The Free

by K. Webster

  She hangs up and swivels around, a polite smile fixed on her pretty face. As soon as she sees me, it falls. “Atticus.”

  “Hey, Cass,” I greet. “Long time, no see.”

  “Been about a year,” she says, her voice tight.

  “How’ve you been? Come out from behind the register and give me a hug.”

  Her lips purse together. “A lot can happen in a year.”

  I’m frowning as she walks around the corner. Her hand rests on her barely protruding stomach, an engagement ring glittering on her finger.

  Oh fuck.

  “You’re pregnant?” I croak, shocked as hell.

  “Frank and I are getting married.”

  Frank? One of our mutual friends? Last I heard, he left for California. Never knew he came back.

  “Frank Jefferson?”

  “Yes,” she says. “He manages the bank now.”

  “Oh.” I sound like a fucking idiot. “I, uh…”

  “You have to find a new fuck buddy,” she says, no warmth in her tone. “He put a ring on this one.”

  I wince at her harsh tone. Jesus. Was I really that much of a dick? I mean…I was coming here to fuck and run. Like always.

  “God, Cass, I’m sorry.”

  “Most people say congratulations.”

  “No,” I rush out. “Congrats on your life. I’m sorry I was such a dick to you. You didn’t deserve that.”

  Her brows crash together. “You couldn’t be tamed. Deep down, I knew that. You’re meant to be out there.” She waves her hand toward the window that overlooks the woods. “Free. Wild. Wherever it is Atticus Knox disappears to for months or even years at a time.”

  “I like to camp,” I say lamely.

  She snorts. “You like to be off the grid. It’s fine. I prefer life in town and my fiancé spends every waking minute with me. Life is good for me.”

  I rub at my neck and sigh. “I’m glad to hear it. I’ll, uh, get out of here then.”

  “Best you do. Frank won’t be happy you came in.”

  “I meant no harm,” I tell her. “Tell him I came in to buy something.”

  “Are you? Buying something?”

  I see a small knife meant for a child. “Yeah. I want that knife right there.”

  “That one’s sixty dollars. If you’re buying one for a kid, there are some over here that are nineteen.”

  Eve, despite her age and her size, is no child. She’s…something else. And a cheap knife won’t do.

  “I’ll take the expensive one.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  I stare up at my parents’ mammoth house nestled in the side of the mountain. Growing up, I loved our house. It was cozy and warm and I lived with two adoring parents. But I always felt freer outside of it. So many times I’d get my ass whipped for staying out past dark, playing in the woods. Dad would have to come find me every time.

  Now, as the snow drifts heavily around me, I consider bypassing the house and walking into the woods. Just walking and walking away from all the shit that’s brewing in my life. Never turn back. The idea is nice, but then it circles back to Eve. She’s waiting for me to return to her. To bring her food and supplies. To take her back home eventually.

  “I’m getting too old to chase you,” Dad calls out from the porch, startling me.

  I shake my head and make my way through the snow to the porch. “Hey, Dad.”

  He stands from his rocking chair and pulls me to him for a bear hug. Dad is the one where the term “bear hug” came from. Tall, broad shoulders, gruff. Dad is bigger than any linebacker I ever encountered in the NFL. Bigger than me and my brothers.

  “Good seeing you, kid,” he says. “Your mother has been sick with worry. You know how she is.”

  I chuckle. I certainly do. Mom is the opposite of Dad. Tiny and energetic and talkative. She buzzes around like a bee on a hot summer day. They’ve always been an unusual match to me, but they’ve been married forever, so they clearly find a way to make it work.

  “How’s everyone been doing?” I ask, leaning against the wood column on the porch. “Judith?”

  Dad’s face darkens. “Judith is Judith.”

  “She here?”

  He looks at his watch. “It’s not noon yet, so she’s probably laid up in bed with a hangover.”

  “I’ll talk to her.”

  He nods. “But talk to your mother first or we’re getting our asses handed to us for lunch rather than the fried chicken she’s planning. Don’t ruin my lunch, boy.”

  “Yeah, yeah,” I grumble before heading inside. I shed my outerwear and lose my boots at the door so as not to track mud on the carpet. The house smells good. Mom’s cooking is one I miss on the daily.

  I find her standing over the sink washing her hands. She’s barely five feet, but her attitude is fucking huge.

  “Ma.”

  She whips around, grinning. “My baby boy!”

  I laugh as she launches herself at me, squeezing the life out of me. She must have learned the whole bear hug thing from Dad. I hug her back and bend to inhale her familiar perfume I’ve always been comforted by.

  This squeezing in my chest is why I’ve felt torn between two worlds.

  My family means everything to me. But nature calls to me. It’s why, even though I enjoyed playing football, I hated living out there. Beyond the safety of our small Alaskan town nestled in the snowy mountains and hidden in the trees. Playing ball for the Broncos was every man’s dream. And for a while, I thought I wanted that dream. I injured my shoulder, though, two years in and the relief of coming back home was overwhelming.

  “Smells good.”

  “Fried chicken. I knew you’d be around and it’s your favorite. How’s your friend? I tried to pry more information from Suma, but you know how that woman is. She just smiles. Doesn’t answer a dang question. It’s rather odd—”

  “Ma. Chill,” I say with a chuckle. “Everything’s fine.”

  “Then you should have brought him by.”

  I groan, knowing I need to let her in on some of the truth. Mostly, because I need female guidance. “Uh, actually, my friend is a woman.” Over exaggeration on the woman part.

  She pulls away, her mouth agape. Her blond, curly hair has been pulled into a bun that resembles mine. Her green eyes glitter with shock. “Woman? You have a female friend?”

  “Oh God,” I grumble. “Don’t start.”

  “Don’t start? I most certainly will. I didn’t start and you let sweet Cass slip away—”

  “Thanks for the warning, by the way.”

  “And all I ever want is for my boy to settle down and have a nice family so he—”

  “I’m gonna go check on Judith,” I bark out and rush from the kitchen despite her chatter following after me.

  I bound up the stairs and head down the hallway until I find Judith’s room. Where Will and Vic moved out when they turned eighteen, Judith has never officially left home. It’s like she never matured enough. Nothing is wrong with her mentally, but something keeps her from leaving the nest. I hate that I’m responsible for the girl she is today.

  “Knock, knock,” I utter, rapping on her door.

  “Go away unless you have coffee.”

  “I’m not Mom or Dad, so that should at least grant me entry.”

  “Atticus!”

  The door gets flung open and my sister flings herself into my arms. She’s tiny like Mom, but has darker hair like Dad. Judith is every bit as small as Eve is.

  “You have to hide me in here,” I whisper conspiratorially. “Ma found out I have a girl who happens to be a friend and she’s probably already started a Pinterest board for our wedding. Help. Please, sis.”

  She giggles and pulls me into her room. We flop onto her bed, both wearing matching smiles. Judith sits up on her side, regarding me with an impish expression.

  “Spill. I may not be Mom, but I still want the juicy gossip.”

  I roll my eyes. “I’ll spill mine if you tell me why y
ou’re being a brat to our parents.”

  “I’m not being a brat. They just think they can control me.”

  We grow quiet. I don’t need to remind her it’s because she still lives under their roof. She knows.

  “They love you,” I say instead.

  “So does Joey.”

  I try to quell the irritation swelling up inside me. The protective big brother feelings will never be squashed no matter how old she gets. My sister may only be ten years my junior, but she’s still just a kid in my mind.

  “Joey sounds like an asshole,” I grumble.

  “He kind of is.” She giggles. “Actually, not kind of. Joey is a total dick.”

  I pick up her wrist and inspect it for the bruises Mom mentioned. Sure enough, there are plenty of them. “A dick who puts his hands on you?”

  “Not like that,” she hisses, snatching her hand back. “It was all sexual shit, if you must know. He’s a dick because once he gets laid, he doesn’t need me anymore. Goes back to his stupid trailer and doesn’t call again until he wants to fuck.”

  I wince at her harsh delivery because it’s not unlike what I did with Cassandra. Men are such fucking assholes.

  “Does Will know what a cunt this guy is?” I ask, feeling the urge to round up Will and Vic to beat some twerp’s ass for hurting our sister. Like old times’ sake.

  “Oh, Will is very familiar with Joey. He’s arrested him before. They don’t like each other.” Her nostrils flare. “But Joey is my decision. Not Will’s.”

  “You deserve someone who will spend time with you, though,” I tell her.

  “Maybe. Now tell me about her,” she says in a terse tone, changing the subject. “Your girlfriend.”

  “She’s not my girlfriend.”

  “Oh, God. Another Cass?”

  “No,” I bite out. “Eve’s…different.”

  She turns her wide eyes on me. “Different how?”

  A fucking teenager for one.

  “She comes from out there.”

  “Ohhhh…”

  In this town, we’re all far too familiar with the people who escape town life to live off the grid. We often run into them when they come to town for supplies or if we happen upon them while hunting or fishing or camping. They’re all so feral.

  “How did you befriend this wild one?”

  “It’s a long story,” I say with a sigh. “I found her through a friend. She was all alone out there. Her family was killed. Recently, she was attacked by a bear. Fucked her up pretty bad. She needed medical attention. Suma came and helped me with her. Now she’s just healing at my place.”

  “Is she hot?” She waggles her eyebrows.

  “You’re annoying.”

  “Am not.”

  “Lies.”

  She snorts. “Are you taking her back when she’s better?”

  “That’s the plan.”

  “But you like her,” she says, her green eyes gleaming with wickedness. “I can tell.”

  I grind my teeth. “Not like that.”

  “Why not? Did she lose all her teeth already? Stinky puss—”

  With a growl, I cover my sister’s mouth with my hand so she doesn’t finish that question. “She’s like fifteen or sixteen. Fuck if I know.”

  Her eyes widen and she stops squirming, so I remove my hand.

  “Holy shit,” she breathes. “My angelic brother has decided to break the law and fuck a teenager. Wait until Will gets a whiff of this.”

  “Stop.” The last thing I need is my brother on my ass about this.

  “I didn’t say you actually did it. Just that you decided it.”

  “I didn’t decide shit.”

  “Which means you’re still thinking about it—”

  “Judith.”

  “Just sayin’, Atticus.”

  “Well, stop. Just let it go.” I sigh heavily. “I need your help. Can we keep this discreet?”

  Planning a secret mission behind our parents’ back is exactly the type of thing Judith lives for.

  “You betcha, bro. What do you need?”

  “Panties. Tampons.”

  “You so nasty.”

  “Judith—”

  “Right. I’m kidding. I’ll get you the goods, but you must promise on Ma’s Bible that you’ll let me know the moment you fuck her.”

  “Jesus,” I groan. “What makes you think that’s going to happen?”

  “Your stupid lovesick puppy eyes. You’re totally gonna fuck her and when you do, I want details.”

  “I’ll write you a letter from prison.”

  “Cool! If you see any hot guys while there—”

  I shut my annoying sister up by tickling her until she cries.

  * * *

  * * *

  I stare at the black thing Atticus used to make the pictures change on his box. The television is what he calls it. I had vague memories of my mother describing such things to me, but until my stay here, I’d never seen them.

  It’s loud.

  Chaotic.

  Unnerving.

  I wish I knew how to turn it off.

  Ignoring the loud talking, I make my way into the kitchen. Atticus didn’t feed me anything but a little bowl of oatmeal before he left and now my stomach is growling. I find a couple cans of peaches, but without my knife, I can’t figure out how to open them. His knives in the drawer all are too dull. In the past, the cans he brought me had a unique piece on top that you could lift and pull, but the ones in his cabinet are flat with no tab. I open the white box he calls “the fridge” and marvel over the chill coming from it. I could have really used one of these things last summer when I killed a deer. All that meat was wasted because I couldn’t eat it fast enough before it spoiled.

  The fridge is filled with little bottles of liquids. One is red, but I can’t make sense of the words. At one time, my mother attempted teaching me to read. I wasn’t interested and she eventually gave up. I wish I’d learned.

  I pull out the bottle and pull off the cap. It smells sweet with a little tang. Opening my mouth, I hold it up and let it ooze onto my tongue.

  Yum.

  I pour until my mouth is filled and then gulp it down. It’s the best thing I’ve ever tasted. I squeeze and squeeze until I’ve emptied the container that didn’t have much in it to begin with. Once it’s gone, I pout, but then abandon that bottle for another one. This one is in a yellow bottle. With a huge squirt, I eagerly taste the yellow sauce.

  Yuck!

  I spit it out and use my shirt to swipe at my tongue. This is vile. I toss it in the bin I’ve seen Atticus use to get rid of the things he doesn’t want anymore. Rooting around in the fridge some more, I locate a jar filled with something green sloshing around in juice. I unscrew the lid and fish one out of the cold water.

  Tangy and bitter.

  But also very yummy.

  I crunch on the little green things until I empty the container. Then, I gulp down the juice. Strange but tasty. The jar seems useful, so I set it on the counter to keep. I’m sure Atticus won’t mind. At the very back of the fridge, I find something in a tiny brown cup. It takes some effort, but I peel off the top to discover something sweet smelling.

  I lick out the jiggly substance and moan in pleasure.

  Now this is the best thing I’ve ever tasted.

  Scooping out the brown stuff with two fingers, I suck down every last drop of it and even lick the cup. I’m still hungry, though. When I menstruate, it’s like I can’t get enough to eat.

  When will he come back?

  Will he come back?

  He promised, but he seemed so eager to get away. Sadness prickles at my eyes, but I ignore it. I’ll hunt some real food. I don’t need him to bring his sharp knife and open my fruit. Fruit is nice, but what I need is rabbit or squirrel or something to not make me feel so dizzy.

  After layering up with clothing that smells like Atticus, I steal some of his boots that are way too big, and then grab one of the useless knives from the kitche
n drawer. Once I open the door, the icy wind hits me, making me want to retreat inside.

  A few days here and I’m already afraid to go into the elements.

  I need to get over that weakness right now.

  Slowly, I walk out into the snowy wind and squint against the harshness of it. Finding game will be tricky, but it’s not the first time I’ve had to hunt during a storm. I creep into the trees, careful not to fall into a deep snow drift. My ears perk, listening for animal sounds.

  Cracking.

  Something’s running.

  I hold my knife and press myself against a tree, keeping my eyes peeled. Snarling. Wolves? My heart rate quickens. Wolves don’t make for tasty meat and I don’t think I’m hungry enough for that. I’d rather eat the yellow sauce out of the bin. Problem with wolves is, they’ll eat you before you eat them. I make myself as small as I can against the tree as I wait it out.

  A light brown rabbit darts through the snow toward me, so focused on outrunning the wolf it doesn’t see me. With my lightning fast reflexes, I swing my knife down, making contact with the back of the rabbit. It lets out a strangled cry as blood bursts from it. I lose my knife in the process, but it rolls to a stop near a tree. Without hesitation, I pounce on it and bring it to my chest, pulling out the knife just as I hear the growl behind me.

  Slowly, I turn to face my attacker.

  A bear?

  No, it’s a dog. From time to time I see dogs in the woods. Once, several years ago, we had a dog, but then it turned out to be Reed and Devon’s dog. This one is about that size but has fluffy, matted dark brown fur.

  And no eyes.

  It has huge, scarred claw marks down its face, no doubt having lost its eyes to a bear attack. My chest tightens and my eyes water.

  “Blind bear,” I murmur. “You hungry?”

  It sniffs the air and whines.

  Not so ferocious after all.

  “Come here,” I say, patting my thigh.

  He gingerly trots through the snow toward me. I hold my hand out so he can sniff it. Once he deems me safe, he licks my palm and wags his tail.

  “Let’s get you some rabbit.”

  Blind Bear—the name I’ve taken to calling him—chews on one of the bones from the rabbit as we sit by the fire I started. It’s cold out here, but sitting on a piece of wood with the heat flickering and chasing away the snowflakes as we eat our rabbit, it’s not so bad. Feels more like home. And while the rabbit fills my belly as it should, I still crave more oatmeal or that brown jiggly sauce that was so good.