Heart So Hollow (Dire Wolves Book 1), page 9
“Shit,” Bowen screws up his face and rolled his eyes, “how’d that go?”
“Awful,” I mutter, remembering the constant, low-key stress that took over my life until the semester was over. “He came into class every day and sat down next to me like nothing happened. He didn’t even say anything, he was just…there. It really messed with me. Like, I even started wondering if I imagined the whole thing. Finally, I couldn’t take it anymore and skipped out on the last two weeks of class.”
Bowen cocks his head, “Is that why you got all squirrelly on the hike?”
“Kind of,” I mumble. Even now, I don’t want to come right out and say it.
“I didn’t mean to freak you out.”
I shake my head, “It’s not your fault. It could’ve been worse.”
Bowen arches his brow with a smile, “You’re way more pragmatic than I am.”
“I’m good at compartmentalizing,” I say with a shrug.
Colson before he tried to murder me fit nicely in a box, Colson after he tried to murder me fit nicely in a different box, and so on and so forth. Brett after meeting Bowen will get its own box as well.
“And then,” I shoot Bowen a look, “I kept seeing him everywhere. It’s like he always showed up where I was. Every time, I managed to hold it together, but afterward, I just—” I hesitate, just wanting to forget it, “cried and cried. It got to where I barely went out anymore.”
“So, he was stalking you,” Bowen concludes.
I give a half shrug, content to pretend everything was a string of inconvenient coincidences. Just like I pretend I never heard any of the things Colson said to me that night, even though they remain seared into my brain.
“You said it was weird he even ended up in that class,” Bowen points out. “He sits next to you, moves whenever you move, you never saw him around campus before then, but after all that, he just shows up everywhere you go?” Bowen tips his head onto the back of his chair, “I think you’ll hear from him again.”
This is not what I want to hear.
I try to brush him off, “It was three years ago.”
“Three years to think about you,” he points out. “I can’t blame him, I guess. I’d be freaking out, too, if I screwed up that bad and you told me to fuck the hell off.”
I shoot him a grin and seize the opportunity to deflect, “Has a woman ever told you to fuck the hell off?”
Bowen pauses, staring into the fire for a few moments before turning back to me, “Not successfully,” he says with a wink, sending a wave of butterflies through my stomach. “So, what did your friends say about what happened?”
“Nothing,” I confess, “you’re the first person I’ve told.”
“Really?” As much as he tries to hide it, I still see the smug look that flashes behind his eyes. “Why?”
“A lot of reasons…”
Because then I would have to acknowledge a lot of other things Colson did that nobody knows about…
“I didn’t see him again after graduation,” I shrug, deciding it’s safer to remain vague, “Why not let sleeping dogs lie?”
Bowen seems to accept my reasoning. “I’m guessing breakups since then haven’t been that bad.”
I give a bitter chuckle, “What breakups?”
Bowen furrows his brow, “Really?”
I shake my head, “Nothing of any substance that would warrant a breakup.”
“Wow,” he marvels, staring into the fire, “so, you just like to love ‘em and leave ‘em.”
“Yeah, that’s me,” I scoff, “Barrett, my best friend, always tries to set me up with guys, but they’re more her type than mine.” I roll my eyes, “So, when it doesn’t work out, she just ends up dating them instead. But I appreciate the gesture.”
He peers at me with skepticism, “That’s pretty fucked up, wouldn’t you say?”
“Not really. You talk to people you’re drawn to, right? They were her type, anyway. I don’t know, sometimes I think I’m just not good at having a boyfriend.”
“Not if you keep dating your best friend’s next boyfriend,” Bowen laughs, “so, what is your type?”
I stare into the fire, considering his question, then finally, I lift my head to meet his eyes, “Stoic, brooding, bordering on surly...”
I can think of more adjectives—more specific characteristics—but I keep those tucked safely in the back of my mind.
Bowen studies me, “You have some darkness in you, huh?”
Shadows dance across his face and I can’t help but notice how his eyes look straight up menacing in the light of the fire, his hair casting a black shadow over his face as it swoops over one eyebrow. He looks beautifully terrifying.
“Alright,” I cross my arms, finished discussing Colson Lutz, “truth or dare?”
Bowen crushes his empty can in his fist and tosses it over the fire ring. It pings off the edge of the bucket and clatters to the bottom with the rest of the empty bottles and cans.
“Truth.”
“What’s something that’s happened to you?”
Bowen casts a sideways glance, “Nothing like that.”
“No bad breakups for you?”
“I guess I was like you. I made sure none of my extracurricular activities qualified for breakups. And the last relationship I was in ended pretty abruptly, so I don’t know if that one qualifies as a breakup, either.”
“What do you mean by abruptly?”
“For her, I guess,” he shrugs. “Ghosted might be a better term.”
“OK, forget relationships, what’s something else that’s happened to you?”
Bowen gazes up at the canopy until a smile starts creeping across his face, “Remember when I said that you never know what you’re going to find out in the middle of nowhere?”
“Yeah,” I nod, “what have you found in the middle of nowhere?”
“A couple years ago, I went out to this place about two hours east to do a job by myself. It was pretty remote and it was just supposed to be a property boundary survey. Normally, I don’t even see the owner, I just do the thing and send them the bill and the paperwork.” Bowen bows his head and stares over at me, “That was not what happened this time.”
A smile stretches across my face at his suspenseful introduction.
“I drive up and this guy comes outside. He’s big, just as tall as me and at least 350. He decides he’s going to walk with me and the whole time his dog is also following us—this big Catahoula that has his nose to the ground the whole time. It’s one thing to stand in the yard talking to someone, but no one wants to take a hike with me,” Bowen pauses, giving me a once-over, “except you.”
Suddenly, I wish he was sitting closer…like, in my chair with me.
“The property was at least 20 acres,” he continues, “and this guy’s not chatty, either. He’s quiet and keeps looking around like he’s expecting to see someone. Then, out of the blue, the dog bolts. The guy starts hollering, cussing, and carrying on, and I’m like, seriously, let the dog fucking go, because y’all are getting on my nerves! At that point, he starts asking me if I can just use the plat map from the county so we don’t have to waste each other’s time.”
“What’s a plat map?” I interject.
“It’s the diagram showing the boundaries of your property in relation to the ones nearby, but it doesn’t include buildings or any other features like fences. I’m like, dude, you have no idea how much I’d like to just write this whole thing off and get out of here, but that constitutes fraud. He’s getting more and more irate and still yelling for his dog, so I just keep an eye on him and keep going. After a while, I see the dog up ahead and it’s nosing and pawing at something on the ground, kicking up dirt and leaves. Then the wind picks up,” Bowen shoots me a dubious glance, “and oh my god, the smell was foul. I know what garbage smells like, I know what dead deer smell like, but this was on another level.”
My eyes widen with revulsion and, for a split second, I debate whether or not I want to know how his creepy story ends. But of course I do.
“He starts saying it’s just a dead animal, but when I get closer, I see the dog’s yanking on something. And then I see something that I can’t unsee.”
“Maybe it should’ve stayed unseen,” I mutter, pulling my jacket tighter around me.
Bowen casts me a sly grin, “You and your creepy ass are going to love this. The dog has hold of an arm.”
I grab the armrests of my chair, nearly toppling over, “What?”
Bowen snickers, “That dog ripped it out of the ground at the elbow and came tearing back through the woods past me. So, I’m just standing there, staring at this dog running off with a human arm, and I feel this dude grab my shoulder and try to pull me off in the other direction. But I immediately pull my gun on him and tell him I’ll blow his fucking face off if he touches me again.”
I just blink at him, at a loss for words.
“Like I said, this guy is big. I could get a couple good shots off, but I’m not convinced it’ll make a difference. He backs up a bit, and I use my other hand to get my phone and call 911…”
Bowen pauses for an unnatural amount of time, grinning as I cling on to every word of his high-stakes drama. He’s just eating it up.
I thrust my empty beer can at him, hitting him in the knee, “Oh, come on!”
“I called 911,” he chuckles, “but there’s no service. None. So, I’m like, alright, bruh, turn around and let’s hike on outta here. But he did not want to listen to me. At one point, I had to fire off a round at his feet to convince him to get moving.”
“Did you make it out?” I murmur, my eyes bulging.
Bowen opens his mouth, but then hesitates, “Baby girl,” his voice softens, “I’m sitting here in front of you, aren’t I?”
I pause, realizing how stupid that sounds, “You know what I mean!” I growl in exasperation.
“Yes,” he snickers, “I finally got a signal when we hit the tree line. You should’ve heard me talking to the dispatcher—there’s a body in the woods! The dog ran off with an arm!”
As disturbing as his story is, I’m overcome with fit of laughter listening to Bowen’s animated descriptions of what transpired.
“And when five cop cars arrive, I have to stand there with my arms up so I don’t get shot while this dude is about to kill me for walking up on his crime scene.”
“Holy…shit…” I stare at Bowen in disbelief, “did you ever find out what happened?”
He nods, “Apparently, this guy killed his fiancée, buried her in the back 40, and then got into a property dispute with his neighbor and decided he’d rather pay for a survey than dig her up and hide her somewhere else.”
I cringe, “That is so sick.”
“Tell me about it,” he mutters.
I sit in silence for a minute, eyeing Bowen from my chair, “You’re serious? That really happened?”
“Serious as a heart attack.” Bowen tips his head back with satisfaction, “So, when I said I’d get you out of the woods in one piece, I meant it.”
“OK,” I nod, settling back into my chair, “I guess you have good stories, too.”
“There’s more where that came from,” he winks, “you better get used to it.”
I could get used to it. Because I haven’t felt this way about someone since…a long time ago.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Brett
One Year Ago
Bowen has a way of talking that makes time slow down, like everything moves with the cadence of his voice. He also never runs out of things to talk about. So much so that it feels like I already know him, like I planned to meet him here all along.
I might’ve taken him up on his offer to crawl into his tent and spend the night with him at the campsite, but having met his entire family just hours before, I can’t imagine staggering out of his tent the next morning to face everyone over some scrambled eggs and bacon.
His truck is blocked in by the other vehicles, so he offers to walk me back to the lodge instead. I’m not thrilled about that, either, but it seems like the best option with the least amount of embarrassment.
Bowen glances over his shoulder at me as I trudge up the path behind him, “Are you tired?”
There’s something so calming about the combination of wood smoke and nighttime air. I love it. But I don’t love trekking all the way back across the park to my room. Most of the cabins are dark now, with a couple fires still flickering along the lake and along the edge of the woods.
“No,” I sigh as we trudge up the hill, “I just forgot how long of a walk it is.”
Bowen hooks his fingers in the crook of my elbow and we slow to a halt, “Here,” he says, reaching around my back and bending down.
In one fluid motion, he hooks his arm behind my knees and lifts me into the air, starting up the hill again. I clasp my hands together on the other side of his neck, grinning at his profile. My feet dangle in mid-air, swinging back and forth as he walks. I assume he’ll put me down when we arrive at the lodge, but he hits the automatic door button with his elbow and continues inside and across the lobby without a care, then hits the elevator button with his elbow and waits.
When the door opens, he stepped inside and turns to me, his nose almost touching mine, “Floor?”
I reach down with one hand and press the number two button.
When the doors open again, he steps off and glances to the right and then to the left, “Which way, sweetheart?”
I extend my left arm along the top of his shoulder and point, “Left. 232.”
Bowen turns sharply and strides down the hallway toward the far end of the wing, glancing at the numbers on each door as he goes until we reach mine, “Do you have your key?”
Bowen waits patiently while I dig the key card out of my shorts. And when the lock clicks, I turn the handle and push the door open. He angles to the side and slides his shoulder along the door, opening it the rest of the way so he can step into the room. I listen as the door slowly swings shut and, finally, I hear the latch click.
“Thanks,” I say into his ear, catching a whiff of his spearmint gum.
“Like I said,” Bowen gently lowers me to the floor, “I’ll get you home in one piece.”
I bend down to kick off my shoes and, suddenly, the sharp aroma of burnt hickory hits my nose. It’s much more pronounced now that I’m back in my room with clean linens and the lingering smell of cleaner.
“I smell like campfire.”
Bowen leans down and presses his cheek against mine, inhaling the flood of curls cascading over my shoulder. A shot of dopamine shoots through me at the feel of skin against mine, but when I rotate my head slightly, he moves to the left and presses his nose into the shoulder of my sweatshirt.
“Yep,” he says, lifting his head, “you’re pretty charred.”
Before I can respond, Bowen reaches up and slowly begins unzipping my hoodie. And I let him, because I wish he’d kept his face pressed against mine. Leaving my hoodie open, he grasps each side and leans down, pulling me closer.
He presses his nose to my collarbone and inhales my t-shirt, “This one’s still clean,” he murmurs.
He lingers for a few moments, but as soon as he lifts his head, I cock my head, eyeing him, “Tall,” I state.
Bowen furrows his brow at me in confusion.
“I didn’t finish telling you about my type,” I explain, “tall, with dark hair and intense eyes, but he has the most beautiful smile.” Bowen shifts his stance and leans his shoulder against the wall as I continue. “He likes to be outside, and he’s kind of an asshole,” I shrug, “but he tells good stories.”
Bowen bites his bottom lip, “Sounds like a real charmer.”
“Anyway,” I glance back into my empty room, “thanks for calling the wrong number last night.”
“My pleasure,” Bowen nods. “So, did you get it out of your system?”
“Get what out of my system?”
He motions to the door behind him, “All that out there where you let me take you on a hike, talk sweet to you, we get to know each other, and then you meet my entire family so you can convince yourself I’m a good guy you can invite into your room.”
Whoa.
I squint up at him, “Are you a good guy?”
But he doesn’t miss a beat, “Do you want me to be a good guy?” Bowen doesn’t wait for me to answer before he pushes off the wall, searching my face as he tries to read me, “I’ll be good to you.” He looks me up and down, his pupils dilated so his brown eyes looked like pools of glossy ink, “That’s all that matters, right?”
That’s all that matters.
He’s so close that I have to tilt my head back to look up at him, “So, was all of that out there real or just for show?”
“Oh, it was real,” he nods, “but now I want to be done with niceties and show you what it’s really like to be with me.”
Goosebumps skitter across my back and down my arms as I realize the Bowen that carried me so gently out of the nighttime shadows and up to my room is gone. In his place is something more akin to a beast that’s waiting to be fed. And I’m glad this Bowen decided to come out to play.
He leans down, “Hope you don’t have neighbors tonight,” he whispers as he reaches behind his back and flips the swing bar shut over the door.
Bowen glances over my shoulder and then tips his chin, motioning to the dim room behind me, lit only by the glow of the lamp next to the bed. The corner of my mouth twitches with amusement as I take a step backward, and then another. His eyes remain locked on mine as I move deeper into the room, him following at the same pace until he comes to a stop just in front of me.
He reaches over his shoulders and pulls both his hoodie and t-shirt over his head in one go, revealing a set of shoulders and traps that nearly buckle my knees. His jeans hang low on his hips, but pieces of another tattoo peek out from beneath his black leather belt. Ribbons of ink curl up over each hip before dipping back down out of sight. Another block of black script is tattooed beneath his chest, curving around the right side of his rib cage, but I can’t read it.
