Because Charlie Cannon was in no way the dream I’d imagined him to be, and if I’d ever really been attracted to him, it’d been a version of him that he could only maintain under certain conditions.

Ironically enough, the lights went out, and I finally saw Charlie Cannon clearly. He was an actor through and through, and he relied on a specific set to be the person he’d decided to play.

When the set went away, so too did his role, and Charlie no longer knew who to be.

Maybe every man I’d ever cared for was destined to show their true colors eventually.

But that thought was interrupted when the form of a man staggered from the trees.

chapter twenty-five

Tuck

At the look of alarm on Emily’s face as she stared over my shoulder, I grabbed the gun next to me, stood, and whirled around to face whatever threat she’d obviously seen. A man had just stepped through the trees and was heading toward us, his gait slightly staggered as he held his arm across his chest. “Stop!” I shouted. “I have a gun and I’ll shoot.”

The man did, raising one arm. “I’m injured,” he shouted back. “I’m n-not armed. I don’t mean you any harm. I just need to get w-warm. Please. I saw the fire…”

“Tell him to fuck off,” Charlie hissed.

“He’s hurt,” Emily said. “He needs help.”

“So he says,” I muttered. Or it was a tactic to get us to trust him and let him get close. “Walk slowly and keep your arm raised. Spread the fingers of your other hand.”

The man did as I asked, spreading his fingers but keeping his obviously injured arm bent across his chest. He had something wrapped around it and a pack hanging on his shoulder. “Stop,” I commanded when he got close enough that I could see him well. He looked to be in his twenties, his clothes filthy, feet clad in muddy running shoes.

“I was sh-shot.”

“Show me.”

“Tuck…” I heard Emily say from behind me, but I gestured my hand low to tell her to shush. She might think I was being harsh to an injured man looking for help, but I wasn’t going to take chances.

The man hesitated but then lowered his arm slowly and unwrapped whatever fabric he’d used as a bandage, showing me the bloody portions of material underneath, and then exposing the wound in his bicep.

“Where are you coming from?” I asked.

A shiver racked the man. “St. L-Louis. It was hell t-trying to get out.” The man was shivering so badly, he was having trouble speaking. I lowered the gun.