Page 84 of Stay for Me

“Mags,” I rasped, feeling the weight of the weapon in my hands, the raw, unchecked power of it.

“Thought I was used to the pain,” he continued, as if he hadn’t broken what was left of me. “But right here, right now, this pain is unlike anything I’ve ever felt.”

I sucked in a breath, more tears falling now.

“Killin’ me,” he whispered, his voice more jagged than more. “Killin’ me every single day, Firefly.”

“Please,” I begged. I don’t know what for, though. For mercy. For his kiss. For his heart. For him to end my agony. For a chance to make him whole again, to prove he was worthy of it.

He slowly dropped his hand then. “This might hurt like a bitch, so forgive me,” he said gruffly, shifting to my side, getting ready to pick me up.

“My pack,” I rushed out, looking over to it.

Without a word, he went to grab it, putting it on his back before coming back to me. “Lift away from the tree,” he ordered gruffly. I did as he instructed, feeling his strong arms slide around me and under my knees.

The number on the scale I saw this morning popped into my head, reminding me of all the damaged I’d done these last few weeks. “Are you sure you can—”

His eyes cut to mine, sharp as a blade.

“Never mind,” I squeaked.

Then, I was in the air—in his arms.

I expected him to take the path I’d originally was set to take before falling down the hill, but he didn’t. Instead, he veered in the opposite direction, cutting across the clearing and not making a sound. I stared up at him, my arms wrapped around his neck, feeling his heat, his strength.

“Thank you,” I whispered to his handsome profile.

He said nothing for a long while, carefully weaving me through the trees, making sure not even a leaf brushed my head. I took his silence as my answer and focused on the path he took; it wasn’t a marked trail and I was lost.

“Don’t thank me again,” he said, his words so low, I’d almost missed them.

My head snapped up. “What?” I rasped.

He looked down at me, keeping his steady pace. “You heard me.”

Silence fell over us once more. The only thing I could hear was my heart thundering in my ears as it climbed up my throat. Not even the songbirds could distract me from the storm brewing inside me. Then, a few minutes later, we emerged on the other side of the mountain, the bark of some of the trees still charred and blackened. Suddenly, the heat of the sun that had poked out from the clouds did nothing to chase away the chill skating over me. I shivered in Mags’ arms, my eyes scanning all around.

“I never come over here,” I said softly, my ankle throbbing more now than before. I winced, and Mags came to stop.

“What is it?” he demanded.

“My ankle.”

He twisted his neck to look at it, a grunt rumbling up from his chest. “Do you like those boots?”

“Y-yes.”

He looked back to me, studying me for a moment before he muttered, “I’ll buy you some more then.”

Fear coiled around my throat. “Is it bad?”

“Won’t know until I cut it off you,” he answered, moving again, stepping onto Jane Langston’s trail, the small creek flowing, healthy and strong. Even in a drought, Jane’s creek would flow. This was where her spirit lingered, where her soul danced and sang. After the fire, during one of many check-ins with Valerie, she’d told me about seeing Denver and Mason’s mom while she was passed out from the smoke. She said it was the most surreal experience, and months later, Mason’s wife, Harmony, had her own experience with Jane. She watched over her boys, loving them always.

Jane Langston, the angel of Hallow Ranch.

An engine hummed in the distance, and I squinted, making out a four wheeler on the other side of the tree line, Denver sitting on top. Then, I heard horses and panic swallowed me whole.

Mags was going to leave me with them. He was going to leave me.

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