Page 59 of Running Feral

Kasia’s eyes are wide, and she looks more emotional than I’ve seen her in a long time. I’ve disturbed the most unflappable person I know, apparently.

“I’m fine,” I say, swallowing hard again to choke back the bile that’s climbing up the back of my throat.

“Please stop doing this. Whatever this is—” she gestures at me, “—it isn’t you. You’re freaking me out. You’re supposed to be the normal one.”

I blow out a breath, the dual urges to accept my rage and scream at her or sit down and have a conversation warring for dominance inside me.

I must not be physically equipped to house that kind of conflict today, because instead, I start fucking crying. Again. It’s one choked sob that rips out of the deepest part of my body, like it had to claw its way to the surface.

I bring my hand to my face, covering my eyes as I try to swallow it back. And I do, but the tears have already formed at the corner of my eyes and my shoulders are trembling at the effort of restraining myself. I can’t tell if it’s grief crying or rage crying or both, but it wants out.

I’m the one who’s desperate to keep it inside. Like this is the only thing I’ve decided I can control. I take a long, shuddering breath and swallow, even though my tongue feels like it’s too thick for my mouth.

“Jesus,” Kasia whispers, before I hear footsteps moving toward me.

She pats my back, because she’s one of the least touchy-feely people I know, and this is awkward as hell for her. When I feel her step closer, like she’s thinking about hugging me, I take a half step back and shrug her off. My hand is still over my eyes, so I can’t see her. I’m concentrating on breathing slowly, quashing all the sudden bright and staggering emotions trying to overtake my body.

Kasia doesn’t hug me, but she doesn’t move away, either. She keeps awkwardly patting my shoulder while I stand there and breathe.

“I’m sorry, boss. I’m sorry.”

It’s all she says, thank fuck. I think I would start to rage again if she tried to give me mindless platitudes, but that’s not really her style.

Time stretches out until it becomes intangible. I breathe while Kasia stands there, and no one moves until I hear the door scrape open. Immediately, I find the will to focus, because maybe it’s Sav and he has news. My hand falls away from my face as I look for whoever just walked in.

Someone gasps, but I don’t know if it’s Kasia or me. My mind is sluggish, so she might have processed what we’re both looking at more quickly.

Tobias. Standing in the doorway, looking like he’s frozen in time. He’s paler than normal, bruises peppering the skin I can see, and his hands are shaking while his body sways.

The sheer fragility of the movement snaps me out of my own imminent collapse. Because I might be tired and way too emotional, but Tobias looks like he’s about to collapse. He’s staring at me, one hand still resting on the door behind him, his eyes dark and unfocused, even though they’re pointed at me, his lips parted as he takes quick, shallow breaths.

I cross the room in a split second, holding out my arms. Normally, I’d be more careful not to move suddenly and startle him, because I learned that lesson the first time. But not when he looks this close to hitting the ground. There’s a moment where it seems like his body tries to flinch but doesn’t quite manage it. Then I get my hands on him.

My arms encircle his waist, and his gaze finally focuses on my face. His head tips back, and he grabs at the front of my shirtwith weak hands. It’s so close to what he did the first night he came to me, I almost cry all over again.

Then his knees buckle. Once I have his weight, the last bit of his energy gives out, and I pick him up before he hits the ground. His arms come up to rest on my shoulders and his legs wrap around my waist, like he has just enough energy to hang on but not enough to hold himself up.

“Gunnar,” he says, his voice cracking with exhaustion.

He must have walked here. Or run. The bar is so far from anywhere if you’re on foot. Fuck, I should have been out driving and looking for him, instead of tending to my own pathetic meltdowns.

“I’m here, baby boy. I’m here. You’re safe.”

I keep crooning any soothing nonsense I can think of as I walk him back into the bar. There’s nowhere comfortable for him to lie down, so Kasia clears a space, and I set him on the bar itself until we’ve all gotten our bearings.

“Did he hurt you?” Tobias asks, still panting.

Kasia passes him the glass of water that she practically hurled at me before, and I help him hold it while he takes a sip because his hand is shaking.

“Me? Nobody hurt me, baby, what do you mean? How injured are you?”

It’s hard to keep my voice quiet when I’m still raging with a thousand different emotions, but I know I have to. Flying off the handle right now is the last thing he needs.

From what I can tell, he looks better than the last time he came. He has bruises, but they’re smaller, at different stages of healing from the past few days and none of them indicating significant damage. He seems exhausted from however far he had to walk, but not like he’s favoring any limbs. And most importantly, he’s here in one living, breathing piece.

Which is more than I can say for Eamon if I ever fucking see him again.

“He said he would kill you,” Tobias says, still breathless. “If I didn’t come back, he said someone was waiting here to kill you. That was hours ago. I didn’t know if you’d be dead by the time I got here, but I had to try. I hoped he was bluffing. I couldn’t just… stay. Not anymore.”

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