Page 21 of On the Mountain

“It was my ex-boyfriend. I was feeling lonely. My mental health had taken a nosedive, and I called him. He also was my supplier when I did drugs. He brought coke, and I almost did it. He wanted to fuck and didn’t want to take no for an answer. I never should have called him. It was my stupid mistake.”

My hands ached as I tightened my hold on the steering wheel. “Don’t call him again.”

He flinched. “Yes, I know I’m an idiot. You don’t have to tell me. Of course he would want something in exchange for coming to see me.”

I nearly drove off the road, my heart pounding against my chest. Cyrus thought I was blaming him.

“Him,” was all I managed to say.

“Him what?”

I shook my head, frustrated with myself. “Not. Your. Fault.”

He didn’t respond, but when I glanced his way, I could see that Cyrus didn’t believe me. All I could think about was some motherfucker’s hands on him. The fact that he was so low that he’d called that prick, and I wondered if it had anything to do with me, with how I’d treated him. Maybe it was my fault.

“Why are you taking me up the mountain? It’s clear you don’t want me there. You haven’t spoken to me in months. You ignore me when I try to talk to you, and now because I have a little black eye—not the worst injury I’ve ever had, FYI—you’re suddenly kidnapping me? He’s gone. It’s been a few days, and he’s texted me, pissed off. I know he’s back in Denver, so you don’t have to trouble yourself with me.”

Trouble myself with him. There was a lot I wanted to do with him, and though in some ways it made things more difficult for me, it didn’t feel like I was troubling myself for him. It was…a need.

Now I just had to figure out what I was going to do with him.

CHAPTER ELEVEN

Cyrus

Crow didn’t respond, but I hadn’t expected him to. I leaned my head against the window, watching the world travel by as he drove to his house. I hadn’t had to get into the truck. The odds of this being another mistake were high, but as angry as he made me, I wanted to go. It didn’t make sense that I could be furious at his caveman form of protecting me, feel hurt that he thought I couldn’t take care of myself, yet also feel wanted and happy, all at the same time.

I wasn’t sure what Crow expected from me. Maybe he felt some strange obligation because I’d brought him food once and he saw me as helpless. Maybe he was queer and wanted nothing more than a hole, the way Eddie had. The difference was, I would welcome it with Crow. I would share my body willingly with him.

Maybe he was trying to recruit me into this cult of one and he still believed those things he’d been raised to believe: That the world was destined to end—whether from God or something else, I couldn’t say. That his father, The Chosen, had been…well, chosen to enlighten those who would be left behind to rebuild better. That following The Chosen was the only way not to be taken out in said ending of the world, and that Crow was supposed to lead, or whatever it was, with his father.

Either way, time would tell, so I closed my eyes and relaxed. Crow would do to me whatever he did. I didn’t feel the need to fight back against him the way I did with Eddie.

I felt the difference when he pulled onto the gravel road. The gate squeaked open, and then he was moving again. I didn’t open my eyes until he killed the engine and we sat in the driveway beside his home.

It looked slightly different as the seasons changed—less flowers, the garden not as full as it had been two months ago. It was also darker, the sky grayer, and you could see the cold in the air.

Crow got out of the truck, then grabbed his bags from the back seat. I didn’t move because I wasn’t sure what to do, but then he stood in front of his vehicle, watching me expectantly with those eyes of his that reminded me of a day like today.

I followed him inside, where he went directly to the kitchen and began putting the groceries away. When I tried to help him, he rasped out, “Sit,” and pointed to the lonely chair at his bar.

I loved the sound of his voice, the grittiness and how it wrapped around me like a blanket. Maybe that didn’t make sense because it wasn’t soft, but I liked the feel of something a little sturdier against my skin, a little heavier, like those comfort blankets. It made me feel less alone.

Crow finished arranging the groceries, then pulled out bread, mayo, lunchmeat, and other sandwich fixings. Apparently, he was hungry.

I watched as he made a ham-and-cheese sandwich with lettuce, tomato, and onion. He plated it, then grabbed freshly cut peppers and veggies that I assumed were from his garden, and added them to the plate before handing it over.

My heart rate accelerated. “This is for me?”

He nodded. “Eat.”

“What if I’m not hungry?”

“You’re losing weight,” he said gently, his gaze not meeting mine.

I had lost a few pounds since I was up here last, but I hadn’t expected him to notice. No one else did, or if they had, they hadn’t said anything. Sometimes food held more interest to me than others. It all depended on my mental health. The meds made some people eat more, but they didn’t seem to have that effect on me.

Though I didn’t feel hungry, I picked up the sandwich and took a bite. It was kind of him to think about me, to make me food because he thought I needed it. Plus, I’d had my coffee but nothing else when I’d walked to the pharmacy for my meds.