Page 25 of Little Bird
Holy. Fuck.
I step back so quickly I stumble and nearly fall, and then I turn and walk away. I’m done here. I can’t do this. I may not love the life I have, but I’ve just started to live again after what she and her mother did to me.
And if I fall again, I’m not sure I’ll be able to get back up.
Taryn
I watch him walk away, half horrified and half…
Half I don’t even know what, honestly. Because what the fuck was that? One minute I was trying to push my way into getting to shoot, and yeah, it was a little flirty but no big deal, and the next…
The next, he was standing behind me with his arms wrapped around me like he belonged there. Grabbing me and pulling me back against him like he had any right to my body. Rocking against me, his cock hard and ready, his body telling me exactly what he wanted.
What he remembered.
And my body had responded, coming alive in a way I haven’t felt in ages. I’ve been living with a fine tremor for four years now, the shake so constant that at some point, I learned to ignore it. Mostly. But it’s always there, the inability to sit still. The movement whenever I reach out and have to try to hold my hands steady. When I showed my mother, she wrote it off as nerves and told me to get on medication for my anxiety.
She said it didn’t matter, and then turned away and went back to her life.
The way she always does.
But Gabe’s big, rough hands on mine, his skin pressing against me, had calmed the shake immediately. And just like that, I’d been solid again. Standing on ground I understood, able to keep my knees locked and my hands still. Able to stop panicking and just be.
And then he disappeared and left me standing alone, and when I turned to ask where he’d gone, he was storming out of the room like someone had offended him.
I guess it must have been me, as I’m the only other person here, and the thought that he’s running away from me after that moment of security hits me right in the heart. I was standing there taking comfort in his big, heavy presence, and he was evidently hating it so much that he couldn’t stand to stay.
I blow out slowly at that and press my hands against the gun, trying to catalogue all the emotions running through me and put them in their place. Anger, hurt, betrayal, a deep sorrow, and the feeling—that ever-present feeling—that once again, I’m not enough for someone. Not enough to make them stay.
Not enough to matter.
God, I wish I had the bag I keep in my bathroom for situations like this. It’s my comfort when the emotions are too big to hold on my own. My best coping mechanism. And right now, when I’m having the biggest emotions I’ve had in years, it’s sitting in my suitcase, completely useless.
I just didn’t think I’d need it for a simple trip to town.
But I didn’t see Gabe deciding to cut through all the walls I’ve been building and right into my soul. I didn’t expect him to be the security I’ve been looking for.
Still. I know how to do this. I’ve spent years in therapy learning how to do this. I breathe deeply for a moment, finding all the feelings and putting them in their place. Carefully erecting new boundaries. Putting up a few walls to protect myself.
And then I follow him through the door, dropping the gun and earmuffs on a table I assume is the right place. Gabe has already left the hardware store, and I find him standing outside next to the truck. He looks angry and confused and, if I’m not mistaken, more than a little conflicted.
Good. I hope he’s half as conflicted as I am. Because now that I’m out here, I have two thoughts. One: I want to run right into his arms again, because he’s the only person who has ever felt like home to me, and I’m desperate for that comfort.
Two: He’s my fucking stepbrother, and there are some lines you just don’t cross. Regardless of what your heart wants. Regardless of whether or not we started crossing them when we were kids.
I press my lips together, throw my shoulders back, and get ready to act like I don’t care that he just rejected me. I need something to talk about, though; something other than what happened in the shooting range. Glancing at the axe in the back of his truck, I realize it’s the perfect opening. Because I’ve forgotten about the one thing I haven’t seen yet.
“So when are you going to take me to your shop?” I ask.
He jerks like I’ve just hit him. Like I actually managed to take him by surprise.
Good.
“Shop?” he asks, like he’s never heard the word.
“Yes, shop. You know, that place where you and Gunner supposedly work? The one I was never allowed to visit when I lived here?”
His expression shutters like he’s just remembered we’re not supposed to be talking at all. “You’re not allowed in there.”
