Chapter 9

Mae clutchedthe neck of the bottle of champagne, standing on Dell's deck, staring at her reflection in the sliding glass door in front of her.

It was October first.

She'd officially been in Greyfin Bay for a month.

It had been, simultaneously, the longest and shortest month of her life.

And now that she'd reached this anniversary, now that she was allowing herself the first day of complete rest since she'd moved here…

She'd been running on almost complete adrenaline for thirty days. Had accomplished more than she'd even hoped for at this point. She had swung by the IGA last night just before it closed to grab this champagne, in anticipation of being lazy and triumphant today.

But when she woke a few hours ago, she'd only felt melancholy.

She'd dwelled in those unproductive feelings for a while, until she found herself here. In front of Dell's sliding glass door.

The only other person she truly knew in this town was Liv, and even that was still a developing friendship. The only other people she knew on the coast were her parents and the folks in her small business class at the community college in Newport. And while she'd loved getting to know her classmates—people young and old, from all walks of life, with such diverse goals and dreams, such a different experience from undergrad—Mae was still, on the whole, more alone than she'd perhaps ever been.

Even the messages in the group chat had started to make less sense. Stories Mae hadn't been there to witness, to fully understand. Vik still reached out regularly, but the others already felt so far away. The list of everything she missed from the city had started to become a physical ache, a quiet pain constantly present.

So she'd taken to spilling all of her thoughts to Dell.

Dell was just…always there.

Mae knew, logically, that Dell was likely only interested in monitoring how his property was coming along. Because she acknowledged, begrudgingly, that it was still his property. But if he truly hated listening to her talk, she could only imagine he would eventually stop walking through the door.

It was possible her landlord—her landlord twice over, really—had somehow become her closest friend here.

And his land, nestled in the foothills, her safest space.

No matter how hard she'd tried to ignore him. No matter how she'd pretended, in the beginning, that she was looking for another place to stay.

And his truck was still in the drive, so she knew he was here. Even if he hadn't answered her first knock on the door that led to his workshop, on the other side of the house. Mae had still never actually been inside Dell's house, but she'd gotten a peek one night a week or so ago, when Liv had come out of the workshop door as Mae was returning home. "I take care of the dogs when Dell visits…a friend," Liv had said with a smirk, which was impossible to not interpret as Dell having a fuck buddy. Which, well. Good for Dell. The idea hadn't made Mae's thighs clench at all.

Point was, his non-answer at the workshop door had made her come around here, to the deck. The deck where he played his quiet guitar with his rumbly voice.

She readjusted the champagne bottle in her hand, taking a deep breath before she knocked again. She'd already tried once, softly, nervously, but to no avail. Maybe he was watching her through the glass from the other side of the room right now, purposely ignoring her. All she could see was her own reflection, the misty morning behind her. She hadn't asked for permission to come over. Maybe it really was silly, asking Dell McCleary to share a mimosa with her.

Whatever. Whether he ignored her or laughed at her, she hadn't let Dell slow her down yet. She'd ask, and then retreat to the ADU to commence her celebratory day of rest by herself. Which was just fine. She was fine. There was no reason for her palms to be sweaty, for her pulse to be hammering in her throat.

With forced confidence, she raised her fist and rapped her knuckles against the glass once more.

A moment of silence rang out afterward, too loud in her own ears. A sign she had perhaps knocked tooaggressively this time, her nerves flipping a switch and overcompensating.

But it had worked. Because this time, only one more short second went by before the glass door was yanked open so fast and hard that she jumped, worried Dell had thrown it right off the rails.

And then Dell himself appeared, and Mae jumped back again, the look on his face throwing every alarm in her brain before he even opened his mouth.

But then he did.

"Get. Out. Of my house!"

Mae clutched the champagne bottle harder, opening her mouth to stutter a reply.

Dell's entire body was a storm, unlike anything she'd ever seen before. His eyes were wide but strangely unfocused, cheeks red, a wall of empty rage. His chest heaved.

"I just?—"

"Get out!" The yell was so deep, so guttural, as if Dell had put every ounce of his diaphragm into it, that Mae felt an odd, terrified desire to laugh. It was as if he was playing a part in a historical action movie, a Viking preparing his troops for battle.

Except Dell didn't act. Normally hardly betrayed any emotions at all. Other than quiet disgruntlement. Bemused acceptance.

They were both large people. She had never felt small in his presence, until now. Suddenly, every bit of her size felt too soft, every bit of his too hard.

"Get out of my house!"

He raised an arm, and?—

Something crashed onto the deck beside her. In a daze, she saw shards of a ceramic mug scattered around her feet. They looked similar, she thought, to the mugs in her own cabinets back in the ADU. The mugs she'd been using to drink her tea.

But no. They weren't actually her cabinets. They weren't her mugs.

This wasn't her safe space at all.

She realized she couldn't breathe. Dark spots blinked into the corners of her vision.

She ran.

She ran until she reached the door to the ADU. She realized she was still clutching the bottle of champagne, the wire cage covering the cork digging into her palms. She deposited it on the kitchen counter and grabbed her bag, yanked her keys from the hook next to the door.

Her fingers shook as she opened her car, as she struggled to insert the key into the ignition. Her eyes kept darting out the dash, waiting for Dell to appear around the corner. To crush his fists into her hood. One day, she thought, another half-delirious giggle fighting to make its way out of her throat, she'd get a new fancy car where you simply had to press a button to go. Where it could practically drive for you.

Honey, Jesus drawled in her ear. Why haven't you bought yourself one of those already? My inheritance is languishing over here.

With an actual, startled laugh, Mae reversed out of her spot, hands gripping the wheel as she navigated away from Dell's house in the hills. It was only when she reached 101 again that she realized she had no idea where she was going.

Glancing in her mirrors to ensure no one was behind her, she shifted to park. And finally, just for a second, she closed her eyes.

What the fuck had just happened?

Mae had been threatened before. At the height of Trump's campaign to demonize Portland, when the Proud Boys had terrorized the streets, there had been some protests outside the community center. For a while, it had been a bit scary going to work. Even without white nationalists, though, there were occasionally folks who actually needed the center, who were in the midst of a mental health breakdown, traumatized and stuck in crisis mode, who lashed out instead of retreating.

The more Mae's heart rate calmed, the more her own brain returned to stasis, she realized Dell's face had looked almost exactly like that. Like someone stuck in crisis.

But as with every other time Mae had felt fear, that knowledge—that maybe something was wrong, something that had nothing to do with Mae—didn't make her own hummingbird heartbeat any less frightened. Hadn't made the moment any less disorienting in her memory.

Flexing her fingers away from the wheel, she opened her eyes and reached for her phone.

Her first instinct was to call Vik. But she took another breath, and scrolled to a different number instead.

"Hey. Hey Liv, I know you might be working, or busy, and this is random but…" Mae glanced at the time on the dash. "Could you maybe meet me for brunch?"

* * *

Dell didn't know how long it took to return to reality.

He never did.

When his vision started to clear, when his skin prickled with cool air, flowing in through the still-open sliding glass door, he doubled over, stomach immediately swamped with nausea. He managed, a second later, to close the door, stumble toward the bathroom. The cold porcelain of the toilet felt good against his forehead, which was clammy and hot, even though he knew he shouldn't actually be putting his face on the toilet. He needed to take a shower. He was so tired.

He needed to figure out what had just happened.

One second he was at his computer. And then…and then he was here.

He thought he remembered Mae. Mae had been outside. But as soon as he thought it, his mind questioned itself. Had it been Mae, or someone else?

Had anyone been outside at all?

Were they still there now?

Panic rose in his throat, and a rush of bile flooded into the porcelain. He blinked wetness from his eyes, unsure if it was sweat or tears. Had he locked the door? Were the dogs safe? He had to make sure the dogs were safe.

Numbly, he forced himself to stand, to toss some water at his face, in his mouth. Crosby was there, right there, staring at him from the doorframe of the bathroom. Good. That was good.

He spotted Nash next, not far behind, his concerned pittie eyes staring right at him. Young sat by the kitchen island, tail thumping the floor, ears back. She whined, cowering the tiniest bit when Dell approached, and he hated himself. He left her alone, muttering curses as he searched for Stills. Eventually, he found her exactly where he should have expected her: down the hall, on her bed right outside the door to his workshop, sound asleep.

Feet heavy, he returned to the living room. The nausea had receded, but the dizziness lingered, a distant ache he knew was an incoming headache that would last for at least a day. The deep exhaustion began to permeate. He sank onto the couch and put his head in his hands.

He tried to remember. He always tried to remember, even if he knew it was useless, right after. He needed to know if it was Mae. If he'd done something to Mae.

He forced himself to lift his head, look around, try to ground his five senses.He could smell…the lingering scent of his coffee, the ever present smell of the dogs. He could see, across the room, through the glass door?—

The broken pieces of Lauren's mug, smashed across the planks of the deck.

"Fuck," he said, louder, clearer, punching a fist into a cushion.

And then he took a heaving breath. He didn't know what to do. No, no, he did. All he wanted to do was sleep, but he'd promised her he'd always call.

He found his phone. Returned to the couch.

And he called his mom.

"Dell? Is everything okay, honey?" Concern laced Georgia's voice already. It always did, whenever he called her outside of his regular call schedule, every Sunday afternoon. Dell couldn't remember what day it was. But he knew it wasn't a Sunday.

"I…" He cleared his throat, blinking more dampness out of his eyes. "It happened again."

"Okay. That's okay, Dell, honey. Where are you? Are you safe?"

"Yeah. I'm at home." Dell closed his eyes. "No one else is here. Everything's fine. I…I don't know what happened."

"That's okay," Georgia repeated, voice soft. "I'm here with you."

A few quiet seconds ticked by. Dell breathed. In, out. In, out.

"Was there a loud sound?" Georgia asked eventually.

"I think so. Must've been." He swallowed. "I think…maybe…Mae was here. Maybe Mae just knocked. I don't know."

As soon as he said it, though, he could picture it. Mae knocking on the glass as hard as she could. She was loud about everything. He breathed out.

"But she's not there now?"

"No. I don't know. They might be at the ADU. I just…I just came to and called you."

"Okay. I'm so glad you called me."

"I broke one of Lauren's mugs."

"Oh, hon." The sympathy in Georgia's voice practically reverberated across the line. Just as he knew it would. He felt blood rush to his cheeks anyway.

He was embarrassed he'd said it.

He was embarrassed he hadn't been able to make himself go outside and collect the broken pieces first, before he had to call his mom. That he'd broken the mug at all.

"Have you reached out to her recently?"

"No."

He wasn't sure Lauren would like to hear from him anyway; he'd never seen much good come from reaching out to exes. And either way, Lauren was from Before.

"It wasn't the only mug of hers you have left, was it?" There was a twinge of desperation to Georgia's voice, one he could tell she regretted from the way she cleared her throat after she asked it. The corner of his mouth twitched, a hint of relief opening up in his chest.

His mom knew Lauren was in the past, respected it. She just couldn't say goodbye to good pieces of art.

"No. Although most of the rest are at your spot."

This was how he'd always referred to the ADU. Your spot.

"It rather sounds like it's Mae's spot, now."

Dell held in a groan. Georgia had known Mae had moved in the week it happened. It had been the most interesting thing he'd had to report during their Sunday afternoon chats for months. Even if he knew she'd give him shit about it. He had made some resolutions, after the incident. One of which was to call his mom more. To tell her things. To keep her close, even if she refused to leave Michigan.

It was probably the best resolution he'd ever kept.

"That's temporary."

"Maybe it shouldn't be."

"Mom."

An airy, Midwestern mom noise was her only response.

"I just…I don't know what happened." Dell returned to the moment at hand. Sometimes he was able to talk it out. "Maybe they just knocked at the door and it took me by surprise, but it's been three years. That shouldn't be enough to trigger me anymore. Unless they were outside shooting off fireworks or something?—"

Dell stopped himself short. He knew setting off fireworks at ten in the morning without giving him notice wasn't actually a logical thing for Mae to do. Then again, this was Mae they were talking about. Dell could never quite predict what she would do.

But no. He shook his head at himself. He didn't know what had happened, but whatever it was, if Mae had been involved, Dell knew she hadn't deserved it. That he'd probably scared the shit out of her.

Dell's stomach clenched into a stone.

"It's been so long since I've had a trigger," he eventually mumbled into the phone.

"Well," Georgia said slowly, "it is getting close, you know. October 4th is just around the corner."

Dell froze, momentarily stunned.

And then he blew out a hard breath.

Fuck.

"Did you forget?" Georgia asked when Dell didn't respond, her voice so soft Dell could barely hear her. "That the anniversary was coming up?"

Dell rubbed a hand over his face. "Yeah."

"Well," she said, diplomatically. "I think that's good. Must mean it doesn't have as much of a hold on you anymore."

"Except—" Dell hung his head. "My body clearly remembered something."

"Yeah," Georgia said, whispery soft again. "Yeah, hon. I know."

Even after three years, it was hard for Dell to accept. That his body remembered that night better than his brain did. That it obviously kept remembering it, even when he thought he was doing better.

He knew, he understood, had learned in therapy that PTSD was more physiological than anything, that the brain held trauma in its deepest, instinctual recesses that preceded rational thought.

But it was still fucking hard to accept.

"Tell me what you had for breakfast today," Georgia said after a minute. "Tell me what you're working on in the shop."

And so he told her about his toast and about Mae's bookshelves, about a new creamer he'd been indulging in for his coffee, about the Minnesota cutting board and how he had to take Young for her next round of vaccines at the vet tomorrow. "Good," Georgia said for each one. "Good."

And when he knew his hands had stopped shaking, he was able to say goodbye.

"I love you, Dell. I'll check in tomorrow, all right?"

Dell didn't want her to have to check in. Dell didn't want his mom to worry about him at all. He wanted her to paint watercolors in the backyard and make her own mugs on the pottery wheel in the garage. He wanted her to move to Oregon.

"Thanks, Mom."

"And Dell, honey…have you told Mae? About your PTSD?"

Dell frowned.

"No. I hardly know them, really."

A small pause.

"Well," Georgia said carefully, "if this Mae is living on your property…and I know you wouldn't let someone on your property you didn't trust, Dell, so you must know them somewhat…you gotta tell them."

Dell stared out the glass doors.

"I'll talk to you tomorrow, Mom."

"Okay, hon."

"Love you."

He left the phone on the couch, and went outside and cleaned up Lauren's broken mug.

And then he paced for a while.

His brain was already hyper focusing on what he knew to be true: while the trigger was over, that night three years ago would visit him again, over the next week or so, in his dreams. More than usual. He'd remain shaky and half conscious for a while, unable to grasp the comfort of his routines.

And now that his mom was off the line, he just felt…alone.

He didn't want to talk to anyone else. He could not imagine telling Mae about the incident, even though…if he had thrown a mug at her, or done who knew what else…fuck, Georgia was right. He'd have to tell her something, but he couldn't think about that right now.

He wanted…

He wanted to be held. For just a few minutes.

Which was funny, because in the first year after the incident, he could barely stand to be touched at all, even when he wasn't being actively triggered. He wasn't sure when or how it had graduated to this. Needing another body next to his.

It wouldn't even have to be anyone he knew. Did he wish it was Luca's? Sure, because he knew what Luca's body next to his felt like. Knew it would be familiar and warm and comforting.

But he also knew he couldn't ask Luca. That wasn't what they had going.

He wished there was a service you could call. Would like the heat and pressure of a body next to mine for approximately ten minutes. No other touching required. Would prefer no speaking.

And then he saw them. Crosby and Nash, right next to Young, who still cowered by the kitchen island.

Slowly, he lowered himself to his knees. Patted his thighs.

"Hey, guys," he said, voice hoarse. "C'mere."

Nash reached him first, his cool nose rubbing against Dell's beard, his eyes searching Dell's. When Dell slid all the way down to the floor, Nash immediately lay with him, snug against his stomach. Crosby rested nearby, not flush against Nash—Crosby preferred a bit of space—but close enough that he could keep his eyes on Dell, that Dell could reach out a hand and rub his soft, golden head.

After a minute, Young followed, walking around Dell to curl up at his back. Dell focused on the warmth of Nash and Young against him, on the sound of the dogs' breathing and the wind rustling through the trees outside.

It wasn't exactly what Dell wanted.

But it was enough.