The Survivors: Body & Blood (book 3)

The California Winters, pt. 1

NOAH AND I WENT TO THE LODGE TO PACK UP. SADIE NEEDED TIME to herself and went for a run. We'd pick her up down the highway, wherever she appeared. The others had gone into town.

The nearly silver-skinned, red-eyed young vieczy had been a particular concern to me. I had no idea how he was keeping it together as well as he was, but that didn't mean he'd be able to maintain this façade. I think he was doing it for Ben, to prove that he wasn't a monster, not really. That nothing had changed.

"This is an awful lot of stuff," Noah said as he tossed one of Ginny's logo-emblazoned overnight bags into the back.

I laughed. "You should see what she brings when she's traveling for pleasure."

"Yeah," he said softly, holding a small carry-on in his hand. "It's weird. What fits in this bag is more than we ever owned in there. I had a book. Sadie and Ben each had a book. We had clothes that were passed down to us but weren't really ours. And I'm pretty sure there are only shoes in this bag," he said, trying to be light but not able to.

Noah and Ben's struggles with the outside world were such an eye-opener. I had met Sadie in a Mercedes with an AMG engine, in an outfit she'd gotten through a stylist that came off a runway, decked out in hair and makeup and every thing like my sister always was. She carried a checkbook, booked plane tickets, did everything like a normal person. Actually, like a very well established, well connected, and wealthy person, which is hardly normal. And I had — we all had — taken that for granted. But she walked out of that town on the mountain with the clothes on her back, no shoes on her feet (I later learned), and a copy of Theogony wrapped in cloth.

And because I didn't have Sadie here to ask, I asked Noah: "How do you do it, man? How do you go from in there to out here?"

"I don't think I really have," he said. "But I can tell you this much, I can't go back there. I have things to fight for . . . out here."

Ben had told me about their relationship before we went to Oaxaca, but he clearly hadn't told Noah that, and Noah had likely never voiced aloud what each of us had come to know to anyway. I can't imagine the fear they'd been suffocated by. And though I wasn't one to pry, I wanted him to know he didn't have to hide. They'd hidden enough. A closet seemed an unfair layer of imprisonment.

So I said, "Ben, you mean."

He clammed up instantly. "What does Ben have to do with it?" he asked, deflecting my glance and walking inside for another bag.

I followed him in. "It's okay," I said. "About you and Ben . . . we know. It's not weird out here. It's okay that you feel . . ."

"Mark, stop. I don't feel anything. I don't know what you're talking about," he insisted. But his eyes were so full of fear, it kind of broke my heart.

I put my hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. "Noah, we're in a messed up world. We're dealing with hell, front and center, every goddamned day. That you can love anyone in the midst of this makes every one of us hopeful. And that you are able to control what you are because of that, that you were able to break free from the rest of the Rogues because you wanted to return to him? Well, it's inspiring.

I know you love him. I know he loves you. And I know you're probably scared out of your mind. But you don't have to hide it anymore."

His burning red eyes filled with tears, and silver-red streaks cut down his face. "I am scared," he whispered. "I don't want to hurt him."

"You won't. I'll help you. We'll find your strength, Noah. We'll keep him safe."

"Thank you," he breathed, his voice pinched and breathy. Then he sobbed openly.