The Blood That Binds by Madeline Sheehan

 

Willow

One Year Later…

“They’re back—they’re back from Everdeen!” Béla ran excitedly around us, making circles in the snow, before taking off toward the gate.

We were each fresh from work—Britta, who’d spent the day on the lake, fishing, Ella, who’d been busy harvesting parsnips and winter cabbage in the garden, and me, who’d divided my day between both the garden and the store.

While Ella and I shivered inside our many winter layers, Britta was surprisingly fine in much less, her easy gait unhampered by her prosthetic limb—a slim, lightweight contraption with a hinged ankle. It had been Joe who’d found her a new foot; traveling far and wide, he’d spent months bringing back every prosthetic he’d come across until Britta had found one that suited her.

Waving my friends in the direction of the dining hall, I said, “You guys go ahead—I’ll meet you later.”

“You sent another letter, didn’t you?” Ella shouted after me, her exasperation clear. “Willow, you need to let it go!”

“Aw, leave her alone, ya bitter bitch,” Britta replied. “If writin’ letters make her feel better, what’s the harm in it?”

“The harm is, that she’s miserable every time he doesn’t write back and then I have to suffer through listening to her whine about it.”

“How ‘bout you try mindin’ your own dang business for once?”

“It’s a free fucking country,” Ella snapped back.

“Is it?” Britta chuckled. “You forget about the wall, sugar?”

As their bickering faded off into the distance, I wondered if Ella might be right. This would be Silver Lake’s third trip to Everdeen since Lucas had returned there, and each time a trading party departed, I’d made sure to send a letter along. He’d yet to send a reply.

Finding Joshua at the garage, busy unloading one of the trucks, I hurried to help, grabbing a heavy wooden crate and setting it on top of a growing pile of traded goods—both handmade and scavenged. Glancing at me, Joshua flashed a small, sympathetic smile and my hope deflated like a punctured balloon.

“Did he at least read it?” I asked. The first letter I’d sent had been tossed in a fire, and the second shredded and left in pieces.

“Can’t say for certain. But he did put it in his pocket.”

A glimmer of hope shone through the shroud—maybe Lucas would read it this time—maybe there was a chance that we could heal from this.

“How’s he doing?” I asked. “Does he seem… okay?”

“He’s looking healthy and strong, if that’s what you’re asking,” Joshua said. “But if it’s his mood you’re after, I’d say he’s a lot like his big brother—you know, he keeps mostly to himself and is ornery as hell for no good reason.”

While Joshua headed back to the truck, my heart plummeted to my feet. Hearing that Lucas’s infinite sweetness and gentle charm had yet to return, and knowing that I was to blame for it, was yet another bitter pill to swallow in a world where bitter pills were already a dime a dozen.

After helping unload the rest of the Everdeen haul, I headed for home. As I walked, the wind picked up speed, its blustery chill sending shivers through my heavy layers. I ran the rest of the way home, flinging open the door to the cabin—a recent upgrade from its flimsy predecessor—and wrestling it closed. I slumped against it, grateful for the warmth of the nearby fire.

Standing in our kitchen, a cordoned-off section of our living room, our table now boasted four chairs, along with a mini-fridge and a hotplate. The larger portion of the room held two mismatched couches and a hand-carved coffee table made by Logan. An old stereo system sat on top of the coffee table, softly crooning a song I didn’t recognize—courtesy of the dozens of CDs we’d scavenged when we’d found the stereo.

“Hey.” Logan stood in the threshold of our bedroom—the most notable add-on to our home. Built off the bathroom, the bathroom had ended up twice its previous size and now boasted the luxury of having two entrance doors. Logan, however, didn’t see it as a luxury—Logan saw it as being both defendable and escapable.

“Cold?” he asked.

Shivering, I only nodded.

Pulling my scarf free, Logan set it aside and kissed me. Layer by layer, he removed my winter wear, until I was left in only my sweatshirt and jeans. Hooking his fingers into my belt loops, Logan hauled me up against him.

“Warmer?” he growled, kissing me again.

“Mmhmm,” I mumbled against his mouth. “Except for my feet.”

We both looked down to where the melted snow from my boots had made a good-sized puddle around our feet.

Breaking apart, Logan bent to clean the mess while I headed for the bedroom. “Did you see that the trading party is back?” I called over my shoulder.

There was a lengthy pause before Logan appeared in the bedroom doorway, his expression grim. “Did he write back this time?”

“No.”

Another pause stretched between us. “Are you okay?” he asked.

Dragging in a heavy breath, my hands fell limply at my sides. “I don’t know.”

“You know you’ve got to stop beating yourself up over this, right? Luke’s safe in Everdeen—he’s got friends there, too. What else do you want from him?”

I gave a small shrug. “I don’t know. I mean, I know things will never be the same, but I just thought that someday we might be—”

“Pen pals?” Logan bit out, brow cocked. “Friends in different area codes?”

Mouth snapping shut, I spun away from Logan and stormed across our room—the newest addition still smelling faintly of fresh pine. Our bed sat centrally, pushed up against the far wall and piled high with a vast array of colorful pillows and comforters. Logan had long ago disassembled the bunk beds, reconfiguring their metal framework into one, much larger bed frame, enabling a queen-size mattress to fit sideways over two twin box springs.

Identical nightstands hand carved by Logan hugged either side of the bed, with mismatching lamps set upon each. Nearby, a second wood-burning stove had been installed, its freshly stoked fire burning brightly from within its iron confines. Our dressers still sat side by side, mine with its drawers open and clothing hanging out, while Logan’s drawers were closed and every item inside neatly folded.

As I rummaged angrily through my dresser, Logan moved into the room. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that. It’s just—fuck, Willow, you know how I feel about this shit.”

Ignoring him, I chose a fuzzy blue sweater and a pair of fleece-lined leggings from my ever-growing collection of clothing and began to change. Of course I knew how Logan felt about Lucas—he preferred not to discuss his estranged brother. Or even think about him, if he could help it. He felt that constantly worrying over something you had no control over was the same as picking at a scab—all it did was hurt.

How very fucking zen of him.

“It’s fine,” I snapped.

“It’s not fine—I shouldn’t have said that. Jesus, Willow, are you gonna pick that up or just leave it on the floor?”

“I’m going to leave it there.”

As I moved to step around him, Logan caught my hand. “Look,” he said, sighing. “If it makes you feel better, then keep writing the letters. We’ll give Luke until spring to answer—if he hasn’t responded by then… maybe… maybe we should make a trip to Everdeen.”

I glanced up sharply. “You’d really go? You’re not just saying that to make me feel better?”

“Since when do I ever say anything just to make you feel better? Besides, he’s my brother—I want to fix this. I just don’t know how. I thought he needed time—these things take time, right?”

“How would I know? This is literally the one and only time this has ever happened to me.” Jerking my hand from his hold, I stormed into the living room, spluttering, “Splitting up families and coming between brothers is just another Monday for Willow, right Logan?”

“For fuck’s sake, Willow—that’s not what I meant.”

“For fuck’s sake, Willow,” I mimicked, flopping down on one of the couches. Logan followed me out, stalking closely behind me throughout the cabin, and taking the seat directly beside me. Scowling, I scooted away. “Get your own couch.”

Logan hefted himself closer, bringing our bodies flush once again. “If this is how our night’s gonna go, I say we skip dinner at the dining hall—we’ve got food here, and no one else needs to be subjected to your moody ass.”

“Whatever,” I muttered, crossing my arms over my chest. “I know what you’re really doing—you always want to stay in.”

“Because I always want you all to myself.”

I had zero intention of heading back out into the cold tonight, zero intention of even leaving this couch. Even so, I replied, “Good for you. Maybe I want to see my friends.”

“You see your friends every day.”

“I see you every day, too.”

“Only after work.”

“And all night long. And in the morning. And sometimes on break.”

“Which is your favorite?” he asked, a sly smile creeping across his expression. “In the morning, all night long, or during break?”

I eyed him stonily, even as I felt myself softening. “You tell me,” I said. “Since you know everything.”

“Morning,” he replied, sounding positively pleased with himself. “It’s definitely morning.” Dropping his mouth to my ear, he rumbled softly, “When you’re half asleep and pushing your ass up against me and making that fuckingnoise. I love that noise, Willow. I love your ass, too.”

Breath hitching, I shoved him away, ready to wipe the self-satisfied look off his face, only to find that he didn’t appear smug at all. In fact, his eyes were dark and burning, the look on his face undeniably hungry. And every nerve in my body fired up in response.

“Goddamn you,” I hissed as I climbed into his lap, gripping fistfuls of his shirt. “You’re lucky I love you.”

I kissed him ruthlessly, pouring all my angry, antagonistic energy into loving him instead of fighting with him. He met me thrust for thrust, lick for lick, each of us sparring with our lips and tongues until we were both breathing hard and wanting more.

“Maybe you’re lucky I love you.” With a flick of his wrists, Logan had me sprawled on my back along the length of the couch, legs spread. Pouncing on top of me, he dropped his hips between my thighs and his mouth to my neck, biting down with a growl.

I dragged one hand up his back while the other clutched a handful of his hair, using it to tear his teeth from my neck, forcing his furious kisses back to my mouth.

It was always like this with Logan, and I already knew it always would be—fighting and fucking, making up and making love, day in and day out until we were both wrung dry and left still somehow wanting more.

We were oil and water, fire and ice, the sun and the goddamn moon—almost never visible at the same time and orbiting hundreds of thousands of miles apart and yet, inexplicably bound together. And maybe we didn’t always work and maybe our complicated story wouldn’t always make sense to everyone…

But much like the Mad Hatter instilled in Alice that she was under no obligation to make sense—

—neither were we.

The End.