by Claire Kent
We don’t talk at all as we get our stuff and head upstairs. I go into the master bedroom without thinking, and Travis follows me.
“You hungry?” he asks softly.
I shake my head and crawl into the bed. This one has a pretty quilt on it. Musty, but not unpleasantly so.
I get under the covers and curl up on my side.
Travis stands and watches me for a minute, his face twisting in that way that proves he’s trying to control emotion.
He eats a protein bar as he cleans his gun. Then he barricades the door with an armoire and crawls into bed beside me.
I roll over to face him.
His eyes are searching and so gentle. “Can I do anythin’?”
“I’m okay.”
“Are you?”
“I’ll be okay.”
“I know you will.” He clears his throat. “You want me to... to...”
“To what?”
“Hold you. Or somethin’.”
It never would have occurred to me, but that is exactly what I want him to do. I nod mutely.
He scoots over, and I roll over on my other side so he can spoon behind me. His arm wraps around me loosely, and I press back into his strength, his heat.
I start shaking again.
He nuzzles my hair, my shoulder. “I shoulda come faster,” he mumbles. “I’m so sorry, Layne.”
“You came fast enough. It wasn’t your fault either.” I remember the words Travis said to me earlier. I repeat them. “It was him. It was all him.”
Travis’s breath blows my loose hairs. His hand closes softly around my forearm. The length of his body is pressed into mine, and I’m surrounded by his scent.
I feel safe this way.
I start to feel better.
I stop trembling.
I know what he’s giving me right now isn’t personal. He’s a man who takes care of people, and I’m the only one he has.
It still means something to me.
This small space where I don’t have to always be strong.
I’ve known that life is hard since my parents died, and for four years I’ve known it’s even worse than that. It’s brutal. Merciless. It takes everything and rarely gives back. So I never expected to find this.
Comfort at the end of the world.
I close my eyes and fall asleep with Travis all around me.
Five
I WAKE UP THE NEXT morning, and it’s light in the room. That’s unusual—it’s normally still dark when we get up.
I blink and roll over, confused about the day and time. Travis is here. I can smell him. I sit up to discover him sitting on an upholstered chair near the window.
He’s reading my book of poems, but he puts it down as he realizes I’m awake. “How you feelin’?”
“Why didn’t you wake me up? We should have left a while ago.”
He shrugs as he stands up. “Don’t matter. Thought you could use the rest.”
I slide over to hang my legs off the side of the bed, then pat the covers next to me.
He walks over and sits, watching me with a quiet scrutiny that’s vaguely unnerving. “How you feelin’?” he asks again, his voice softer this time.
“I’m fine. The bruise is a little sore, but it’s no big deal. I’m really okay. You think men haven’t tried stuff on me before?”
“I know they have. But he was grabbin’ you all over. He hit you. I saw’m knock you down. He coulda—” His face is perfectly composed, but his accent is so thick that my empty stomach twists. He’s still really upset.
“He didn’t. I’m okay. I got knocked down, but now I’m on my feet again. And even if it took me longer to get up again, I wouldn’t want you to treat me like I’m broken or something.”
I see the acknowledgment of what I’m saying on his face. His jaw relaxes. “Okay.”
“So I don’t need to sleep all day or whatever you were thinking. I want to get back on the road. We need to get to Fort Knox before that drove does.”
“You gotta eat somethin’ first. Somethin’ with protein. You skipped supper last night. We’re already gettin’ a late start, so let’s make a fire outside and warm somethin’ up.”
I hesitate. I am ravenous, but we’re running behind.
Travis adds, “I’m starvin’ too.”
“Okay. But I’ve got to run downstairs before we do anything else. I’m about to pee in my pants.” I start for the door but pause when I realize Travis is coming with me.
“Not goin’ on your own,” he says. “Anywhere. Not anymore. I was tryin’ to give you space before. Be... respectful. Not crowd you. But that ends now. I’m not lettin’ you out of my sight.”
I release a breath and give him a little smile. “Okay. But you’re turning your back when I go to the bathroom. That’s where I’m drawing the line.”
“Deal.”
THE DAY ISN’T TOO BAD. I’m feeling better after yesterday, and Travis’s carefulness helps because it gives me something to push against, something to resist.
Not that I’m going to fight his attempts to protect me. We were getting too relaxed before, and both of us know it. But making sure Travis doesn’t think I’m damaged or weak gives me incentive to be strong.
My confidence returns as the day goes on. Too much has happened to linger on one bad moment anyway.
By the end of the day, I feel almost normal again.
We don’t make it very far with the late start and all the earthquake damage to maneuver around and the unending search for gas. By the time it starts to get dark, we’ve only made it maybe thirty more miles.
We had to leave the road completely again because of all the damage, so we find a spot in the woods to camp for the night. Travis shows me some practical self-defense moves and teaches me how to use his shotgun, which makes me feel even better. He lets me sleep first, after I make him promise to wake me up for my shift.
He does wake me up. And if I suspect he took a lot more than his half of the night, I have no proof. I don’t have any sort of clock.
I sit with my back to a tree, my gun ready at my side, as Travis sleeps at my feet. At one point he reaches out to hold on to my ankle the way he did a few nights ago.
I don’t pull away.
The following morning, the air is cooler than it’s been. Fresher somehow. Closer to what I remember from my childhood. I take deep breaths of it as we share a can of peaches. I’m humming to myself afterward as I roll up the sleeping bag.
I’m not aware of humming. I do it unconsciously.
But I realize it when I catch Travis staring at me.
“What?” I ask.
“Nothin’. Just... you’re somethin’ else.”
I’m not actually sure what he’s talking about, but I can see from his face that it’s a compliment.
I smile at him, and he almost smiles back.
The day passes in much the same way as the previous one. Slow progress. No encounters other than some harmless walking travelers.
Midafternoon, we spot a good-sized creek, and I ask if it’s all right for us to stop for a while so we can fill our water bottles and clean up.
Travis takes a while to explore the surroundings until he’s found a good, secluded spot blocked on two sides by a shelf of rocks. Then we get our empty water bottles, towels, soap, and hotel shampoos and walk to the creek bank.
We fill the water bottles first, after checking the quality of the water. (We can boil it off later to be safe.) Then I take off my overshirt, deciding to clean up in my tank and panties the way I did the other day. The water in the creek is over a foot deep. It should work fine.
When he stands over me with his shotgun resting loosely on his shoulder, I ask, “You’re washing up too, aren’t you?”
“Sure. But not at the same time. It’s real quiet here, but I’m not gonna risk it.”
I accept that without arguing and unzip my jeans. “I’m getting in all the way. I still haven’t had a chance to wash my hair, and I really
want to.”
“No problem.”
He doesn’t turn his back as I strip down and wade in, but he also doesn’t stare at me. His eyes scan our surroundings, his posture tense.
I scrub down and rinse off. Then I take out my braids, submerge my whole head, and lather up. It feels so good that I moan in pleasure as I rinse out the shampoo.
Travis is watching me as I clear the water from my eyes, and I smile at him. “I never realized what an indulgence washing your hair could be.”
He just grunts.
I don’t want to test Travis’s patience by lingering too long, so I climb back onto the bank and dry off. I wrap my towel around myself, tucking it under my arm to secure it, and then I reach down for my gun.
“I need to dry off some before I put my clothes on, so why don’t you go ahead and wash up now?”
He doesn’t argue. He puts his shotgun down and makes his way to the edge of the creek. I stand guard the way he did as he shucks his clothes down to the gray boxer briefs I found for him. He scrubs and shampoos more quickly than I did. I know he doesn’t like to be vulnerable like this in the open air.
I try to keep watch and not stare at him the whole time, but it’s hard to tear my eyes away. When he gets wet, the cotton of his underwear clings. I can see every line of his body. The strong columns of his thighs. The tight curves of his ass. The firm contours of his arms and shoulders.
His body is more than attractive. It’s powerful. Alive.
Something inside me strains toward it like I strain toward water when I’m thirsty.
He’s up on the bank and drying off before I can fully process how I’m feeling.
“Do we have time for me to comb out my hair?” I ask him.
He hesitates briefly. “Sure.” He wraps his towel around his waist and picks up his gun.
I find a rock to sit on and start combing the tangles out of my wet hair. Travis waits tensely, looking incongruously sexy in just a towel and his shotgun.
I work quickly, and I’ve mostly got my hair combed out when I notice something as Travis turns. “You’re hurt!” I stand up, my towel slipping down as I move.
He blinks in surprise. “What?”
“You’re hurt. That man got you with his knife. Why didn’t you tell me?”
He looks down at his side, at the slash in his skin that has started to bleed again—probably from his washing up. “Oh. It’s nothin’. Barely even noticed it.”
“I didn’t realize he’d gotten you. You haven’t even doctored it up.”
“I said it was nothin’.” He looks rather bad-tempered. It’s almost a relief. It means he’s himself again.
“Well, it’s going to get infected if we don’t take care of it. How stupid can you be?” I keep losing my towel, so I drop it and reach for my jeans. My panties are almost dry now anyway.
Travis’s eyes run up and down my body before he jerks his head away.
When I’ve got my jeans on, I walk over to the Jeep and get our first aid supplies.
Travis scowls. “I told you—”
“I know. I know. It’s nothin’.” I glare up at him. “Well, I’m going to fix it up, nothin’ or not.”
He doesn’t object any further, but his body is tense as I carefully clean up the cut, apply antiseptic ointment, and put two bandages over it. His towel is in the way, so I unhook it from his waist. He holds it loosely in his hand. He’s got his underwear on still, so it’s not like he’s naked.
As I’m pressing the bandages in place, I’m suddenly aware of how close I’m standing. I can feel the warmth of him. Smell the mostly clean scent of him. His body is tight, stiff. But it’s real and male and right next to me.
I slide my fingers up from the bandages to brush along his side, and I hear his quick intake of breath.
I glance at his face and see his eyes are raking over me from my face to my chest. My hair is loose. My tank top is still slightly damp.
I feel desirable in a way I normally don’t. His blue-gray eyes are hot with something akin to hunger.
I glance down at his body. The fabric of his boxers is tented.
He’s hard.
A throbbing awakens between my legs.
Both of us are silent except our accelerating breathing. His eyes linger on my breasts. They’re loose beneath my clinging top. I look down to discover that my nipples have tightened visibly.
It’s like I can feel them. My nipples. Brushing against my shirt.
They’re straining toward Travis like all the rest of me.
Then suddenly he makes a choked sound and turns his head away with a dramatic jerk. He’s flushed a deep red. “Sorry,” he mutters. “Sorry.”
I take a few deep breaths and look back down at his groin. His erection is clearly visible beneath the damp cotton. It makes me think about hearing him masturbate in the bathroom of that house a couple of days ago. The soft rhythmic slapping. The way he groaned at the end.
I want to touch him so much I’m almost shaking with it. “It’s fine,” I manage to say.
“Didn’t mean to.”
“I know. You don’t have to be sorry.”
I wait, holding my breath. My fingers are trembling, so I fold my hands into fists.
“We should get goin’.” Travis makes an awkward turn away from me. “Can get another hour or two in before dark.”
I let out my breath. “Okay. I’m ready.”
WE FIND A HOUSE TO spend the night in two hours later.
It’s big, surrounded by several acres of property. It’s got a patio of beautiful, decorative pavers with an outdoor kitchen and a built-in firepit. There’s been some earthquake damage, but nothing too extreme. And the house is up on a hill that provides a good vantage point to the surrounding area, which I know makes Travis feel better about our safety.
The firepit is perfect. We make a small fire and boil water to fix a package of macaroni and cheese. We don’t have milk or butter, of course, but it’s fine with just water. We eat it with a can of roast beef and gravy. That’s what the label on the can says. Roast beef and gravy. I’m not sure if it’s real meat or not, but it tastes good, familiar. So does the mac and cheese.
We brush our teeth and go to the bathroom before we head to an upstairs bedroom.
I change into my leggings, keeping my tank top on, as Travis barricades the door with a dresser.
He relaxes after that. I can see it in his posture, his expression.
By the time he changes into a clean shirt and his sweats, I’ve made up my mind.
I sit on the foot of the bed, and he pauses when he sees me looking at him.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.”
“You feelin’ okay?”
“Yeah. I feel fine.”
His eyebrows knit together, and he sits down next to me, his weight shifting the mattress. “You’re not tired?”
“Not too much.”
He hesitates, searching my face for an explanation of my mood. “Can I do somethin’ for you?”
“Yeah.”
“What?”
I open my mouth, but the words are trapped in my throat. I want to do this, but it feels so strange, like such a risk.
“What is it, Layne? I’ll do anythin’ you need me to do.” His expression is sincere. It looks like he means it.
“I’m tired of feeling scared and helpless.”
“You want me to teach you more moves?”
“Yes, but not now. That’s not what I mean. I’m tired of always feeling that way. I have for years now. Like I’m not in control of anything. I want to do something about it. I want to do something to change it.”
He still obviously has no idea what I’m talking about. “What do you wanna do?”
I swallow hard. “I want to feel something different. I want to feel something... good.”
He grows very still beside me. Not even his eyelashes flutter.
I’m in this all the way now—no turning back. It might be the st
upidest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m not going to stop. “I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want to do, Travis. I never would have even asked. But it seemed like... twice now... it seemed like you were... like you might want to. With me. So I thought...”
“You wanna...” His voice is soft and guttural.
“Have sex. With you. Yes. I do.” I’m staring down at my hands twisting in my lap. “If you want.”
“Why?”
I jerk my head up at the broken astonishment of the one word. “I told you. I want to feel... something different. Something good. I want to feel... in control of things.”
“I can help you feel more in control without—”
“But I want to do this. Why shouldn’t I? Why shouldn’t we?”
His eyes are wide and still searching my face. “With me?”
“Yes. With you. I like you. I like how you look. And I want to do this.” I take a loud, shaky breath. “Do you... do you like how I look?”
He’s so tense he’s almost shaking too. “You know I do.”
“And it seemed like... you might want... twice now...”
“It’s been more’n twice.” His eyes drop down like mine were earlier.
I’m hit with the memory of hearing him jerk off in the bathroom of that house. The way I slipped my own hand beneath my panties to rub. My whole body flushes with heat, all of it centered between my legs.
When I can make my throat work, I say, “Okay. So. We both want to. Why shouldn’t we? Why do we always have to... have to work and suffer and hurt and fight? Why can’t we... why can’t we have something good?”
He’s staring at me now, and I see the tension on his face. He’s tempted. He’s deciding. He wants this like I do.
It gives me courage enough to stand up. “Please, Travis. I want to. You wouldn’t be taking advantage of me. I want to make my own decisions about things, and this is my choice. So... so do you want to?”
The question hangs in the air for a long moment.
Then something flickers on his face as he murmurs, “Yeah.”
I inhale and let it out. I shift so I’m facing him as he’s sitting on the foot of the bed. “Is now okay with you?”