Page 80 of Running Feral

“Tobias,” I say, smiling even though he’s scowling at me like a drenched kitten right now. Or maybe an angry porcupine. “We don’t have a lawn.”

His eyes narrow. Okay, it wasn’t that funny, but it was better than nothing. Eventually, he makes a huffing noise that’s in the vicinity of laughter, but at least the tension of the conversation is cut off at the knees.

Crawling off my body, he starts looking around for something to wear.

“Why don’t we stop by your grandmother’s place on the way and get some of your stuff. Then you won’t constantly be drowning in my old clothes. We can get you a new phone, too, while we’re at it. Pick up your bike and bring it here. All the things.”

Tobias freezes, a long-sleeved henley in his hands that he’s been wearing for the past two days. As much as I love him in my clothes and haven’t pushed him on this because I know hefinds it comforting, we have to step out of this post-crisis bubble, eventually.

If only so I can stop doing laundry every day.

“Tobias? Does that sound okay?”

“Yeah. Does that mean—” He cuts himself off, swallowing hard before turning around to look me in the eye. “Does that mean I’m staying?”

His expression is hard as he says it. Like he’s challenging me, or daring me to say no. I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the pendulum swings of Tobias’s personality. He has so much strength, including this kind of feral intensity whenever something really pushes his buttons to make him angry. But life and circumstances have also taught him how to wilt and fade into the background. It’s a dichotomy he never seems to have a firm grasp on, jumping from one to the other without realizing it.

I’m fucking here for it. He can swing from one extreme to the other to his heart’s content. I just love getting to witness any moment that seems like it’s the real him shining through, instead of what he was conditioned to be.

“Yeah, baby,” I say, keeping my voice quiet and my expression gentle as I reach for him. “You’re staying. As long as you want to.”

He lets me pull him into a hug, but stays stiff and unyielding in my arms.

“And if I want to leave?” he asks.

“You can always leave. I’ll help you, if that’s what you want. You can go home to your lola, and I’ll still help you find a job and all the rest of it. You’re not obligated to stay.” Even if the thought of him not being here every day breaks my fucking heart. “But baby?” Tobias leans back to look up at me. “Please stay,” I continue. “I’m asking you, not telling you. Please, please stay. If you want to. I want you to.”

It’s not the most elegant way to ask someone to officially move in with you, but the emotion brimming in Tobias’s eyes tells me it resonated with something inside him.

He opens his mouth, like he’s about to speak. Honestly, for all my begging, it had never occurred to me that he might say no. I thought this was a done deal. I thought we were in love, even if we weren’t quite saying it yet.

Then a shadow passes over his face and he tears his gaze away from mine.

“We should go, before it gets too late,” he says.

That’s it. Conversation closed. I have no idea what I said wrong, and even less of an idea when he’s going to be willing to talk about it again.

The drive to the hospital is quiet. Tobias seems pensive, and I’m trying—no matter how fucking unbearable it is—to give him the space to work through his thoughts.

Initially, I was going to stop by his grandmother’s place on the way to grab some of his stuff, but I decide to leave that for the time being. I don’t want to spark something he’s not ready to deal with after the awkward turn the conversation took before we left the house.

Maybe he just needs to see Anika. That might make him feel better. Tristan told me she’s doing much better, and seeing her looking well might make Tobias ease up on some of the self-flagellation.

As soon as we get there, I can feel the tension mounting in him. It looks a lot different in the day than at night. It’s a big regional hospital, so there’s lots of hustle and bustle. The parking lot is full and everywhere you look there are nurses, doctors, patients, family and whoever else coming and going. The lights are bright, so there are no dark corners, and the security presence is much more visible now than it was when he was taken.

Still, I can feel him practically vibrating with nerves. His eyes dart around constantly, like he’s assessing for threats, although he seems to be consciously keeping his body still and smooth as we walk through the building. The guilt that’s coursing through me at not being able to help him is almost overwhelming. Every second is like a cheese grater on my skin, with all my nerve-endings screaming at me todo something.

But I can’t. This is something we both have to face.

I do thread my fingers through his hand, though. It makes him jump, but then he settles and squeezes my palm, even though he’s not looking at me.

It’s a long walk up to her floor. There are a lot of elevators and winding hallways to go through, and with the thick layer of stress sitting over us, the whole journey seems to take forever. I’m worried he’s going to snap.

Then, just as we’re approaching the unit she’s on, something does seem to shift inside him. Not in a good way, but not in the panicked or destructive way that I was worried about, either.

He just… shuts down. He’s still walking and holding my hand, but his eyes are suddenly far away instead of examining the world around us for threats, and he’s loose-limbed as he moves, like a marionette with unattended strings.

Nothing has changed by the time we reach her room, and he’s so silent I’m only certain he’s breathing because he’s stillconscious. He reaches for the door handle, but I gently take his hand to turn him toward me for a second.

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