Page 57 of Yours to Break

We kept moving, quieter now, following the trail of broken twigs and crushed emerald moss. Hayes kept glancing toward the treetops, as if expecting to see him up there like a spooked bird. I watched the ground, looking for the next sign—a shoe print, another scrap of fabric, a drop of red.

Every second stretched. My thoughts frayed.

Was he crying? Did he think we’d kill him for running off?

I didn’t want him to be afraid of us like that. That wasn’t the point. That was never the point. Sure, I wanted him afraid sometimes, but not afraid we’d fucking slaughter him.

He was supposed tobelongwith us.

He was ours.

And somehow, he’d gone from seemingly understanding that, enjoying it, to whatever this was.

He wasn’t allowed to leave us.

We needed him.Oh.

Was that it?The word.

“I think he left because we didn’t say it back,” I said.

“What are you talking about? Say what back?”

“Love. He said he loved us. That’s an important word to him, and maybe when he said it and we didn’t, he got so upset he ran?”

“One word? Really?”

“Think about it, Hayes. He was perfectly fine up until Lane fucking proposed. And then he got all worked up, said he loved us, and now he’s gone.”

Hayes grunted, “Fuckin—Okay, yeah. I think you’re probably right. So do we just need to make a point of saying it to him? Problem solved?”

“I think? Grey says it to his boy.”

“Course he does. He should’ve told us that it was important. He really is awful at the therapy stuff.”

A strong gust of wind shifted the trees, and for a second, I thought I heard something—twigs snapping, hurried breathing. I froze, hand shooting out to stop Hayes beside me. We both went silent, listening intently.

Another crunch. Ahead and to the left.

My heart thudded painfully. “That way,” I whispered, and we started moving again, slower now, more deliberate. I didn’t want to spook him again—not when he was this close.

We crested a low ridge and spotted a deeper indentation in the forest floor. Oliver had skidded here, sliding down through wet leaves and mud.

Hayes bent low to examine the spot, then looked up at me, something unfamiliar in his eyes. It was the same look he had when he found a dying bird once, curled in a nest of barbed wire behind our old apartment complex. We’d both stood there too long, neither of us knowing what to do with something fragile. We weren’t made for gentle things.

Except wewantedto be for Oliver—we wanted to try.

Hayes muttered, “He’s slowing down by a lot.”

A branch cracked up ahead, sharp and close.

We both stilled.

The forest around us had gone silent. Then… the unmistakable sound of feet scrambling, slipping against roots. My eyes surely lit up from excitement. I licked my lips.

Hello, Oliver.

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