Chapter 13 - Delaney

13

Delaney

“You need to eat something.”

I blink. My head feels fuzzy, my limbs heavy. I don’t know if I can stay awake long enough to eat anything, let alone lift my arms to hold a knife and fork. Ares sighs, annoyed at my lack of response, and pushes my full plate across the shiny diner table.

“Eat,” he commands. The smell of bacon, eggs, and syrupy pancakes swirl to my nose. It makes me want to gag, the grease and the sweetness of it all, but I reluctantly grab my fork and force down a bite.

Five minutes later, I’m swiping the last piece of bacon through the puddle of sticky syrup. I close my eyes and pop it in my mouth, humming in satisfaction. I feel so much better, but if Ares expects me to admit it, he’s in for a long wait.

An awkward cough and the squeak of vinyl pull me back. Across from me, Ares shifts in his seat, his gaze flicking away quickly.

Wait, was he watching me eat ?

My cheeks burn and I grab for my coffee, topped up by somebody when I was too distracted by the food in front of me. I down half the cup before I find the nerve to look at Ares again.

He doesn’t look tired, not even a little bit. As he looks down at his phone, the angles of his face and the blond scruff along his jaw are washed in soft morning light. He glows gold and warm, the only coolness of him being the gray of his eyes as he scans his phone screen. My chest tightens, my heart speeding up a little.

I don’t think I’ve ever had a proper crush before. Boys in school were always so… childish. They were loud and goofy and believed that driving around in their shitty cars and blaring rap music was the way into a girl’s panties.

I think about little eleven-year-old me, unsure as to what this strange, bubbly feeling inside was. All I knew was that I wanted to talk to Ares again, have him smile at me again. I remember trailing my fingers over his name on my forearm, the ink of his block-letters feeling so perfectly permanent.

Until they washed away. Until I got him thrown in lock-up. Until I screwed everything up.

Guilt surges through me, icy like a frozen wave. I might have a crush on the asshole-known-as-Ares, but there’s no way he would ever feel the same about me. A fuck-up. A broken thing.

“So,” I say with false brightness. I put my cup on the table, nestling it between my palms, play-acting like it’s actually hot. “You think we’ll be safe here?”

Ares looks out the window. It’s still early. The day is just starting for most folks, so the streets of Bowen aren’t busy.

We’d come out of the woods by the highway just after dawn, and Ares had led me here. We walked deep into town, Bowen being three times the size of our own little home. I was almost dead on my feet by the time he pulled open the door to Linda’s, a cheery, yellow-checkered diner with window boxes of real flowers.

“Safe for now,” Ares replies.

“Any word?” I ask as he pockets his phone. He looks up at me again, his eyes carefully scrutinizing my face for weakness.

“You can tell me the truth,” I say. “If we’re screwed, I’d rather hear it from you.”

I’d rather hear it from you.

I want to yank the words back, but Ares’ lip twitches for a moment. A little non-smile to let me know he caught it.

I shake my head, push my cup to the side and fiddle uselessly with a spoon. “I mean, you might be an asshole but at least you’re honest.”

“Thanks for the compliment,” he replies sarcastically. He takes a breath and raises his arms, his elbows bent and his hands behind his head. He groans his words through his stretch.

“Griff says to keep laying low.”

My eyes trail over his muscles, chiselled hardness shifting under swaths of tattooed skin. It’s annoyingly mouthwatering and I wish he’d just go back to being a jerk, instead of the hot guy sitting across from me, like we were on some breakfast date.

“He knows about your dad.”

The spoon slips from my fingers. Clatters onto the table. It seems so loud, like dynamite going off, that I’m surprised everyone in the diner isn’t ducking for cover.

“What?”

Ares stills, panicked. “Not about— Fuck, Delaney, I didn’t mean— I told Griff that Sheriff Jackson found us, but not about any of that other shit, okay? I wouldn’t…”

I can’t move. Can’t speak. Humiliation burns under my skin. I stare down at my hands on the table. Ares puts his hand over mine. It’s heavy, calloused and warm. There are letters inked across his knuckles, so fuzzy and faded I can’t make them out. He squeezes my fingers, my hand disappearing in his.

“I wouldn’t,” he says again. “Okay?”

I look at him. At his earnest face, naked pain drawn across it, and it makes something inside me snap. Anger flares up and I slide my hand back and bury it in my lap.

“Right,” I sneer. “As if the Wastelanders wouldn’t love more dirt on Sheriff Jackson. Hey, maybe this is the bargaining chip you need for him to leave you guys alone.”

Ares blinks. “Delaney…”

“I don’t need your pity, okay? I don’t need anything from you.”

Ares retracts his hand and settles back in his seat, his face going cold.

“Except to kill your father, right?”

I say nothing and we let the icy silence frost the space between us. I know I was being too defensive, snapping back at him when he was just trying to help. Ares was just trying to comfort me, reassure me, and isn’t that why I went to him, all those years ago? Because I felt safe?

Tears prick in my eyes.

“More coffee, kids?”

A rail-thin old man offers a full pot of coffee in his trembling hand. His smile is bright and his blue eyes shine behind half-moon glasses. At first I think he’s just an overly friendly customer, but he has a name tag pinned to his button-down shirt.

“Yes, please, Lou,” I say, smiling tightly, and pushing my cup over. His coffee pour is surprisingly steady, despite his shakes. I murmur thanks as I slide my cup, now steaming, towards me.

Lou swivels to fill Ares’ cup, but he covers it with his hand.

“I’m good,” he grunts.

Lou pauses, like a glitching program, then smiles. “Anything else for you kids today?”

I notice his watery eyes move from Ares, to me, and back again. This move, the careful smile, reminds me of Rodney back at the gas station; the way he’d size up a customer, assess whether they were going to give him any trouble.

I suddenly realize what we must look like: both of us sweaty and grimy; me in a dirty tank top and torn jeans; Ares with a perpetual frown, covered head-to-toe in tattoos. At least he doesn’t have his biker cut anymore, having left it back at the trailer (which I can tell he’s not happy about).

“Just the check,” Ares says.

He digs out his phone again, like if he ignores Lou he’ll disappear. But what if Lou stays suspicious? What if, when we leave, he calls the cops just to report that something ‘didn’t feel quite right with those two early-bird customers’?

I plaster on a big, innocent-looking smile and lean over to Lou. “And breakfast was great. The perfect ending to a long sunrise hike.”

Ares looks up at me in surprise. There’s a pause, then Lou chuckles.

“Hike, huh? Was wondering where you two came from.”

“Oh, yeah, we’re big into all that nature stuff.”

Lou scratches his chin with his free hand. “Have you tried the Owl’s Nest Trail? Goes right along Cattlehead River, beautiful little stretch that one.”

For the next fifteen minutes, Lou, who turns out to be quite the outdoorsman, happily details his top ten hikes around Bowen, giving an honorable mention to the trail where he saw a family of particularly fat raccoons.

“I’ll be right back with your check,” Lou says finally.

As he leaves, Ares’ brow furrows. “Hike?”

I wave to him, back to me, silently saying ‘What does it look like we’ve been doing?’

“Oh.” Ares replies. “Fuck, okay.”

He stands and digs a wad of flattened cash from his pocket. Without waiting for Lou and the check, he peels off a fifty and tosses it on the table.

“Come on,” he says. He hauls my backpack off the seat and slings it over his shoulder.

“Where are we going?” I ask, following him up.

Ares sighs, then as he turns around and heads for the front door, he mutters something that sounds an awful lot like ‘Shopping’.