The Rowdy Ones, page 2
My internal struggles are unimportant compared to the ones she’s dealing with. They’re fresh like the scabbing flesh on her wrists. My wounds are deep, therefor easier to suppress. Hers need tending and caring for.
Focus on Dez.
Forget about yourself, Rowdy.
Forget about him.
Thoughts of Evan cause a flutter of dusty moths to scatter in my heart. I’ve done a decent enough job to keep them locked in a box, but now that I’m so close to him, those memories are beginning to flap around.
Destiny stumbles slightly on the uneven snowy terrain of Uncle Atticus’s yard and it snaps me back to the present. Out here, in the real world, she’ll need me as her eyes to get her through it. I can’t be that guide for her if my past blinds me.
Keep your eyes open and alert, man.
For Dez.
I take hold of her delicate arm and clutch on to keep her steady. Then I walk toward the old cabin that’s been added onto so many times it reminds me of my own. The wood is mismatched. Dad’s craftsmanship is immaculate, but Uncle Atticus does his best, which isn’t great.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” Uncle Atticus says, voice booming as he exits his cabin. “A bunch of mongrels.”
Wild playfully punches his dad and then they embrace. A pang of longing hits me in the gut. I’m already missing my own father and we’ve been here all of five minutes. This is going to be a long trip.
How long will we stay here anyway?
What if Destiny loves it and wants to remain here forever?
What does that mean for me? Could I leave her in someone else’s care and trust them to look after her?
I reach out my other hand to touch Spirit, needing her grounding comfort, but come up empty. She’s not here. My wolf is back home with Mage, in the wilderness where she belongs—where we all belong.
Curling my hand into a fist, I attempt not to unravel in front of everyone. Uncle Atticus tugs Destiny out of my grip to give her a bear hug. Once he finishes crushing her tiny frame, he pounces on me next. I’m just as big as him, but the man knows how to squeeze out all the air in your lungs with just a hug.
“Come on inside where it’s warm,” he says, smacking me hard on my back. “Eve’s about to feed the twins. There’s plenty for everyone.”
He doesn’t address the elephant in the room, but I know he’s thinking about the reason why we’re here. I’d seen Wild texting with his dad when we were back in cell phone range, so at least they knew to expect us. While he didn’t explicitly state what Destiny had done to herself, I think his dad got the gist. Not to mention, when Destiny removes her coat, it’ll be obvious with her bandages.
Sickness roils in my belly.
There was so much blood. It was fucking traumatizing. Only a few days have passed since she attempted suicide and I’m still shaking over it.
That is why I’m here.
I have to be strong for my little sister.
She fucking needs me like she needed me to cut her out of that tent and out of the arms of that motherfucker who raped her.
Breathe, Rowdy. Breathe.
The anger chases away the worry and nausea. If I can cling to the fury burning hot in my veins, maybe I can ignore my fear of this place and Evan once and for all. It’s a tempting notion.
Uncle Atticus ushers us into their warm home. It always smells like peanut butter for some reason. The television blasts with some old show Aunt Eve is obsessed with. Two seconds inside and I’m already overstimulated.
“Your hair is terrible.”
I snap up my head, eyes zeroing in on Aunt Eve. Her dark hair has been swept into a messy bun and she has two curious little ones standing at her side. They all regard me with narrowed eyes as if my hair is offensive to all of them.
“It is?” I ask, spearing my fingers through the unruly strands.
“I’ll fix it after dinner. I can’t look at that the whole time you’re here.”
That woman never holds back what she really thinks. Ever. Which makes me nervous for Destiny’s sake. Aunt Eve slowly walks over to Destiny and touches the blond, limp strands.
“You need new shampoo. I’ll trim you too.”
Destiny’s cheeks, already pink from the cold, burn a little brighter. On instinct, I rub a circular pattern on her back to comfort her.
Uncle Atticus shrugs at me and then scoops up both Meadow and Forest. Wild pokes at them, making them squawk before sauntering into the kitchen to see what his mom made.
“Should we unpack the truck?” I ask, voice rough. “I can go do it.”
“Eat first,” Aunt Eve says sharply. “Then we deal with the awful hair. Then you unpack.”
Okay then.
Destiny’s lip twitches with a smile. At least someone finds this shit amusing.
My irritation dissipates when I see the casserole dish on the stovetop. Hot steam billows from the cheesy goodness on top. I don’t know what it is, but it looks fucking delicious. An audible grumble in my stomach has a real smile touching Destiny’s lips.
Seeing it makes my heart tighten inside my chest.
Maybe this is a good change of scenery for us after all.
Back home, Mom coddles too much. Aunt Eve doesn’t have the time nor the patience for babying anyone. Destiny might need this to get her past the mental shit that’s plaguing her. I’ll do anything to help her with that. If only I could figure out how to get past my own.
Again, I miss my fucking dog.
The next several moments are fairly chaotic as we make our food. Destiny, used to someone plating up her food, is nudged by Aunt Eve to make her own plate. I want to step in and take over, especially seeing the bloodstained bandages on her wrist, but Aunt Eve won’t allow it. If Destiny is put out by this, she doesn’t let on.
Uncle Atticus winks at me, which is oddly reassuring. These people love us. I can let my guard down around them. They’re not going to intentionally harm either one of us. If Aunt Eve thinks Destiny needs to get familiar with their kitchen, then I’m going to trust in her intuition.
Once we’re seated with our food, I try not to inhale it like some wild forest animal. Thankfully, everyone is raptly listening to Wild tell a story about his college football. Both his parents beam with pride. Wild is loud and energetic, but he has nothing on the Jamison family. When our family eats a meal, it’s straight up fucking insanity, fights, and drama, especially if Reagan and Kota are at the table. This meal is much calmer than our norm. Destiny seems to be appreciating it so far based on the curious way she tilts her head to hear the story Wild’s telling.
Forest, in a booster seat beside me, touches my arm, smearing sauce all over my sleeve. He stares at me with his wide, vacant eyes. The twins are the exact opposite of their older brother. They’re weird, to be frank. Silent, always watching, and just kind of creepy. I’m pretty sure they can talk telepathically too because they always seem to be communicating with each other without ever murmuring a word.
“Thanks for that,” I mutter, grabbing a paper napkin from the pile in the center of the table.
Forest goes back to stuffing, what I now know is lasagna, into his quiet mouth. I swipe off my arm and then dive back into my meal. Admittedly, one of the best things about being in town is the food. Wild’s family are all great cooks and they have plenty of amazing restaurants to eat at. At least there’s that to look forward to.
A flutter of excitement dances through me.
This time will be better. I’ll show Destiny all the good things about being in town. It doesn’t have to be all doom and gloom. If I focus on her, I won’t have time to worry about my own bullshit.
Now that’s a plan.
After a fantastic dinner, Aunt Eve puts Wild and her husband on dish duty and takes me and Destiny to her bathroom where her haircutting supplies are. I sit on the closed toilet lid, watching her trim the ends of Destiny’s hair. There’s a serene smile on Destiny’s face that puts me at ease. All too soon, Aunt Eve shoos her away and then starts whacking away at my hair.
“Much better,” Aunt Eve grumbles. “Shower before you go to bed. You smell like an animal.”
Destiny giggles, and in turn, I smirk. If being the stinky animal around here makes my sister happy, so be it. Aunt Eve can pick on me all she wants as long as it amuses Dez.
Once Aunt Eve ushers Destiny to Wild’s room where she’ll be staying, I make my way out to the living room where the twins are tucked in at Uncle Atticus’s sides on the couch.
“Wild is moving your stuff over to the RV,” he tells me. “I figured the two of you could stay there. Beats sleeping on the couch.”
Though I’m grateful for the privacy, I’m not keen on leaving Destiny inside. The last time she was left alone, she tried to hurt herself.
“Those scissors,” I whisper, meeting his gaze, “and anything sharp…”
Uncle Atticus nods grimly. “I’ll take care of it. She’ll be fine.”
His words are meant to reassure me, but I can’t help the way anxiety clutches my throat, squeezing so tight I struggle to breathe. I grunt out my thanks and hurry outside, desperate to fill my lungs with fresh, cold air. Once I don’t think I’m going to hyperventilate anymore, I make my way over to the RV. It’s lit up and Wild’s music is blasting from inside.
When I step into the RV, he cuts the music and grins. “Mom already loaded the fridge and cabinets with all the good shit. Your stuff is in the back room. I’ll take the bunk over the front seats.”
I peek in a few cabinets to see what she left for us and snatch a bag of Doritos from its spot. You just don’t get tasty snacks like chips or candy like you do while in town. I’ll never get tired of eating this stuff.
The back room is simple, with a huge bed that goes from one side of the RV to the other. There’s no room for end tables, but there is a row of cabinets above the bed for storage. It’s not my cabin back home, but it’ll certainly work as a good sanctuary, especially since it has an accordion door I can close. If Wild thinks he’s going to play his music nonstop, we’re going to have words. I’m already missing the quiet serenity of my home.
After shoving the Doritos in one of the cabinets, I unzip my backpack and start pulling my clothes out. I hope Destiny is comfortable in Wild’s room. If it gets to be too much, she can always stay in the RV with us.
Well, with me.
Wild would never hurt her, but I’d feel better if she were closer to me than him.
Why is that anyway?
Because no one will protect her the way I do.
* * *
* * *
I wake with a start, my heart hammering in my chest and sweat crawling over my skin. Someone’s close. Watching me. I’m momentarily confused, wondering if I’m stuck in that wretched tent with him. Jace.
“She can’t see.”
“But she’s looking at us. Are you sure?”
The panic quickly subsides when I recognize the soft voices of Forest and Meadow. They’re just curious about the new girl staying in their brother’s room. I sit up on my elbows and force a smile.
“Hey, kiddos. What are you two up to today?”
Their voices are so similar, it’s hard to tell them apart. So when one of them speaks, I have no idea which is which. One day, when they hit puberty, Forest’s voice will likely deepen and make things easier for me.
“Dadda is taking you to the doctor,” one of the twins says. “Maybe they’ll give you a shot to fix your eyes.”
“Can you see me sticking my tongue out?” the other one asks. “How many fingers am I holding up?”
At one time, I’d have at least been able to see blobs or even colors. Lately, it’s just dark and shadowed. It’s gutting to know I’ll likely never recover my vision. My dreams are the only place I’ll be able to truly see.
“Go eat your oatmeal,” Aunt Eve says to them. “Stop bothering Dezzy.”
The twins shuffle off. I turn my head slightly, listening to see if their mother went with them. When the end of the bed depresses as someone sits, I squeak out in surprise. Aunt Eve can be stealthy like her kids. I’ll need to remember this while staying here.
“I’m going to look at your wound.”
I sit up and offer her my bandaged arm. She swiftly removes the bandages, exposing the burning flesh to the cool air. While she inspects it, I chew on my bottom lip.
“It needs to air out,” she finally says. “Leave it off today. Atticus is taking you to see one of his mom’s friends. Get showered and dressed.”
At least with the bandages, I could hide what I did. Letting everyone see the stitches is admitting I let my despair win over.
It didn’t win, though.
You’re still here.
The rest of the morning goes by in a blur. Anticipation and a healthy dose of trepidation have me a bundle of nerves by the time I step outside the cabin for our appointment. It’s snowing again, but I love how it feels on my face. Each flake is delicate but so cold. I inhale the icy air, hoping to invigorate me.
Instead of determination to go to a doctor with Atticus, I suck in the scent of smoke and pine. Familiar. Protective. Home.
“How’s your arm?” Rowdy asks, his massive form blocking the snowflakes from blasting me in the face.
I hold it up and pull down my coat. “Aunt Eve said to let it breathe.”
A calloused fingertip gently dances along the tender flesh near my stitches. “Looks angry.”
“Feels angry.”
He only touches my skin for a few more seconds before stepping away from me. I drop my arm, confused at how my skin tingles. Warmth, starting from the pit of my belly, moves its way up and settles on my neck and cheeks. Rowdy clears his throat and then his guiding hand is at my lower back.
Everyone else in my family likes to manhandle me. If they want to help me, they’ll take my hand or clutch the back of my neck. If it were up to some of my siblings, they would probably love to tie a rope around my waist and drag me along like an unruly pup.
Not Rowdy.
He’s gentle and always gives me an opportunity to make my own way. I like that he treats me like I’m capable rather than a helpless invalid.
The snow isn’t thick where we’re walking. Not like back at home. I’ve heard Wild complaining enough in the past to know Uncle Atticus likes his driveway shoveled for safety reasons. I’m grateful to be able to walk normally without stumbling in snow drifts.
A car door opens and then Rowdy’s hands are at my waist. Even though it startles me each time, I don’t exactly hate it. It’s less like manhandling and more like him erasing any chance for me to stupidly slip or hurt myself in front of everyone. But this time when he tries to buckle me in, I stop him, grabbing his arm.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him firmly. “I’m not a child.”
He grunts as though he may want to argue, but he doesn’t utter another word. The door closes and I’m able to put my seat belt on without assistance.
More people climb in and then we’re on our way. It takes a few seconds to realize the only ones in the vehicle are me, Rowdy, and Uncle Atticus. I’m kind of glad Wild stayed back. He’s cool, but he’s also a lot. At least Uncle Atticus drives in silence rather than assaulting our ears with stupid music.
“So what kind of doctor is this?” Rowdy asks. “An eye doctor?”
“Gwen runs the Blind and Visionally Impaired Youth program in town. She’s a transition specialist for teens and also teaches at the local college.”
A flicker of hope ignites inside me. When they mentioned a doctor, I thought I’d be going about my arm. Or worse, I thought it would be for the reason my arm is injured. Not someone who specializes in vision impairment.
Rowdy, satisfied with that answer, asks about where we’ll eat lunch. This sparks a lively discussion about cheeseburgers, fries, and milkshakes. Admittedly, in this car ride to this Gwen lady, I’ve felt the best in probably two years. Maybe leaving our homestead truly was what I needed.
We drive for about an hour and finally park. Rowdy opens my door for me, hoists me out of the vehicle, and places me on hard, snow-shoveled pavement.
“Are we going to run into any problems?” Rowdy asks, voice low. “With, you know, where we came from?”
“Nah. Mom already told her about how you all live off-grid. Payment will be handled discreetly. It’s going to be fine.”
Rowdy’s palm finds my lower back. “Hope so. If they get weird, we’re out of here.”
I bristle at his words. We’ve barely stepped out of the vehicle and Rowdy’s ready to hightail it out of here. He wants to protect me, and I get it, but I want to give this place a fair chance. This could be good for me.
“Can we not shut it down before we even try?” I mutter in a terse tone. “Please?”
Rowdy’s fingers go from gently guiding to clutching the back of my coat like I might run away from him. It makes my heart rate quicken and the urge to escape nearly overwhelming.
“Watch your step,” he instructs, then tugs me aside.
Oh.
So maybe he’s not trying to keep me from this place.
Embarrassment heats my skin again. Thankfully, Rowdy goes back to his usual guiding. We remain quiet as we enter the building. As soon as the door opens, I’m hit with an apple and cinnamon scent that puts me at ease. Smells are definitely a thing for me. If the smell is wrong, I can’t be around it.
Like Jace?
The sudden thought of his ripe, nauseating breath tickling over my face as he…
“You’re shaking,” Rowdy growls under his breath. “We don’t have to do this. We can leave now.”
I shake my head sharply, frustrated that he’s mistaking my reaction for fear of this place rather than the truth. “I want to be here, Rowdy. Stop hovering.”
It’s mean and I don’t intend to be so harsh, but my emotions are scattered. The last thing I need is for Rowdy to treat me like I’m made of glass.
He doesn’t respond. I’ve hurt his feelings. Wonderful. Ugh.
“Oh, Atticus, how’ve you been, hon?” a woman asks from somewhere close.
They chat in lowered voices and then she tells him she’ll take us to the back. We follow after them and once inside a room and the door closed behind us, Rowdy shows me over to a chair where I can sit.
