Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119597 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 598(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 399(@300wpm)
“We made it,” I breathe into our huddle.
“We really did.” Her arms squeeze around us, her strength surprising given everything she’s endured.
“Against every goddamn odd.” Kody’s grunt carries the weight of the world.
Or maybe just the weight of our world since we’re piled on top of him.
We rearrange into a more comfortable position on the small bed, clinging to one another with Frankie between us.
She kisses us, and we kiss her back, taking turns at her mouth, licking and tasting her lips.
My hands move of their own volition, tracing the contours of her ribs, the slope of his shoulders, seeking the tactile proof that this is real, that they’re here with me.
Long red hair slides between my fingers, softer than I remember. Her arms and waist, thinner than I remember. My palm skims across Kody’s back, feeling the solid reality of him and tracing the scars that knit unspeakable memories.
Every inch of them, warm and alive under my touch, reassures me more than words ever could.
We’re here, together, wrapped in bandages like mummies, resurrected in Anchorage where she did her residency.
It all feels surreal, surrounded by the constant buzz of machinery and the steady flow of people just beyond the door.
My life in the tundra didn’t prepare me for this—the incessant noise, the glaring lights, the smell of chemicals mingling with a hundred other scents I can’t name.
The most jarring part, though, isn’t the sensory overload. It’s the touching. People here, especially the nurses, don’t think twice about laying hands on me. From the second I woke in this strange place, they’ve been poking, prodding, and directing me with a familiarity that sets my skin on edge.
I’m not used to being touched by strangers.
In the wild, physical contact means one of three things—a sign of trust, a form of abuse, or a precursor to battle.
Here, it’s routine and clinical. It’s meant to heal, but it feels invasive, a reminder of how far I am from the world I know.
But none of that matters, not really. My focus, my only concern, is Frankie and Kody. Seeing them here, hurt but alive, is a consolation that’s hard to put into words.
I’m gentle when I brush the gauze that covers their heads, the texture rough and grounding beneath my fingertips, dispelling the fear that this might all be an elaborate dream from which I’ll awaken back in Hoss.
We’re battered to hell with concussions, a mess of cuts and bruises decorating our skin, and severe malnutrition. I’m glad she asked to see our charts. I didn’t even know that was a thing.
My attention jumps to Kody. He was limping earlier, favoring one leg over the other.
“What’s wrong with you?” I lock onto his gaze.
“Knee hurts.”
“Let me see it.” She tries to sit up.
“No.” He catches her by the throat, holding her down. “It’s fine.”
“Kody.”
“Frankie.”
She grits her teeth. “Did they X-ray it?”
“I wouldn’t let them.” He caresses the lines of her neck. “I needed to get to you guys.”
I understand that. The need to find one another, to see with our own eyes that we’re all okay, it’s a force more compelling than any pain.
When they had me separated, tethered to an IV and a bed, the walls felt like a cage. So I did what Kody did. I tore out the IV, ignored the protests of nurses, and went searching.
Through the network of hallways, past rooms filled with strangers, everything amplified. The squeak of shoes on plastic floors. The distant cries of pain. The unintelligible announcements over the speakers. Everything here is disorienting, all these new sounds and sights, the throngs of people everywhere.
When I found Frankie’s room and saw a man leaning over her, I snapped. The sight of his face near hers—kissing her, hurting her, or trying to take her—it lit a fuse I couldn’t snuff out.
“Did you kiss him?” My voice drops to a low growl, barely contained.
“No, Leo.” Flipping to her back to look at me, she tucks a hand against my neck. “He was crying, and I was just…trying not to be an asshole.”
It’s irrational, the surge of jealousy and protectiveness thrashing through me, but I can’t stop the words from crashing out. “You’re not getting back together with him.”
Her gaze hardens. “It never even crossed my mind.”
“He knew Gretchen and…my mother.” A shadow passes over Kody’s face, clouding his features like a veiled moon. “Monty is my father. Wolf’s and mine.”
“We don’t know that.” Her expression falls, looking horrified.
“He’s not what I expected. Nothing like Denver.” He absently picks at the tape on his arm. “He wears his emotions out in the open. He’s…kind of a mess.”
“That’s new.” A frown tugs at the corners of her mouth. “When I met him, he was super uptight, cocky, and always in control. I guess he still is, but he’s changed in the past nine months. I mean, that was the first time I’ve ever seen him cry.”