head hanging low. He looked like a wounded animal. Lost. Her heart twisted, cracked.
She took a deep breath. “Yes,” she confirmed. “I saw.” She moved closer, putting her hand on his arm, though he still didn’t turn toward her. “I saw pictures of you surviving in ways that will never be erased from my soul. Not because they disgusted me, but because my heart bled for you, and rejoiced with you, and found awe in your courage. Your will to live. The pictures I saw broke my heart, Jak, but more than that, they made me proud and deeply humbled by your strength. They . . . made me love you even more than I already did,” she finished, her voice filled with the heartfelt passion that lived in her heart for the man in front of her, feeling shame for things he was not responsible for.
He turned then, though slowly, his face filled with wary surprise, a glimmer of hope. But as quickly as she saw it, it disappeared. He shook his head. “He described me as a possum sometimes, other times a deer.” He stepped back, away from her. “He also called me the wolf.” He let out a deep tortured breath. “And . . . I’m all of them, Harper.” He said it as though his heart broke to admit it, such sadness in his eyes that she almost couldn’t bear it. “I’m each one. I tried not to be but I am.” He shook his head. “I haven’t been the possum for a long time. He was the scared boy. But the other two . . . they’re who I grew to be, and I can’t leave either one behind.” He took a shuddery breath. “Do you want the buck who will shake hands and use table manners, or the wolf who might tear you apart? And what happens if I can’t promise you the wolf won’t come out when you least expect it? I can’t be just one or the other. I’m both.” His voice broke on the last word, fading away.
She stood straighter, his words bolstering her. Yes, she’d known that, hadn’t she? She’d sensed him holding back, for her, felt him trying to suppress that part of him—the wolf. She’d been glad for it because that side of him was an unknown and it scared her, but beyond her fear, there had been the spark of . . . disappointment, hadn’t there? Disappointment at his restraint. And she understood what he was telling her. She couldn’t have him in pieces. He’d spent his life surviving because of that wild, beastly part of him. To reject it would be to reject the very core of who he was.
“I want the wolf,” she said softly. “I want you. I don’t need you to hold back.” It was the truest thing she’d ever said, she realized. She was willing to cast away any fear because she trusted him. There was no part of him she didn’t want. Each piece of him had been hard won. Hard fought for, and she’d take them all.
He studied her, his eyes narrowing, watching. “Before I lived in that house, I lived in caves, Harper, or sometimes holes animals dug in the ground.”
She nodded, raising her chin. “Good,” she said. “Those places kept you warm.”
He turned his head slightly, still studying her with such intensity, she began to shake. He took a step nearer and she held her ground.
“Sometimes I was so starving I ate bugs. One after the other. I searched the ground for them, crawling on my hands and knees.”
He watched, waited to see the disgust come into her eyes, she knew. Testing her. She swallowed, the picture in her mind—the knowledge of his excruciating desperation—hurting so much she wanted to fall to her own knees. She took in a breath, the vast respect—the immense love—she had for him filling every part of her soul. “Good,” she whispered. “It kept you alive so when I walked into the sheriff’s office that day, you were there. You were there.”
He paused for so long, she wondered if he’d speak again, wondered if he’d bring up one more horrifying element of his survival to try to determine if she really wanted what she was saying she wanted.
“The wolf is not like anything you know. He’s wild, Harper. He’s the very worst of me.”
“Good,” she said one more time, the intensity she felt wavering in her voice. “I want wild. I want you.