by Mary Martel
"Who would've thought you'd have a soft side for the elderly, crazy?" Kemp snorts on his way by, heading down to the lake.
I contemplate stabbing him. Just once. Then I imagine kicking his ass into the lake. Oh, that's so going to happen. A swift kick to that ass that looks so good in those jeans and he'll be swimming with the fishes.
"You know," Sam starts, pulling my attention back to him, "you're kind of scary when you get that look in your eye and smile like that."
"Just be glad it's not directed at you," Noble teases, tossing me a wink. It's a pivotal moment because I can't seem to recall him letting his guard down enough to allow any lightheartedness to shine through that badass exterior.
I roll my eyes at both of them and turn before they can see the smile that pushes its way onto my lips. Limping back into the house, I drop my weapon against the wall and make my way back into the kitchen, starting the oven to get the bread cooking. By the time I've got the bread in pans, the oven is hot enough to throw them in.
I've just shut the door when I feel a presence at my side. As I straighten, arms instantly reach out across my shoulders, tugging me into a warm body. Long dark hair caught between us tickles my face as I shift it to the side, trying to suck in a breath of air.
"Thank you," Joseph whispers against the top of my head.
It's different hugging him than it was Russ or Sam. They've both had time to fill out into their manly muscles, or maybe Joseph will always have this lean athletic build. Either way, hugging him is natural. It makes me feel normal. Like we're not two kids that were forced into adulthood by an outbreak of dead people wanting to eat our faces. Just two normal teenagers hugging behind our parents’ backs and stealing kisses in the hallway at school.
Before I know I've done it, my fists are wrapped up in the back of his shirt, and my face is buried in the front. What started as gratuity, I've now managed to grasp onto like a lifeline. Only for a moment, though.
Taking a baby step backward and trying to put a little distance between us, I glance up to Joseph. His cheeks are flushed, and he’s grinning like a fool. Right before he swoops down to press his lips to the corner of my mouth. Then he's gone. Back out of the house like none of it ever happened to begin with. There's a story there that I feel I'll be getting soon.
You're not getting attached to all of them, I try to tell myself, but, of course, little psycho has to have her say too.
Keep trying to tell yourself that. You'll see.
A couple hours later, we're all sitting around the table outside with full bellies and watching the sun set when Russ breaks the silence.
"I may have deviated a little from the plan on our run," he admits.
Sam's glare at him is hard, and Kemp looks at me with an expression that says he knows I'm about to be in trouble. No matter how much they enjoyed the warm bread and fresh greens with dinner, nor how many times they thanked me for it, Noble is going to blow a gasket.
Instead, his deep chuckle makes us all stop and turn to him. "Emerald wouldn't have been able to bake the bread otherwise. I might've been born at night, Russ, but it wasn't last night."
I smile at the saying I've heard my mom use before. It brings back memories that I force back down into the pit of my stomach to be never touched again. Then Russ is setting several glowing bottles on the table.
"What the fuck is that, Russ?" Noble asks, picking one of them up and turning it in his hands.
The dude beams, his face turning more of a red than a pink now. "It wasn't just bread. When I was younger, my sister had this party, and I learned something pretty cool. I haven't thought about it in years, but when I was getting batteries, I saw the glow sticks and figured it would be something Emerald would like."
He doesn't have to say that this is just another way to try and make up for invading my space without permission. I can see it in his smile, and that is terrifying. Since when have I been able to read these guys like they've been part of my family for years?
Breaking me out of my thoughts, Graham picks up another one of the bottles and reads the label as he asks, "Bubbles?"
"Glow in the dark bubbles," Russ corrects. "All you've got to do is crack a glow stick and empty the shit inside in a bottle of bubbles then boom."
"By boom I hope you mean it's not going to go boom," Noble says, eyeing the bottle in his hand suspiciously.
Whatever, he can sit on his broken mirror, under a ladder, with a black cat in his lap for all I care. I'm so about to try these things out. Instead of snatching one up, I reach out a hand to Russ with a smile, which he returns while slipping a glowing pink bottle in my hand.
It's just dark enough that they do in fact glow as the bubble forms and drifts away from the wand between my fingers. I laugh as do a few of the others as it heads in the wild man's direction, and he has to pop it from landing on his face. Even Noble cracks open his green bottle, amusing us all as we watch the big man blow bubbles.
We're out for a little longer than we should be after dark, enjoying the small happiness Russ managed to bring into our lives. Just as it had in the kitchen with Joseph, the moment has me feeling like I'm not just surviving, but actually living. I thank the thoughtful Russ with a hug multiple times. On the last one, when I can tell our happy time is almost up, the wild man pulls me away.
He's pushy as usual, trying to get me to come with him, and by the time we're standing in the dark by the porch, I hiss, "What is it?"
His grin is easy to make out even in the shadows of the porch light as he holds up a shirt and says, "He wasn't the only one who got you something today."
"Satan is my sugar daddy?" I read from it. "Either you think I'm mean enough to have the attention of Satan, or--"
"Or I'm calling myself your sugar daddy. Or both," he teases with a crazy grin and slight narrowing of his eyes.
I swear I can feel my heart trying to pound out of my chest, but before I can comment, he's whipping another shirt from behind his back.
Barking out a laugh, I rub my hand down the front of it. "Now this is your shirt because you definitely inspire my inner serial killer."
Something I hadn't thought about was that the material is plastered against his chest, so my hand is also tracing down the front of his body. A fact that makes itself known as my fingertips brush against bare skin above his jeans. He sucks in a hiss of breath, and I jerk my hand away.
Trying to play it off, I ask, "Where did you even find those?"
"In the teenage angst section of that department store," he replies easily.
I'm so caught up laughing at his smartass retort that I don't see him move until his face is in mine. Then our lips are against each other. With an arm around my lower back, he tucks me close to the hard muscles of his body. When his tongue touches my bottom lip, I part them, letting him in. An excited sigh slips out of me and has him pulling away.
With one last kiss to my lips, he tosses the shirts over my shoulder and starts to walk away, but not without a swat against my ass. "No need to say the words, crazy. That was thanks enough."
My mouth flops open as he leaves me standing hot and bothered in the shadows. Oh, that man is so going for a swim. I hobble toward the steps already planning his doom.
Emerald
Staying off my ankle was easier said than done, and it was really starting to get on my nerves. It was also turning me into an incredibly bitchy human being.
I didn't know what girl wouldn't be a grouch when every time she got up to hobble to the bathroom, a beefcake showed up as if they'd been watching for her the whole time and just waiting so they could carry her around. They always waited outside the door to carry me back to bed as if I were some type of invalid, and I was more than fed up with the whole damn thing.
I hadn't taken a shit in days, and I was starting to feel smothered. Since I was working on being less of an asshole toward them, and I really did need my ankle to heal, and fast, I hadn't argued or even made a peep in protest. Oh no, not me. I'd grown sullen,
shut down almost completely, and receded into my own messed up head.
There was a war going on inside of me.
To stay or not to stay.
To trust them or to only trust in myself.
I hadn't wanted anything for myself outside of simply surviving in a very long time. Now it wasn't so much about wanting to stay here, per say, but wanting to stay with them. Each and every single one of them.
I thought about how my selfishness had potentially put them in harm's way when they'd gone out on their last run. I had been alone for so long I wasn't sure if I even knew how to not be a selfish person.
Putting myself first had always kept me alive. Now I was no longer alone, and I was kissing people, hugging up on other people, and having dirty, dirty thoughts about the whole damn lot of them. Even Farmer Ted's not so bumpkin ass wasn't safe from my erotic thoughts.
Needless to say, I moved my shit out of Dex's room, and because there had been no other rooms to spare, I had moved into the family living room and started to sleep on the couch. It seemed like the only fair thing to do. Sleeping next to Dex every night had been heavenly and the safest I had felt in a very long time. Falling asleep beside him while my lips still tingled from the feel of Kemp's lips on my own made me feel a level of guilt I had never known.
That's not even mentioning my lusty thoughts when it came to the rest of them. Guilt, thy name was now Emerald. The shit consumed me.
I couldn't deal, so I made up the excuse of wanting to be on the main level of the house so I wouldn't be forced to scoot on my ass up and down the stairs constantly because it was embarrassing. There had been looks of concern thrown all around between them at hearing me openly admit to my ankle being too weak for me to go up and down the stairs.
Those covert looks had scared the ever loving piss right out of me because it meant they already knew me on a level not even Del had. And that shit was terrifying. So, I retreated into my head and went quiet.
Their worry grew even worse at this turn of events. Even my wild man stopped calling me crazy and handled me with care when it was his turn to cart me off to the bathroom and to dinner. I think he'd truly thought I'd lost my shit, and I couldn’t tell if he was distressed about this or if he found it oddly intriguing. I would have made fun of him for it if I hadn't thought his concern sweet. And, fuck me, that had me retreating even further away.
I needed distance before putting actual distance between us.
It had been ten long, miserable days since I'd blown pretty pink bubbles out in the yard, and do you want to know what I'd done since then?
I'd sat on my ass with my foot propped up on a fluffy pillow atop an ottoman, and I'd watched movies on a boxy, old television. That's right, you heard me, I watched freaking movies on a motherfucking television.
Six months ago, I would have wept tears of pure joy. After Del died, I would have watched the shit with the sound on mute, too scared of what the sound might attract and far too worried I'd get distracted by what I watched and miss something life or death going on around me.
Now? Well, now I just really didn't give a shit. Things that I once would have found entertaining or done out of sheer boredom no longer mattered to me in the slightest. Unless I could learn something from it, or it brought me some form of happiness in this hell that had become life, then it seemed like a waste of time to pursue it.
Not even gun slinging cowboys wearing fabulous hats, kickass boots, and belts could bring me an ounce of joy. Nor could their tight pants that made their asses look so delicious rouse me out of my funk.
It was a goddamn shame, I'm telling you.
On the fifth day when I wake up before the sun has a chance to rise, I finally test my ankle out and stand up all on my very own like a big girl. Very carefully, I allow my weight to shift and hesitantly distribute it evenly between both feet. Not even a twinge of pain, but I know one wrong step will put me back on my ass or hobbling around again. I'll have to be extra careful for at least a few more days, but I can wear my boots now, and - I strut around in a silent circle - I can walk around with no pain. It still doesn’t feel a hundred percent, which is why I know I have to baby it for a few more days.
I want to throw my arms up into the air and screech in victory but don’t because I don’t want to wake up my current roommate.
I look down at the man sleeping on the bedroll all snuggled up in a sleeping bag on the floor between the couch and the television stand. Something inside my chest tightens at the sight of him.
Sam was turning out to be quite the guard dog when it came to me. He always crept in after he thought I'd fallen asleep, and he was always gone before I woke up in the morning. I wanted to punch him for the audacity, but I'd slept as good as I had when I'd shared a room with Dex, and it stupidly occurred to me that if I did not have my own room no way in hell did they give Sam one all to himself.
I left him alone after those revelations. We were two people just trying to survive as best as we could, and Sam was just trying to look out for me. I worried about him. He was obviously latching onto me and had been since his days as my stalker. I had to wonder if he was doing it because I was the only female he'd happened upon in a while or if he saw me as some tie to the past when everything had been right and good in his world. Was he trying to hold onto me as a reminder of that?
"Emerald," Sam says groggily. His head pops up out of the sleeping bag, and he yawns so wide his jaw cracks. "What are you doing awake so early? Is something wrong?"
Now that was a loaded question if I ever heard one.
"Same shit just a different day, Sammy boy. Go back to sleep."
He yawns one more time before snuggling back into the sleeping bag. The bottom half of his face is hidden by the blanket, and he looks cozy. I want to crawl in there with him and share body heat while he wraps his strong arms around me. Preferably with neither one of us wearing a single stitch of clothing.
Jesus. I shake my head. I needed to get both my hormones and my vagina under control before I end up doing something really freaking embarrassing that I'll never, ever be able to take back.
"You knew I was here the whole time," he accuses. "Didn't you?"
Fuck his accusations this early in the morning. "Go back to sleep. There's no need for the both of us to be up at this hour."
He says no more.
Hopefully that means he follows instructions like a good boy. I don’t need any more bullshit from him today. Or really any day, for that matter. If I’m going to surround myself with men or people, they need to be ones who will listen to what the fuck I say and follow my instructions to a T. These guys have listened to me on several occasions, but I feel like if it comes down to a serious situation, my opinion won't even be considered.
Obviously, there aren’t many women left in these parts, if any at all. Perhaps the guys would be a bit better off if they took the ones who'd managed to survive both the zombies and the other humans more seriously. We aren't surviving on just air and shit alone, for fuck's sake.
I leave the living room and Sam behind as I walk on silent feet toward the bathroom, so I can shower and start my day. My limp’s a thing of the past. Nor do my feet make a sound. I’ve had time to learn all about this house. It’s not hard when you’re being carried like an infant and must focus on something other than the man’s arms you’re in. Part of those lessons consisted of finding out every single floorboard or door hinge that creaks when touched and how to silence it. I’m now convinced the only floors that creak are in the hallway upstairs, the old granny's bedroom, and the porch. It’s strange to think that might have been done on purpose.
A large shape moves away from the wall beside the bathroom door on the main floor. Stupidly, I'd left my swords and all of my other weapons beside the couch.
Still, I’m not afraid. The guys take shifts outside. I trust them with that even if I don’t trust them with my heart or anything else. No one and no thing got past them that they didn't want in. Thankfully, Joseph a
nd the Doc are never on rotation because they couldn't stop a damn kitten if they tried.
My wild man bursts forth from the shadows, his auburn hair in complete disarray, his eyes wide and angry, making me wonder if the man has slept at all.
"I don't like him," Kemp grounds out quietly between clenched teeth.
I know exactly who he’s talking about.
Sam.
Without bothering to respond, mostly because I don’t have an appropriate one to give him, I brush past him and push open the door to the bathroom. He doesn’t have to like Sam, but that’s not my prerogative. Once this biker gang shit is taken care of, I’m going to deuce the fuck out of here so fast it’s going to make their heads spin.
I leave the door cracked because I have a feeling he’s not through with this conversation. The wild man can easily break it down if he wants, and we don’t need to add broken doors to our troubles. Besides, that would wake the rest of the house.
I strip off the oversized t-shirt that belongs to one of the guys and drop it to the tiles. Kemp’s probably had his briefs in a twist because I haven’t worn those shirts he got for me. It just doesn’t sit well in my chest to give him false hope that one move would represent when I plan on leaving them. My panties and oversized sweats drop next. They all land in a neat little pile on the floor.
Moving forward, I push the curtain aside and reach for the nozzles. I turn the hot on all the way and the cold on just a smidge. As awesome as hot water feels against my skin, I really don’t want to burn myself alive.
I step under the spray and let the warm water cascade over my entire body from head to toe. It doesn’t relax like I had hoped it would. My skin crawls like it knows a predator is at bay, stalking me and getting ready to attack.
