-shirt he was wearing when he left for paintball and, now, he’s wearing a pair of jeans and a grey undershirt with a dark smear across the chest. I scrunch up my nose. I hope it’s not coyote blood, but it’s probably coyote blood.

“I was looking for Waylon,” my chest heaves as I catch my breath, “he ran into the woods and wouldn’t come back when I called.”

Bowen looks over his shoulder and nods down the path, “He came and found me, he’s in the cab.”

“God…” I exhale, relief washing over me, then tilt my head back, hands on my hips, and let out an exasperated sigh into the treetops.

“You alright?” Bowen chuckles.

“I was calling for him for the longest time. Then I heard the coyotes go off and I freaked out and ran out here to look for him.”

Bowen’s voice softens, “You ran out here just to find him?”

“Of course!” I exclaim, “You said he could be eaten by stray dogs or coyotes.”

“Eh,” he swats the air, “he’d have been fine.” Then he pauses and eyes me standing, barefoot, in the middle of the dirt path in my Navy-blue satin pajama shorts and grey camisole.

“You’re pretty brave for coming out this far without a light,” he looks me up and down, “and next to no clothes.”

The breeze rushes through the trees and sweeps over my skin, making me shiver. I glance down at myself, noticing my nipples hardening and showing through my cami.

“Well,” I cross my arms over my chest, “I didn’t want to be the reason Waylon died in the woods.”

“You didn’t mind walking out here by yourself?”

I shake my head, glancing around dismissively. I did mind—I minded a lot—but I was more afraid of what could happen if I didn’t.

Bowen accepts my response and motions to the right side of the path, “Help me take down this broken tree stand, then we’ll go home.”

I nod and follow him to the edge of the path. I’m about to say I can’t walk far into the trees because I’m not wearing shoes, but he steps into a clear section relatively devoid of vines and brambles. The canopy isn’t so thick here, and I can see the silhouette of a stand in one of the poplars right ahead of us. I linger nearby while Bowen works, my arms wrapped around my torso, scanning the trees around us, still keeping an eye out for glowing eyes and any other creatures I don’t want to meet in the woods at night.

He finally returns with the stand in pieces and tosses a section of the ladder at my feet with a startling clang. My hand flies to my chest again and I take a deep breath to steady myself.

“Ease up, lady,” Bowen says at my nervousness, “I’m the scariest thing out here.”

“You’re not scary,” I scoff, glancing back around the spooky woods.

“No?” he bends down to grab the seat and hands it to me before picking up the three sections of ladder.

The stand’s been out here a while, the black metal rough with a few rungs missing from the ladder. Bowen steps past me and I follow him back out to the path in silence. His truck isn’t much further. If I’d kept walking and not seen him standing at the poplar already, I would’ve come to it in another minute or so. As soon as we arrive at the tailgate, Waylon’s head pops out the passenger window to greet us. Bowen drops the tailgate, then takes the seat from me and tosses it into the bed.

“Hey,” I swallow, breaking the heavy silence, “I realize I’m not very good at accepting help, even from you. I was just caught off-guard when you pulled out that mugshot. I don’t like thinking about what happened back then, and after so long I was finally getting to where things feel normal again. And, now, there’s more that I don’t know and I just don’t feel like dealing with it.”

“You might not like it,” Bowen reaches behind his head and pulls his shirt up over his back. He balls it up and swipes it across his forehead before tossing it into the bed of the truck, “but you still have to deal with it.”

“I know,” I shift back and forth on the smooth patches of dirt under my feet, “but I appreciate you caring and wanting to keep me safe.”

Bowen narrows his eyes and tilts his head, “Are you offering an apology?” he asks, popping his spearmint gum in his teeth.

“Yeah,” I nod, “I guess I am.”

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