Page 8 of Damascus & The Wildfire
“I’ll take you.”
She scoffed. “I am not getting on a bike right now.”
I laughed, but there was little humor in it. The pain was toosalient for that. “I’ll borrow Eva’s Jeep. You want to say goodbye, or should I let them know you need space?”
“Space. Please.” Her small voice was barely audible over the singing cicadas and katydids.
“Drink this,” I ordered as I handed her the water and helped her stand. “I’ll meet you at the Jeep.”
I strode to the group, the remnants of sadness swirling in my chest. The warmth from the fire did nothing for the chill in my soul. Eva looked at me with concern and sympathy, and I grimaced, knowing Reaper had shared pieces of my painful story.
“Kenna wants to go home. Can I borrow your Jeep?”
Eva stood, concern etched into her face. She ran a hand through her hair. “I should talk to her.”
I shook my head and handed her the liquor bottle. “She asked for space. I’ll get her home safe. She’ll be fine.”
Reaper tossed me the keys, and I made my way to the gravel parking lot.
I found Kenna already in the passenger seat, her clenched hands twisted in her lap. The drive was quiet, the rumble of the engine the only sound that filled the air.
Kenna stared out the window until her breath fogged the glass. I kept my eyes on the road, giving her as much privacy as I could in the small space.
It wasn’t until we pulled into her driveway that Kenna broke the silence. Her raw voice echoed across to me, pulling my own pain to the surface.
“Does it ever get easier?”
My hands gripped the steering wheel until my knuckles were white, and I put the Jeep into park. “No.” Any other response would be a lie. “You learn to live with it. Like a slice in your skin surrounded by scar tissue.”
I killed the engine and stepped out of the Jeep. Kenna fumbled with the passenger door handle before I opened it for her. The liquor was hitting her hard, and she swayed as her feet hit the ground. Herperfume wafted over me—jasmine, geranium, and rose—reminding me of the smell of my mother’s garden in the mornings.
I steadied Kenna with one arm as I guided her to the front door. She entered the key code three times before crying out in frustration.
“Damn it. I can’t fucking number the numbers.”
“Let me.” I gently pushed her aside and keyed in the code Reaper had given me when Eva lived here. The lock whirred, and I opened the door.
She stepped inside and turned to face me. “Merrick?” Her voice was soft and uncertain. She stared at me with glassy eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Yeah?”
“Thank you,” she whispered.
Her gaze moved up to mine, and my breath caught as she ran a hand down my chest.
“Kenna,” I said in warning, catching her wrist.
Her lips parted as she blinked up at me. “What?” Her voice was innocently high, a desperate edge beneath it.
“I can’t stop the pain.”
“You could try.” She stepped closer to press her body against mine.
Fuck, I wanted to. I could help her silence the memories. She could help me drown it out, too. But only for a couple of minutes. The ache that lived in my heart for years wouldn’t go away. I’d fucking tried. I spent the first year after losing Rose numbing myself with bodies and booze, only to feel emptier each morning after.
I shook my head and forced myself to step back, releasing her wrist as I gave her space. “It won’t work. Trust me.”
She bit her lip, looking up at me. Emotions flitted across her expression—sadness, annoyance, frustration.
