Wild is the Witch (78)

“I’m good,” I say, reaching out and touching his arm. “Just a little pain.”

“I wish you would teach me how to ease it,” he says, not for the first time.

“I know you do, and we’ll get there. It’s just a bit more complicated. Besides,” I say, putting my hand against his chest, “magic isn’t the only way to make me feel better.”

“Oh yeah?” he says, setting his crutches aside and leaning against the table. “Please tell me.”

I move in front of him and put my arms around his neck, playing with the back of his hair. “It’s honestly better if I show you.”

His mouth pulls up to the side, and he tugs on a stray curl, his eyes never leaving mine. “Then show me.”

I stand on the tips of my toes and close my eyes, pressing my mouth to his. I’m careful to leave enough space between us to protect my burns, but the way he kisses me makes me ache for a time we can be closer, when I can press my whole body to his and feel him in every part of me.

He puts his hands on either side of my face, holding me tight, touching me in one of the only places that doesn’t hurt. It makes me feel as if I’m precious, this treasured thing he found in the damp mountains of Washington and brought back with him.

I open my mouth and press my tongue to his, relishing the way his breath catches in his throat and his hands move through my hair, the way his fingers brush the back of my neck and the rest of his body stays perfectly still, always so careful not to touch my burns.

My fingers move down his neck and over his shoulders, down his chest to the waist of his jeans, his whole body tensing under my touch. I rest my hands on his hips and slow our kiss before reluctantly pulling away.

“I can’t wait to be closer,” I say, and I feel him smile at my words.

“Closer will be nice,” he agrees. “But I’m also a fan of not-as-close-as-we-want.”

“It will have to do for now.” I squeeze his hand before stepping away, making sure that I’ve put everything Mom will need out on the table.

Pike catches my fingers and turns me back toward him. “It is more than enough,” he says, his tone heavy and serious. “You are more than enough.”

I clear my throat and look toward the floor, embarrassed by the way my eyes sting at his words. Embarrassed by the way they settle into my core as if I’ve needed to hear them my whole life.

“You’re only saying that because I’ve had to clean the sloth enclosure since we got back,” I say, giving him a skeptical look. “And just so we’re clear, I don’t buy for a second that your leg is preventing you from doing it.”

“What a harsh and completely unfounded accusation,” he says. “Even if I had to clean it every day for the rest of my life, I’d still feel that way.”

“You can’t possibly mean that.”

“I do,” he says solemnly. He pauses, and a slight smirk settles on his face. “It’s hard to believe that you cursed me, given how incredibly charming I am.”

“Okay, that was one time,” I say, rolling my eyes, and even though I’m thankful that Pike can joke about it, that he’s enjoying magic and accepting its place in his life, I still feel a heavy, tense guilt that stirs in my chest.

He didn’t have a choice in this, and I will always feel guilty about it. But his easy laugh and casual comments help me relax a little, help me lessen the amount of space I’d otherwise give it.

And every time his eyes widen when he uses magic, every time his voice is tinged with wonder and awe, it makes me think that one day I’ll be able to forgive myself. That one day I’ll be able to enjoy sharing the thing I love most in the world with the person who has so quickly become important to me.

“I have a few more things to take care of before Dan gets here. If your leg needs a break, though, feel free to hang out here until I get back.” I grab a folding chair from the wall and set it out for Pike, and he gives me a grateful look.

I leave the shed and walk toward the office, but when I pass the trail that meanders through the woods, something tells me to take it. The morning fog has burned off, and I can see the tops of the trees now, perfectly still against the overcast sky.

The air is crisp and fresh, somehow always managing to smell as if it just rained, even when it hasn’t. I didn’t know there could be soul connections with places, that my entire being could feel rooted to one part of the earth, but that’s what I have here.

Amy is flying out in a few weeks. She’s going to spend the summer here, helping out at the refuge and getting away from Nebraska for a bit. The salty air has a way of slowing everything down, of making everything feel just a little bit better. I hope she finds that here. I hope it helps her heal. I take mental notes of all the places I want to show her, all the walks we’ll go on and beaches we’ll visit, but I think she’ll love the refuge the most.

I keep walking, far enough into the trees that I can no longer hear the tour group or the animals in their enclosures, the wolves as they run or tires on gravel. I carefully ease myself to the ground, and for several moments, I sit, listening to nothing. A squirrel dashes across the trail several yards in front of me, and I shiver when a breeze picks up, bringing the salty air of the Pacific with it.

Then I hear a horn honking in the distance and force myself to stand. Dan is early.