River Wild

by Towle, Samantha

  His eyes, red with emotion, flick to mine, telling me without words that he needs me to believe that. If not anything else, he needs me to believe that.

  “She died in that place, and it was because of me.”

  His head lowers. I scoot closer to him and grab hold of his hand.

  “No. She was your mom, and she was protecting you in the only way she could because she loved you, River. Nothing that happened on that day or in the time leading up to it was your fault.”

  I squeeze his hand, and he lifts his eyes to mine. They’re wet with tears, and my heart squeezes painfully.

  “You were a child, River. A little boy.”

  “I should have said something. Told the truth. But I didn’t. I did as she’d told me, and I stayed quiet. I never told the truth, and she went into that hellhole and never came out.”

  “And what good would have come of it if you had told the truth?”

  “She would be here … and I wouldn’t.”

  “Don’t talk like that,” I say sharply.

  I’m frustrated because he can’t see how amazing he is. I don’t think I fully saw it until now.

  “I’m not good, Carrie.” He stares down at his hands that are stretched out on his thighs. “There’s a darkness inside of me.”

  “No. There’s a survivor inside of you, doing what he needs to. You’re a good person, River. In here, where it counts.” I press my hand to his chest, over his heart. “You can tell me what you want, but I know what I see. And I see a good man.”

  “I enjoy it, Red. Hurting them.” He turns dark eyes up to mine. “You need to know that about me. Know who I really am.”

  I swallow down.

  I move my hand down from his chest to his forearm and give it a squeeze. I don’t want to stop touching him in case he thinks it’s because I believe what he’s saying. That I think he’s bad.

  It’s very important that he realizes that I don’t. And that I’m not afraid of him.

  “And I won’t lie and say that what you do … how you … deal with these sickos doesn’t freak me out a bit because it does. But I didn’t live your life. Who’s to say I wouldn’t feel the same if I were you? Trust me; there were nights when I would lie in bed and dream about killing Neil, my ex,” I explain, realizing that’s the first time I’ve told River his name. “It would help me get through the really bad days.”

  “But that’s the difference between you and me. I would’ve killed him.” He fixes his eyes on mine. “I want to kill him for hurting you. I got satisfaction tonight when I hurt that sick fuck. I like knowing that I’ve meted out some form of punishment to them … let them know just an iota of the pain they brought about to an innocent child. That does not make me a good man.”

  The way he says it, so calm and cold, it’s like he wants me to be afraid of him.

  He wants to push me away. He wants me to tell him to leave.

  Because he can handle that. He can handle the bad.

  It’s the good that he’s terrified of.

  “You’re not going to scare me away, River.”

  I take his face in my hands, lifting his face to mine. His cheeks are damp. I wipe them dry with my thumbs.

  “I know bad. And you are not it. You can be a total douche-canoe at times.” I give him a watery smile. “But you do that to keep people away. I get that. You had your trust and innocence stolen from you at a young age. You had to … fight to survive. You could’ve given up, but you didn’t. And you still haven’t. You’re out there, fighting the good fight, trying to save other children from the suffering you endured. You might not do it in a way that people agree with. Violence is not something I agree with; I hate it. But, if anyone ever hurt Olive …” I close my eyes on a blink, exhaling a breath. “She’s not even here yet, but I know without a doubt that I would kill them with my bare hands without a second thought. Everyone is capable of violence, River. Even me, who endured it. Sometimes, animals—no, not animals because Buddy is an animal, and he’s awesome. No, pure evil, like my ex-husband and your stepfather and those sick mother-fudgers you … deal with … they only understand their own language. And, if you can save just one child, then … I get it. I really do.”

  He’s looking at me with such a rawness; it’s stripping away everything I thought I knew and believed.

  I never would have thought that I could care for someone who lived with violence as part of their daily life.

  But River is showing me that there isn’t just black and white.

  There’s gray in all its varying shades.

  There are people like Neil and River’s stepdad who take their own pleasure in hurting people who don’t deserve it. They’re sadistic, sick C-U-Next-Tuesdays.

  And then there are people like River, who have lived the pain and suffering that those sadistic, sick C-U-Next-Tuesdays doled out … and the law, the justice system, has failed them, so they fight fire with fire.

  The Bible says an eye for eye.

  Maybe God knew that not everyone could be dealt with the same.

  There are those you can punish using the justice system.

  And then there are those who live outside the law. Those who are so purely evil that sitting them in a jail cell is not going to make an iota of difference.

  So, you speak to them in the only way they know.

  I guess that’s why some states still have corporal punishment.

  “You don’t see me … differently now?” he says barely above a whisper. “Knowing everything.”

  “Do you see me differently after what I told you about my ex?”

  “Of course not.” He empathetically shakes his head.

  “Then, you have your answer. The only thing I see is more of you. All of you. And I like every part.”

  He lets out a breath that sounds so relief-filled that it makes my chest ache.

  Turning to me, he cups his hand around the back of my head and leans his forehead against mine. I close my eyes and breathe him in.

  “Thank you,” he whispers.

  “For what?”

  “For being here. For being you.”

  A tear runs from the corner of my eye.

  He tugs me closer to him and lies back against the sofa, bringing me with him. My bump rests against his hard stomach. I lay my head on his chest, just listening to the steady beat of his heart.

  His fingers start to run through my hair. I suddenly feel exhausted.

  “What color is your hair naturally?” he asks.

  I tilt my face up to look at him. “Blonde.”

  He holds some strands of my hair up, rubbing it between his fingers. “I can’t imagine you as a blonde.” He looks into my eyes. “I like the red.”

  “Yeah, I do, too,” I say, lowering my face back down.

  I snuggle in closer. He wraps his arms around my waist and strokes his fingers over my bump.

  “What was your name before you changed it?”

  “Annie.”

  “Carrie suits you better.”

  “I think so.”

  He’s silent a moment. “Carrie … I want you to know that I …”

  He stops, and I hold my breath, waiting for what he’s going to say.

  “You will always be safe with me. You and Olive. I will never let anyone hurt either of you.”

  I place my hand over his heart. “I know. I trust you, River Wild.”

  He exhales softly and presses a gentle kiss to the top of my head.

  “I trust you, too, Red.”

  Carrie

  “Oof, that mother-trucking hurts.” I pause on my way back from the bathroom—because you know, that’s where I spend a good portion of my life nowadays—and grab hold of the sofa, bending forward ever so slightly while I wait for the pain to subside.

  I’ve been feeling off all day. I keep getting these tightening pains in my stomach. They feel like period cramps. They started this morning while I was at work. But they weren’t as strong as they are now.

  I think
it’s Braxton Hicks.

  I read about it on the pregnancy website I follow. It’s really common around this time. The body preparing for labor.

  I’ve got another two weeks before my due date.

  I just hope that I won’t have another two weeks of these cramping pains.

  I can’t believe I’m so close to the end of my pregnancy.

  And River has been here for every part of it.

  After our confessions to one another, we’ve definitely grown closer. Things changed between us that night. An understanding that wasn’t there before.

  But, oddly, things are still the same, too.

  River does what he needs to do. I don’t ask him about it or question him.

  Not because I don’t care. But because I do.

  He’s used to being alone. He needs time to get used to having me to share things with. And he will—when he’s ready.

  And it’s not like I’m his girlfriend.

  I’m not really sure what we are.

  All I know is that we spend all of our free time together.

  He sometimes holds my hand when we sit together, watching TV, and he rubs my feet when they’re swollen and aching from being at the diner. He comforts me when I get emotional at the Adopt a Shelter Pet advertisements. And he brings me whatever food I happen to be craving that day. There’s no consistency in my cravings.

  He cares for me. And I care for him.

  But there’s no … physical intimacy between us.

  Basically, there’s still no kissing between us.

  I think the attraction is still there.

  Well, it definitely is on my part.

  Maybe not his anymore. If it ever was.

  And who would blame him? I’m currently the size of a house, and in this Texas climate, I spend most of my time sweating like a pig while wearing skirts with elastic waists. The new thing is to have milk leaking from my breasts, which was not in the least embarrassing when it happened to me while River and I were at the supermarket last week.

  A glamorous lady these things do not make.

  Not that I’ve ever been glamorous.

  But whatever.

  I hear my front door open. And I’m still standing here, holding on to the sofa, bent over as far as I can actually bend, which isn’t very far, eyes on the floor.

  “Red?”

  “Yep.”

  “You okay there?”

  I lift my head. “Uh-huh, just a stomach cramp.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yeah. It’s just Braxton Hicks.”

  “Oh, the fake labor pains.”

  I’m staring at him, surprised. “How do you know what Braxton Hicks is?”

  The tips of his ears go red. He’s now looking anywhere but at me. “I might have read about it in a pregnancy book.”

  My brows go up. I’m smiling on the inside. “When did you read a pregnancy book?”

  “Recently. Anyway, I brought you something—”

  His words cut off at the sound of a splash of water.

  “Carrie”—his eyes are staring at my feet—“did you just, uh … pee yourself?”

  I follow his eyes down to the puddle of water at my feet.

  “No.” I shake my head.

  “Did your water just break?”

  I lift my eyes to his. “Uh, I think so.” I nod dumbly.

  “So, I guess now is not the time to tell you I brought you some leeks?” He pulls them out of the brown paper bag he was holding behind his back.

  I stare at them. Then, I burst out laughing.

  “It’s leek week! And I just leaked!”

  River is staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.

  “You don’t get it?” I frown. “Olive is a leek this week, and I just … leaked water.” I point down at the amniotic fluid on the floor.

  “Oh, I got it all right. I’m just waiting for you to get it.”

  “Huh?” I tip my head in confusion.

  “That you’re in labor, Red. And, instead of standing here, cracking shit jokes, we should probably be getting you to the hospital.”

  Oh.

  Jesus H. Christ.

  “Hells bells!” I yell. “I’m in labor, River! I’m in labor!” I grab his arms, shaking them, panic filling me. “But it’s too early! I have another two weeks to go!”

  “Not according to that puddle on the floor. Looks like Olive is ready to make an entrance.”

  “Oh crap. I’m having a baby.” The panic starts to slow to actual realization. “I’m having a baby. An actual real-life baby.” I know my eyes are as wide as saucers right now.

  “Really? I had no idea.”

  “Not funny.”

  “Hey, you were the one joking a minute ago.”

  “I’m also the one about to birth a baby.”

  “Well, hopefully not before I get you to the hospital. Where’s your hospital bag?”

  “In the trunk of my car.”

  “Okay. I’ll grab it out of there, and we’ll go.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I’m not driving your shit-mobile to the hospital.”

  “Hey! Just for that, you’re taking me to the hospital in my car.”

  “Fuck’s sake, Red.”

  “Let’s go. Bye, Buddy.” I wave to him, sprawled out on the sofa. “Crap. Buddy! Who’s going to take care of him while I’m at the hospital?”

  “He’ll be fine for now. I’ll come back once you’re settled in at the hospital. It takes ages for babies to be born, right? So, I’ll get you to the hospital, come back here, get him sorted, and then go back to the hospital. It’s all good, Red. Buddy probably won’t even realize you’re gone; he sleeps that much.”

  “You called him Buddy.” That’s the first time he’s called him Buddy. I feel tears well in my eyes. I’m being stupid.

  River sighs. I can almost see the mental eye roll coming from him. “Well, that’s his fucking name, isn’t it?”

  “Yep.”

  “Red, are you crying?”

  “No. Let’s go.” I discreetly run my fingers under my eyes, drying away my stupid tears.

  River slips my shoes onto my feet and opens the front door for me. With his arm around my back, he guides me out of my house, locking up for me.

  He helps me into the passenger seat of my car, and then he’s in the driver’s seat, pushing the chair back to make room for his long legs. Key in ignition, he turns on the engine.

  “Christus Santa Rosa Hospital, right?” he checks.

  The man does pay attention.

  “Yes,” I answer, breathing through what I believe is a contraction.

  Same as what I’ve been having all day.

  And I thought it was just Braxton Hicks.

  Idiot that I am.

  “Ow!” I cry. Cradling my bump, I lean forward.

  “You okay?”

  I feel his hand on my back, rubbing.

  “No. It hurts.” Tears well in my eyes as I breathe through it until it passes, River rubbing my back the whole time.

  Once the pain ebbs, I lean back, resting my head against the seat, breathing heavily.

  “Okay?” he checks.

  I turn my face to him. “I’m scared,” I admit quietly.

  His expression softens. “Don’t be. I’ve got you. I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”

  “Okay. But can you do the pain part? I’m not so keen on that.” I offer a weak smile.

  Lifting my hand to his mouth, he kisses it. “Red, if I could take all of your pain away, I would do it in a heartbeat.”

  Good Lord, this man …

  He doesn’t offer sweet words often, but when he does, they mother-fudging slay me.

  He puts my hand down onto his thigh. “When it hurts, squeeze my leg as hard as you need to. Well, okay, not too hard because I bruise like a fucking banana.” His teeth flash white at me before he puts the car into drive and pulls away from my house.

  Destination: hospital.

  Ca
rrie

  We’re fifteen minutes into the thirty-minute drive to the hospital when my car starts making a sputtering, chugging noise. The car comes to a slow, rolling stop at the side of the road.

  “Uh, what’s happening?” I wheeze out, mid-contraction pain.

  I’ve been trying to keep track, but they seem to be coming thick and fast. And they’re getting more and more painful.

  I’m going to need all the drugs when I get to the hospital.

  “I don’t know.” River turns the ignition again, and nothing happens. “Wait here.”

  He flicks the hazards on and climbs out of the car. He lifts the hood, and I see a crapload of smoke billow out of it.

  I wind my window down and stick my head out of it. “What’s going on?”

  “I’m no mechanic, but I’d say your shit car has broken down,” River grunts from under the hood.

  “Hey! Don’t be hating on the Impala.”

  His head appears around the hood. “Seriously? You’re in labor, your car broke down—our only current way to get you to the hospital—and you’re upset because I’m calling your car shit?”

  Ugh. Fudgesicles. He’s right.

  “I fucking knew we should have gone in my truck. But, oh no, we had to go in your car.”

  “I didn’t know it was going to break down!” I yell at him.

  He slams the hood down. “Well, this is just fucking great.”

  I open the door and ungracefully clamber out of my car. “I don’t know what you’re annoyed about. I’m the one in la—bor—argh!”

  I pitch forward, grabbing hold of the car door. River’s at my side in an instant.

  “They’re getting worse,” River says.

  “No kidding,” I bite.

  “Be nice, Red.”

  “Fudge off. I’ve currently got a baby playing Twister with my uterus, so I think it warrants me being a bee-yatch.”

  “You mean, bitch.”

  I give him an evil glare. The jerk just smiles.

  I breathe deeply through my nose, letting the breath out of my mouth, riding the contraction out. River rubs my lower back. It helps.

  “Let’s get you back in the car,” he tells me.