Rowan let out sniffle. “I can tell.”
Her dad sighed. “If you’re going to act like this, I’m leaving. I have things to do.”
The thud of footsteps followed, but cut short a second later when Rowan called, “Dad!” There was a pause. “I—” Rowan paused again like she wasn’t sure what to say. “I love you. I came here for you. So we could be together.”
“I know,” he said. “I’m trying, Rowan. Everything is so hard now. Everything.”
“You’re sad, I get it. But you have to try harder. You have to.”
He exhaled again. “I’m trying.”
The footsteps resumed, and a second later, Dr. Summers stepped into the hall. He paused but didn’t look back, his gaze focused on the wall in front of him almost like he didn’t know where he was. He looked right, then left, his gaze dropping to where I sat. He started at the sight of me, but the gesture was confined to his body. The surprise didn’t reach his eyes. Then he walked off, not saying anything to me and not looking back toward his daughter.
I dragged myself to my feet and went back into the room. Rowan was on the couch, her knees pulled up to her chest and her arms wrapped around them. Her face was buried in her arms, blocking it from view, but the gentle shake of her shoulders told me she was crying.
I sat down next to her. “Hey. It’s okay.”
“It’s not,” she said, her voice muffled. “He’s so different. Wrong.”
“I know, but he’s just grieving.” I ran my hand over her back in circles the way I’d seen mothers on television with their kids. It didn’t feel natural, but I didn’t stop, knowing Rowan needed it. “Give him time. It’s still early.”
She didn’t say anything, and she didn’t stop crying, so I sat at her side in silence. Rubbing her back. Feeling useless. It was a feeling I didn’t like, but in this case, there was nothing I could do. I couldn’t think our way out of this situation. Unfortunately.
The following day, I woke in my own room—the one next to Rowan’s—and showered just because I could, then headed next door. She was already up, the curtains open to reveal the gloomy day. It had rained on and off all night, and there had even been some thunder. Normally, I would have been pissed to have my sleep disturbed, but the knowledge that the fire wouldn’t be able to survive the storm made it worthwhile. The rain had eased some but was still coming down, and the dark clouds clogging the sky told me more was on the way. I could picture the trashcans at the school, filled to the brim, and almost smiled. The misery on Rowan’s face was the only thing that could have stopped me.
“The fire should be out,” I said when I took a seat next to her.
Her gaze moved to the window. “Yeah.”
“Did you sleep at all?”
She didn’t look like it, not with the dark rings under her eyes.
“A little.” Her shoulders rose and fell. “It wasn’t easy.”
“The storm was loud,” I said, choosing to pretend it was the noise that had kept her up.
We lapsed into silence, her because she was too miserable to talk, and me because I had no idea what to say. After a few seconds, I slumped back, my gaze focused on the window, staring out at the gloomy sky and enjoying the quiet despite my friend’s misery.
The silence was broken only a short time later by the thud of footsteps headed our way, but Rowan didn’t even react to the sound, almost like she’d already given up on her dad.
A guy I didn’t recognize appeared at the door a few minutes later, carrying two trays.
“Morning.” His tone was gruff, his expression cold as he looked us over, telling me he wasn’t thrilled at having us here.
He set the trays down a little too hard, and I jerked at the ensuing thud. Rowan didn’t react.
“Someone will be back at lunchtime.”
He started to walk away but stopped when I said, “Do you have any news about Lane?”
“No, and I don’t care.”
The man left without ever looking back.
“Nice guy,” I muttered as I grabbed the trays, holding one out to Rowan.
She took it obediently, her movements almost as robotic as her dad’s tone had been the night before.
We ate in silence, each of us cleaning our plates. The eggs, I could tell, were real, which was a treat. There was some applesauce, too, and half a slice of toast with butter spread on it. It wasn’t a lot, but it was filling.
After that, the day stretched on. We chatted. I repeated my conversations about Hank and told her how he’d walked in on me when I was changing, and she told me everything she’d observed since arriving at the hospital. She took a shower. I dozed. We talked some more. She slept. I read a book.
Lunch came later than it should have—delivered by the same man—and was cold. I didn’t bother asking him about Lane this time. The hours stretched on.
I kept hoping Heath would show up, but deep down, I knew he wouldn’t radio Devon this early. He was playing a game. An irritating one, but a game, nonetheless.
Sometime before dinner, I finished my book, and Rowan took it even though she said she wasn’t much of a reader. If someone more friendly showed up for dinner, I’d ask for something else to read. Who knew how many more days Heath would make us sweat it out?
Dinner was delivered by the same surly man. Also, late. Also, cold. I was starting to think this man was a piece in Heath’s game.
I turned in early, both because I was bored and because I was just ready for this day of nothingness to be over. Hopefully, tomorrow would bring something else, because I was starting to get seriously pissed off at Heath.
12
Rowan
I startled awake at the sound of someone whispering my name, bolting upright with my heart pounding harder than a drum, and blinked at the sight of the person standing over me. Confused. Positive I was dreaming at first.
It was Miller.
Where the hell had he come from?
I almost pinched myself, but I knew I wasn’t asleep. The pain in the ass corporal was, in fact, really standing in front of me. My brain was groggy from sleep, though, and I couldn’t make sense of it. Even worse, the fact that it was Miller and not Heath—or a zombie—standing next to me did nothing to help my heart rate slow.
On instinct, I pulled the sheets up to my chin like I was naked or in some other compromising position even though I was still wearing the scrubs. “What the hell are you doing here, Miller?”
“I came to check on you,” he took a seat on the edge of my bed, “and to deliver a message to Heath.”
I scooted back, wanting to put distance between us, and clung to the sheet tighter. “And you thought scaring the shit out of me would be the best way to make your presence known?”
Miller frowned, but it was different than the normal scowl he wore. More hurt than annoyed. “Sorry. I just wanted to let you know I was here.”
My head bobbed before I’d decided what I was going to say next, but all I could come up with was more questions. “Why are you here?”
“I told you.” His frown grew more exaggerated, finally morphing into the scowl I was used to seeing on his face. It was oddly comforting because at least then I knew what to expect from him. “I’m here to help.”
“I need more than that, Miller. I mean, you haven’t exactly been a team player.”
“I’ve been nice to you, Rowan.” He let out a sigh that reminded me of an irritated child.
“You’ve also been a little…”
I hesitated, looking past him toward the door, wishing Kiaya had stayed in the room with me and silently praying some miracle would happen and she’d pop up. She didn’t.
When I focused on Miller once again, his frown had grown deeper, but it looked more pained than annoyed. What the hell was going on?
“I’m too exhausted to play guessing games,” I said with a sigh. “Tell me why you’re here.”
“Like I said, I’m here to deliver a message.” He shifted, getting more comfortable
, and I had to resist the urge to scoot farther away. “It’s been a day since Kiaya and Lane left, and we still hadn’t heard anything. Devon was getting worried, so I suggested I come and deliver a message. Try to get the ball rolling. I was the most logical choice.” He rolled his eyes. “Lisa needed to stay because she’s the only person with medical training, and all the other men are…” His scowl returned. “Intimidating.”
“Buck?” I found myself asking.
“The drunk?” Miller scoffed, but genuine pain flashed in his eyes. “You’d rather have him here?”
“I want someone I can trust here,” I shot back.
“Devon sent me,” Miller said, his tone firmer. Final. “I swear.”
It seemed so unlikely that I couldn’t respond. Devon hated Miller, and he definitely didn’t trust him, so what were the odds that he’d sent this guy into the hospital with a message? What other reason could there be for his presence, though?
He could have run off.
Miller had never been happy with us, and his sour moods had increased significantly after meeting Gabe and his group. It made sense, too, that a little weasel like Miller would decide to jump ship and switch sides just to screw everyone else over. Which meant he could have already told Heath where the school was.
“What if I don’t believe you?”
“Why else would I be here?”
“To get back at Devon. To lead Heath and his people to the school so everything gets destroyed.”
Miller blinked, pausing as he looked me over, and once again frowned. Like before, he looked hurt by my accusations. “Is that what you really think of me?”
“Can you blame me?” I said, but I softened my voice.
Why did this whole thing seem genuine? It made no sense.
“No, I guess not.” He sighed but his frown deepened. “All I can do is give you my word.”
Something in his tone gave me pause. “So, do it. Give me your word.”
Miller’s gaze held mine. “I give you my word, Rowan. I came here to help. I wanted to help. Devon sent me here hoping it would give Heath the push he needed.”
I couldn’t explain why, but I actually believed him. “Okay.”
“Okay?” he repeated.
“Yeah,” I said, giving a firm nod. “I believe you.”
Miller exhaled and sat back then looked around the room. “Where’s Kiaya?”
“In the room next door. Only one bed.” I waved to the bed we were both sitting on.
“Oh.” He glanced toward the door. “That makes sense. I saw you first, so I came here. I didn’t want to wait until morning. Thought it would be easier to talk now.”
“That’s true.”
We lapsed into silence, but it was short lived when Miller tugged at his collar and said, “What kind of bullshit is this, by the way?”
“A cheap but effective guard system.”
“How effective can it be?” he asked. “Don’t they use these on dogs?”
“Trust me,” I said, “don’t test it out. It hurts like a bitch.”
Miller dropped his hand to his side. “Okay. No big deal. I’m good staying where I am.”
Again, we lapsed into silence.
Miller didn’t leave, and I didn’t move. I still had the sheet pulled up to my chin, and he was still sitting on the bed at my feet. It was uncomfortable and strange, and a little scary as well. I could remember the couple times in my house when I’d been certain I was being watched, and how I’d bumped into Miller in the hall. I still didn’t know for sure if it had been him or Hank, but the memory was too sharp to allow me to get comfortable.
Miller was staring at the floor, but I was watching him, trying to figure him out or decide what to say. As if sensing my attention, he lifted his head and turned his focus on me, at the same time reaching up to finger the dog tag hanging around his neck.
“Did you find a new chain?” I asked, nodding to the little piece of silver between his fingers.
I’d found the dog tag on the floor at Meijer after our altercation with a few zombies and returned it to him later that day, but there’d been no chain as far as I knew. I assumed it had gotten lost in the store.
“No. It was actually in my shirt when I changed that night.”
“That’s lucky.”
“Yeah.” He pressed his lips together in thought, his fingers still moving over the words etched into the little piece of metal.
“I’m glad I found it for you,” I said, not sure what else to talk about and not wanting the silence to fall over us again.
“Me too,” he replied. “It means a lot.”
Something about his expression had changed, softening until he almost seemed like a different person, and even though he was still looking at me, I had a feeling his thoughts were somewhere else. It was a nice change, because there had been few moments with Miller when he hadn’t pissed me off or made me feel insanely uncomfortable. Now, though, he just had me feeling curious.
“How long were you in the Army, Marc?” I asked, using his name voluntarily for the first time even though it was stiff and awkward on my lips.
He jerked, startled, and shifted his focus to me. Still, nothing in his expression made me uneasy.
After a few seconds, he said, “I’m a liar.”
My eyebrows lifted in genuine surprise. Not because he was confessing to having lied about who he was—we’d suspected all along that he wasn’t being totally honest—but because I hadn’t thought he’d ever do it. He wore the Army persona with too much pride.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not Marcus Miller.” He pulled the chain over his neck so he could see look at the dog tag more closely, his expression growing sad as he traced the letters with his fingertip.
There was no surprise in my voice when I asked, “Who are you?”
“Marcus Miller was my brother,” he said instead of answering the question. “My older brother.” He lifted his gaze from the dog tag, focusing on me. “He was the one in the Army. He was the hero, not me. Compared to him, I’m nothing. Literally. He was better than me in every way. Smarter, nicer, and better looking. Everyone liked him, but I’m pretty sure he was the only person in the whole world who gave a shit about me.”
“I’m sure that’s not true,” I said even though I thought there might be some merit to the statement. It would explain why he was so antagonistic.
“Please,” he said, letting out a bitter snort. “You don’t have to patronize me. I know you don’t like me, and everyone else back at the school pretty much thinks I’m a worthless piece of shit. Not that I can blame them, because it’s true. I’ve known it my whole life. Heard it every day from my drunk of a mom.”
Without wanting it to, my heart went out to the guy sitting in front of me, and I couldn’t help thinking about Kiaya. She’d come from a similar situation, although I wasn’t sure if her mom had ever been abusive—either verbally or physically.
“You’re not worthless, Miller.”
“Matt,” he said. “My name is Matt.”
“Matt,” I corrected myself, “you aren’t worthless. Your mom said those things to you because she didn’t like herself. Don’t let them drag you down.”
“It’s too late.” He dropped the dog tag on the bed between us. “I was visiting Marc in Texas when the virus started spreading, and I got stuck there. Not that I cared. I didn’t have anywhere else to go, and my brother was the only person in the world who was excited to have me around. He was less than two years older than me, and he’d stuck around until I graduated, made sure I had someone to look out for me, but as soon as I did, he joined the Army and left.”
“You could have joined, too,” I said. “Gone with him.”
“Couldn’t. I’m dyslexic. Could barely read until I was twelve, and even then, it took all of Marc’s free time to get me there.”
“I’m—” I sighed. “I’m sorry, Matt. I don’t know what to say.”
He smiled, but for the firs
t time, it wasn’t flirty. “It’s nice to have someone know my real name. I thought pretending to be Marc would make me feel better. Make me braver, even. It didn’t. It just made me sad and bitter and angry.” He laughed, but there was no joy in the sound. “Which made everyone hate me more than ever. God, I’m a moron.”
“Hey,” I said, reaching out to put my hand on his arm. “You’re not a moron. You were grieving. Did you handle it well? No. But you’re not the only one. We all deal with loss in our own way.”
Matt gave me a genuine smile. “You think there’s a way I can start over?”
“You already have,” I assured him. “I’m calling you Matt, aren’t I?”
“You’re not the only person I have to fix things with. I mean, I’m pretty sure there’s nothing I can do to convince Devon I’m trying, but maybe the others will listen.”
“Prove it to Devon,” I said. “Show him you’re going to be a team player by pitching in.”
“Yeah,” he said, looking down to where my hand was still on his arm.
I stiffened, suddenly unsure. Was he playing me? Trying to take advantage of the situation?
He looked up, and seeing the expression on my face, slid his arm out from under my hand. “Don’t worry, I’m not going to hit on you again. I’ve made a fool of myself enough.”
I said nothing, not sure if acknowledging that he had, in fact, made a fool of himself would embarrass him and not wanting to make things awkward again.
“You’re pretty, Rowan.” He gave me a sheepish look. “You can’t blame a guy for trying once. But you made it clear you weren’t interested, and I pushed it too far. I’m sorry.”
My body relaxed a little. “Thanks for saying that.”
“I don’t want to be an asshole anymore.”
He sighed and flopped down, so he was lying on his back staring up at the ceiling. I hadn’t invited him to stay, but I didn’t feel put out by his presence either. It was like I was seeing the real Miller for the first time, and it was almost sad. He was in his twenties, older than me, but at the moment he seemed more like a scared, lost child than a grown man. That was a feeling I could understand.
Far Series | Book 3 | Far From Lost Page 22
