Page 64 of Running Feral

“Why?”

“About Silas. I’m sorry. I didn’t want to be there. I never wanted to be there. It was all… I made a lot of shitty choices. I’m sorry your boyfriend got stabbed. That sucks.”

Cade’s eyebrows raise, and I feel like an utter moron.That sucks?

Yes, Tobias. Getting stabbed sucks. How articulate.

After a few seconds, Cade’s face smoothes out and he smiles at me. A real one, not a soft, patient smile like before.

“I think we can call that water under the bridge at this point,” he says.

“How is he?”

I’m mostly asking about his stab wound, but the way Cade’s face clouds over at the words, I can see there’s something more at play there.

“He’s…” The words trail off, and Cade swallows hard while not looking at me and fussing with the equipment. “He’s Silas. Y’know. Life is hard sometimes.”

There’s a little twinge in my heart at the words, because even without knowing the context, I’m very familiar with the feeling.

“Yeah,” I say. “You guys are good, though?”

As much as I don’t know them, I feel a desperate need for them to stay together. Like how people get with celebrities. Like the continued existence of their love, despite both of them being fuck ups, makes the potential for my future happiness more real.

When Cade thinks about his answer, his expression shifts from worried to a broad, genuine smile, and this time he really does look me in the eye.

“Yeah. I love him. Nothing’s changing that.” He tilts his head, like he’s taking me in for the first time. “Now come on, let’s get you fixed up. I think we both have enough other shit to worry about than holding grudges. Deal?”

He holds out his fist, which I bump, and he bops away back to his work looking genuinely content.

It’s the most surreal interaction I’ve had with someone in a while, and I vomited on a cop’s shoes like half an hour ago.

After that, things go more smoothly. Tristan asks me questions about what happened, but he manages to not phrase things like I’m the scum of the earth, which is nice. They tell me I’m dehydrated, which isn’t shocking, so they hook me up to some fluids. Someone—I think Gunnar—finally cleans up the puke. Tristan goes through the pros and cons of going to the hospital for a rape kit, which I stare blankly at the wall for, even if he phrases it all as respectfully as possible. When I refuse again, everyone drops it.

Tristan reminds me about STD testing, and I remember Micah organized that for me last time. Something in the mail.

God, no one would ever think the aftermath of something so dramatic is this mind-numbingly tedious.

By the end of it, I’ve been filled with fluids, given a painkiller which helps me drift even more, signed the iPad to refuse transport to the hospital, and watched Tristan hand Gunnar a piece of paper with a bunch of names of services he recommends, because I’m too tired to concentrate on anything now.

They pack up their shit, and Tristan comes back to lean toward me, now that I’m back in Gunnar’s arms because I was slipping off the stool.

“If anything gets worse, you call me, kid. Even if it’s off the books. We don’t leave people behind.”

I’m obviously too hydrated now, because my eyes are trying to fill with tears and I feel like a dumbass for it.

“Thanks,” I say, even though it sounds pathetic.

Gunnar thanks them both as well, and they let themselves out.

“I think it’s time for you to sleep, little one.” Gunnar looks down at me. “How does that sound? We can deal with the rest of the bullshit tomorrow.”

“Mmm.”

I push my face further into his chest for the millionth time so far today. I can’t truly wrap my head around the fact that this morning I was still in the motel, and now I’m here.

“Shower later. Sleep first,” I say, mumbling.

“Okay.”

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