The Wanted (The Woodlands Series Book 4)

by Lauren Nicolle Taylor

  My ribs clamored and braced my heart, tightening a protective cage around me. He went to put his hands on my waist but stopped himself, his hands hovering there, hopelessly.

  I don’t want to ask. I have to ask.

  “What are you talking about? If it’s about what you did after… after I died, I know it’s hard, especially for someone like you, but it wasn’t your fault. You would have died if you hadn’t defended yourself.” I hated the sound of my voice because it was pitched with fear, uncertainty, and panic.

  He glanced up from the ground, the cool dawn of realization rising on his face. Words had slipped out. It was too late to collect them. “Wait, how do you know what I did after? How could you? You were, were…” He stumbled over his words like boulders in the road.

  I placed a hand on his chest and felt his heart galloping. “I was dead.”

  He shook once, all over, like the memory still shocked him. “So how?”

  I swallowed, carefully picking out what I would tell him and what I would save for that nonexistent time—later.

  “They made me watch the surveillance video.” Over and over, until it was scratched into my brain with their perfect, clean fingernails. “I saw it all happen. They attacked you, and you fought back. You need to know, I don’t blame you. I don’t think anyone could blame you for what happened. It hasn’t changed the way I feel about you.”

  My heartbeat stalled in my chest as those pictures flipped through the backs of my eyes. But as violent as they were, I knew he hadn’t had a choice. Hesitantly, he placed his hand over mine. A gold flash slapped me across the face and he withdrew, stepping back and throwing his hands in the air. Whatever he’d been holding back was rumbling and growing now.

  “Jesus, Rosa!” His voice angled towards the sky, and he clasped his hands behind his head. “I don’t understand how you’re okay.”

  I’m not… and you know I’m not.

  He turned away from me, stop turning away from me, and I could see his ribs expanding, his back muscles tensed like they could barely hold him in any longer.

  “Joseph, what’s wrong? You can tell me,” I pleaded, my hands limp at my sides, my body not daring to come closer. Electrified words piled up between us, jutting out of the mud like thrown-down axes.

  He just shook his head over and over like the sad elephant at the zoo.

  What did you do?

  He faced me, his eyes throwing warnings, and I felt the need to cover my ears, to run before his words caught me. “I wish it were just about that night. God, Rosa, if only it was just that. If only I had known before, maybe I wouldn’t have... wouldn’t have…”

  The ground softened under my feet, turning to quicksand that tried to swallow me. Don’t ask him. I picked my way over the obstacles between us. He stood like a statue, a Joseph statue carved from bleeding rock. I put my hand to his jaw, forcing him to look at me. “Wouldn’t have what?”

  His head fell. He didn’t want me to ask either.

  There were tears in his eyes, running hard like bullets, one, two, three down his cheeks. “Rosa, I was almost unfaithful to you,” he whispered.

  I laughed awkwardly, my lips curling and catching on my teeth. This was a joke, right? I swept my eyes around the forest like I was checking to see if anyone was listening. The trees seemed to lurch backwards, splaying like I was a bomb that had already gone off. But I didn’t really understand him.

  I attempted to calm myself, planting my feet firmly, and the ground steadied for a small second as I replayed the word almost, almost, almost. But it was such a brief reprieve. That second word swung around on chains strung from the clouds and blared in front of my eyes, bigger than the sky. I wished I could un-hear it, shove a cloth down its throat and throw it away, but it was too late. The bottom of the world slid away like a pullout tray, leaving me suspended in the air, my feet hanging limp below. My scrabbling fingers dug deep into the word unfaithful.

  My hand dropped from his face. He was stone, the color and the feel. I shook my head from side to side, as if I could dislodge this thing rattling around in my head. It had sharp angles, and it was wedged into the soft corners that were once his. Now, they bled raw. Almost unfaithful. I didn’t know what that meant. The sharp thing bashed at my thoughts. It was a box I didn’t want to open, even as I pried at it with desperate, chipped fingers, because I didn’t want to know what those words meant.

  I stepped back and hit a tree with a thud. Little pieces of bark rained down my back and fell into my too-big shoes. My chest felt hollow; my heart and lungs had dissolved. I opened and shut my mouth, mechanically doing the things to keep me alive. Breathe in, breathe out. I didn’t know how to react because I never expected him to say that. I cycled through every emotion and came back to nothing. I felt nothing. Bloodless, aimless.

  He stood in front of me, bewildered and waiting. The words pinned to his shirt like a note for the teacher.

  I thought nothing would come out of my mouth until everything poured from my lips like an avalanche. Suddenly, the questions were in my hands and I hurled them at him: When? Why? Who? With who?

  He took each word like a spear to the chest, stumbling backwards until he was on the ground and I was standing over him, breathing hard. My legs trembled, and I swayed. I was going to be sick. Covering my stomach with my hand, I felt my insides twist like snake.

  He knelt over, his hands pressed into the dirt, looking like he was going to be sick too.

  He whispered her name into the tiny palm fronds that jabbed out of the mud, and when the name floated up to my ears, I couldn’t stand it.

  When he told me he kissed her, that he almost… I actually screamed. The details were a knife that kept on stabbing, through, through, through to the other side of me.

  “Stop,” I gasped, the bile burning a path up my throat. “Please. I can’t hear anymore.” His mouth clapped shut. His face was a broken bruise I shouldn’t have to heal.

  The smell of lemons, detergent, and chemicals brought me back. I was wearing her clothes. I shrugged off my own jacket, and my furious hands started unbuttoning her shirt because her clothes were burning my skin. It was a stupid thing to do. It was freezing and only getting colder, but I felt stupid wearing her too-long pants and her shirt that left so much air between where my chest ended and what it allowed for. I bit my lip and stared at the darkening sky. There should have been black, angry clouds pulsing with lightning, but it was clear. Empty.

  My eyes snapped to Joseph as he rushed towards me.

  “I’m so sorry, Rosa,” he said, his beautiful, lying eyes tortured. He took both sides of her shirt and held them together, over my chest, in his fist. I tried to struggle out, but his grip was too strong. “You can’t. You’ll freeze to death,” he whispered sadly.

  I shoved him, screaming, “I can’t wear her fucking clothes!” He staggered back in surprise. I’d never spoken to him, or to anyone, like that. I stood there, feral and angry, my shirt open, revealing my scars and frozen skin.

  I started unbuckling my pants, but stopped. I didn’t know what I was doing anymore.

  He removed his jacket and started unbuttoning his shirt, calmer than he had a right to be. “Take mine,” he offered.

  Scowling, I snapped, “Then you’ll freeze to death.” My teeth were already chattering.

  He smiled sadly at my obstinacy. I couldn’t look at his mouth so I turned my eyes to his chest and the deep scars running down his skin.

  “I guess we’re at an impasse then,” he said.

  “What are those?” I asked, pointing at his scars. I needed to break the conversation in half, just for a moment.

  “Polar bear attack,” he said, gazing down at the dark purple parts of his skin. He carefully removed his shirt and handed it to me. Snatching it, I ripped her shirt from my body, the sleeve snagging at my wrist. I tugged at it until the cuff tore and released me, letting it fall to the dirt. Stepping on it, I screwed my foot into the ground, just to make sure it soaked up plenty
of mud. I put his shirt on quickly, my movements jerky from the cold, and then put my own jacket over the top. His clothes enveloped me in the warmth and smells I’d craved and wanted. It reminded me that I loved him. I love him.

  He pulled his jacket over his bare skin, his scars, and zipped it up. “What do we do now?” he said in a croak of sadness, reaching for my hand.

  I withdrew. I was angry. Torture. That was all I could see in his eyes, across his mouth, in his tense jaw. He was torturing himself.

  Good.

  He walked away from me, pulling his hands through his hair. Sadness punctuated every movement. After everything we’d been through…

  No. Not good.

  I did the same as him, pulling my hands through my messy hair, trying to tease out my anger. Soon, night would pull down like a blind. The grey shadows were fast turning black.

  “Please just give me a second. I don’t know what to do.” I put my finger up in the air. Exasperation tinged my voice because it seemed unfair that I should be the one to decide what we did next.

  I stepped further away and watched him pace like a man possessed, in front of a backdrop of red-brown bark slathered with woolly, green moss. He became smaller and smaller in my vision as I disconnected. I walked backwards until my ankles hit a log, and I was forced to sit down. I was blank, my thoughts like startled birds, cruelly anchored to the ground, jerking up and scratching against each other. Feathers flying. Nowhere to go.

  I stared at him for an hour or so, my eyes tired, round discs that begged for tears that wouldn’t come. I stared at him until the sun disappeared and the coolness of the earth rose around us in sheets. Until one thought snapped its strings and whirled into the sky in broken-winged arcs—you love him.

  He stopped pacing and sat opposite me. Only five meters away, but the distance between us seemed so far, perilous, flawed, and spiked.

  I stood and his eyes followed me, the hope in them wounding me. “I’m going to light a fire,” I announced, approaching the broken ground between us for the pack.

  His eyes fell to his hands and I wondered—did he see blood on them like I did on mine?

  I hurt for him, I hated him, and I loved him. I wanted him. Always.

  Sighing, I began building the fire.

  “Can I help?” His voice was meek, and I loathed the sound of it.

  “Get some of the bigger wood, over there.” I pointed to a fallen log. It was damp but hopefully, it would burn.

  He stumbled off, always breaking branches and crushing plants in his wake.

  I coaxed the flames; the wet, smoky smell filled my head with other nights, nights before he ruined things. My eyes watered as the breeze blew smoke in my face. I rubbed them with the back of my hand.

  Returning, he placed the wood by my side. He sat closer, edging towards me like I might bite him. I did feel rabid. Angry and confused. I wanted to hate him, but I couldn’t. I wanted to forgive him, but I couldn’t.

  “Rosa, say something,” he begged.

  “Like what?” I snarled into the fire that was more smoke than flames. Leaning down, I held my hair in one hand while I blew on it.

  He didn’t know what to do with his hands—in his lap, behind his back, in his hair. Every now and then, they reached for me, and I inched away.

  “Do you hate me?” he asked

  “No…”

  “Do you still love me?” He was an idiot. The doubt in his voice almost broke my heart.

  “Don’t ask stupid questions,” I snapped.

  “Right, sorry.”

  I picked up a small branch. It crumbled in my hands, so I sprinkled it on the fire. Slowly, the flames were building. It was simple in there. I could have wished for my life to be simple, but it was like asking a meal to drop from the sky. It wasn’t going to happen.

  Joseph dragged the pack towards him, bumping it over my feet, and retrieved some food. “Are you hungry?”

  “No.”

  “You can’t even look at me, can you?” His voice was sliced-up pieces of what it used to be.

  If I looked at him, my anger would melt away.

  My eyes snatched a glimpse, a profile of his tormented face, and I was reminded just how much we’d both suffered, the things we’d had to do.

  When I was in Grant’s home, my only thoughts were getting back to him and to Orry. I just couldn’t understand how he could do it. How, after only a month apart, could he have put his lips on some stranger’s? But then I thought about how lost and alone I was and I wondered… If someone had offered me comfort in my weakest moment, would I have taken it? It had been so hard to hold out hope that I would see him again, when it seemed impossible. I tried to squeeze my feet into Joseph’s worn-out shoes. I tried to understand why. I didn’t want to understand, but I needed to.

  “If I look at you, I’ll forgive you. I don’t want to do that yet,” I said through a grimace.

  “Oh, okay. What can I do?” His voice was a peak of emotions, each one tumbling down a cliff and landing in my lap to sort through.

  I shrugged hard, my whole body feeling exhausted by all the words, all the apologies, and all the promises broken.

  “Explain it to me.”

  The world slowed. The arms of the clock rewound as Joseph took me back to that first night when he’d left me because he had to. I listened to his anguish and I started to understand the pain, the hopelessness, he had felt. The burden of believing everything was his fault alone.

  The shadows of the trees curled around us, protecting us, and gave us this time to absorb each other’s lost days. It was so much more than I’d realized.

  His face got sadder and longer with every day he went through.

  After hours of listening, questioning, he reached the part of the story I had been dreading.

  “She offered me a way to forget, and I took it. I was selfish, stupid, drunk. None of that is a good enough excuse, but that’s the truth.”

  “And it was just a kiss?” I winced, anticipating the answer to a question I shouldn’t have asked.

  “Rosa, I’m so sorry. It was a kiss that would have led to more if Rash hadn’t stopped us.” He wrung his hands out, squeezing the last bit of blood and tears onto the soaked ground. “I’d like to think I would have stopped, it all felt so wrong, but if I’m honest, I just don’t know.”

  I knew. “You would have stopped.”

  His laugh sounded like a sorrowful hiccup. “I can’t believe you have faith in me after everything I’ve put you through.” His lips were set hard with harsh memories of the past. “I killed people, men with families like me. And whether or not it was in self-defense, I’m not sure it matters. Every time I closed my eyes, I saw you dead in front of me, then I’d blink and they joined you, this pile of people I’d hurt, killed, left behind. When I did what I did, it was because I couldn’t stand myself. I didn’t want to see your face and their faces anymore. It was killing me. I needed you and you weren’t there and it was my fault.”

  He poured his bad dreams out. They landed in the mud for me to inspect and maybe to bury. And because I still loved him, I felt awful that I hadn’t been there to help him through it.

  My head collapsed in my hands, and I stared into the fire. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m really angry about what you did, but you’re not a bad man, Joseph. You’re messed up, not bad. You need to understand that not everything is your fault. Some things just happen.”

  I wished I had a higher horse to stand on, a step, anything. But after all the mistakes I’d made, the promise I’d broken, all I could do was look him in the eye and try to understand.

  He put his hand over mine and although my instant reaction was to snatch it away, I let it stay. I let his warmth soak into me. It lifted me even as I fought against it.

  I floated outside of my body, my mind begging for perspective because it seemed unreal. My Joseph couldn’t have done this. But with every passing second, I understood, as I watched his grief-stricken body heave in breaths he didn’
t think he deserved, that my Joseph was broken and I couldn’t walk away from him.

  JOSEPH

  I’m trying to convince myself it’s a dream. A fast, hollow dream. Because I hurt her. I hurt us. And I should have been better than this.

  She didn’t cry much. She was holding herself together, holding herself away from me as if I were a fire and she needed to lean away from the heat.

  She listened, nodded, and shifted.

  My words felt like knives, cutting me first and then her.

  The world slept and soon, we caught up with it. Slowly, she unraveled. Her body loosened from exhaustion, from everything I’d just put her through. She turned towards me, her face flushed from the fire, and put her hand on my leg. I stalled, scared I’d frighten her, when all I wanted was to press her to me and never, ever let go. Then all her angles and sharpness melted as she crawled into my lap, pulling my arm over her like a blanket and laying her head in arms. I felt her tiny weight, draped across my legs, her hair waving over my arm and tickling my skin, and absorbed every detail I could. She glanced at me briefly, a look of love behind confusion, and closed her eyes.

  I flipped my head to the sky. I wouldn’t sleep tonight. If this was all she was going to give me, I wasn’t going to miss one second.

  I stroked her dyed hair and wondered what they did to her. And stopped. One thing at a time. “You were in the sky. Now you’re in my arms.” I sighed like I might perish. She was in my arms.

  Her lips fell open as she dozed off. My fingers burned to touch them, but I didn’t.

  I fed the fire.

  I wasn’t sure I even blinked for fear she’d disappear.

  Her eyes opened slowly to the dawn. She coughed, and I tightened my grip on her. She moaned, snuggled closer, and my chest started to open. I smiled, my face feeling waxy and dry from the fire. She smiled back quickly, a flash across her face.

  “Morning, sleeping beauty,” I said, in agony from all the words I wanted to say, and all the parts of her I couldn’t reach.