Page 11 of Wild Bred

I get out and drag them out of the way, cursing under my breath at their weight. My hands are coated in grit and pine needles when I climb back into my truck and put it in gear. As I arrive at my property, my gut plummets at the sight of the storm’s aftermath. Part of a massive fir tree has broken off and smashed up the corner of the house, leaving a gaping hole.

I spend the next several hours clearing away debris, securing a tarp over the damaged part of the house, and checking for structural integrity. It’s annoying work, but at least it’s an outlet for my inner frustration over this whole Mackenna situation.

It’s fine if I don’t text her back. Actually, it’s better if I don’t. It’ll establish a boundary. She needs to know that she can’t be texting me all the time.

Stop thinking about her.

Seriously.

Stop. Thinking. About. Her.

After cleaning up the storm’s destruction, I grab my sledgehammer and pick up where I left off with the demolition work. I swing and smash and destroy until I’m exhausted to the bone. By then, the sun is setting, the last slivers of daylight fading fast, the interior of the house growing dimmer by the second. I double-check the tarp that’s covering up the smashed-up corner of the house, then leave for the night.

The headlights of my truck spill warm light over the road as I drive away. Without thinking, I glance out my side window as I pass by the sanctuary. String lights glow from the buildings on Mackenna’s property, giving the whole place an unexpectedly charming feel.

I pull my gaze away. Focus on the road. Think about what I’m going to make for dinner. But even as dog-tired as I am, I don’t have much of an appetite. I haven’t all day.

Back in my apartment, I shower off the grime and grit, throw a frozen burrito in the microwave, and eat it on the couch. There’s nothing good on TV. Just the same boring shit, the same commercials. It’s grating. I turn off the TV, letting silence fill the room.

I sit there for a long time, silently staring off at nothing. Every so often I hear a noise from one of the apartments around me, or someone out on the street. But mostly I’m just alone with my thoughts.

I think about the last several years, how focused I was on taking on as much work as I could so I could build up my savings. I think about the loan that my brother Jake offered me, which I turned down because it didn’t feel right to take his money, even if it was borrowed. And how, afterward, Jake said to me, You really like to make things more difficult for yourself, don’t you, Reid?

At the time, I thought my brother was just offended that I didn’t take him up on his offer. But maybe he had a good point. If I’d taken his money, I would have been done building a house by now. I’d be living the life I’ve long envisioned for myself.

Ah, well. It’s too late to change things now. Things are how they are. Eventually, I’ll be done with the renovation. Life will be good.

And Mackenna will still be next door.

I exhale a long breath. My eyes fall to the couch cushion beside me, where my phone sits. I pick it up, tap the screen, and let my thumb hover over the messages icon.

Instead, I open a browser tab and type in the name of the sanctuary. The top search result is Mackenna’s sanctuary, and when I tap on the link, it takes me to a small but nice-looking website.

I don’t know why I’m bothering to look at it. I don’t want to look at the ambassador profiles, or read about why wildlife conservation is so important, or learn about visiting opportunities for the public. And yet here I am, slowly scrolling through every page. I read through the entire damn website, and when I’m done with it, I tap on one of the social media icons at the bottom of the website, which shoots me over to her profile.

A hundred thousand followers. Jesus. She really has that many people following her online? A protective ache hits my chest. I don’t do social media, but I know there’s a lot of harassment and toxicity in that space, and I can’t stand the idea of Mackenna being subjected to even a single inappropriate comment.

Not that she’s incapable of standing up for herself. Still.

I click on one of her posts, which is about some baby squirrels she was rehabilitating. My chest settles when I see a flood of positive comments on the post. Mostly, people are cooing over how cute the tiny squirrels are. There are also some questions about how she’s taking care of them, which Mackenna has responded to.

The last comment that catches my eye is someone saying, You r such a good squirrel mama! I bet u will be good with real babies too.

Mackenna’s reply is, Thank you :) I hope so!

Suddenly I’m picturing Mackenna cradling a newborn baby in each arm. In my imagination, she gazes down at the twin babies, then looks up at me, her face radiating pride and pure joy. There’s no question that she’ll be a good mother. She has that natural warmth and maternal instinct.

Something strange fiercely ripples through me, a foreign feeling. I don’t know what to make of it. I tap my phone to go back to her feed and scroll down, soaking in the other photos she’s posted. Most of them are of the animals she’s caring for, or of improvements around the sanctuary grounds, but she’s in some of these other photos, too. Always looking so damn pretty. Fuck, those curves.

I’m trying to scroll further when an alert pops up, demanding that if I want to keep scrolling, I have to sign in to my account—an account that doesn’t exist.

It’s enough of a wake-up call to remind me that what I’m doing right now is nothing but foolish. With a hard exhale, I close the tab and throw my phone aside.

I spend the next two weeks unwaveringly focused on the house. I finish opening up all the interior walls, get the rest of the kitchen and bathroom tile torn out, rip out the cabinets, remove all the flooring, clear out all the debris. What’s left looks skeletal, unrecognizable from its previous dilapidated state, and when I stand back and look at it, I see the promising start of a new home.

I’m in the middle of marking the ground for one of the rooms I’m expanding when I hear a vehicle out on the road. I look up and see a van driving past my property, its side painted with a logo of a veterinary clinic.

Was that van in a hurry? Or was I imagining it? I frown as I look off in the direction of the sanctuary. With as many animals as she’s got over there, there’s bound to be an emergency now and then.

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