Somewhere New (Isle of Doughnut #1)

Chapter Six

CHAPTER SIX

CALLUM

I didn’t make a conscious decision to flee before Aster emerged this morning. I heard him wake up, and a switch flipped inside of me. I had two options: either rush through and press close to his sleepy form, or leave.

Faced with the choice between acting like a massive creep or a reclusive hermit, I wolfed down my last few mouthfuls of porridge, tugged on my boots, and ran out of sight of the cabin.

Not out of earshot though. Or, not out of my earshot.

Aster grumbled about my absence, then he pottered around the cabin and eventually left.

Just like I didn’t make the decision to flee, I didn’t decide to follow him.

I stayed close by, working through my tasks for the day as I kept one ear attuned to him. It was self-preservation. Aster had proven he wasn’t as hardy as the few other folk who made it this high into the mountains. Keeping track of him now would save me the trouble later of finding him if he fell down a valley or got lost in another flurry of snow .

‘We don’t want any more snow, do we girl?’ I murmured to the goat I was examining. Almost ready to pop, her belly jutted out. I ran my hands over her tough hide, digging my fingers in slightly. Twins, if I wasn’t mistaken. Multiple births were always tricky, and would be made more so if the weather didn’t get significantly warmer soon.

My checks done, I scratched the goat’s rough back and head. She bleated her thanks before trotting away along the river.

Aster sat beside the same river, sharing lunch with the overly friendly goat. I pulled my sandwiches from my bag and climbed the nearest hill. I’d remain out of sight, but could check on Aster before I started my afternoon round-up of the other pregnant goats.

He’d been quieter since he left the cabin. In there, he’d nattered to the goat. Outside, his voice fell silent.

I wondered if Aster would speak if I walked over and sat down beside him. He’d probably have something to say when I refused to share my sandwiches with the goat. Maybe he would tell me about the project that had brought him to the island, or the family and friends he’d left behind. I’d heard his thumbs tapping at his phone as he’d hummed tunelessly back at the cabin. He had to have a whole barrage of people who loved and missed him.

It couldn’t just be me who found him magnetic. Against every ingrained instinct honed over years of living alone, all I wanted to do was reveal myself and come as close to him as possible.

I hadn’t felt an urge for closeness since the storm. I scented with Bonnie and the other pack members when I made my irregular trips to the village, but that was a necessity. I had to reinforce our bonds, no matter how much the pity in their pinched expressions made me want to hide away.

Aster was the first person I wanted to be close to, the first person I wanted to know in a long time.

Just because I’d kept to myself for years, that didn’t mean I had to forever. I could be friends with someone new.

It felt strange to entertain these hopeful thoughts. It was almost a relief when everything came crashing down.

Aster dug his hands into the earth for a minute, then I watched with dawning dread as he hurriedly packed up his things and struck out in the direction of the old house. He couldn’t know where he was headed. I silently urged him to return to the zigzagging pattern of exploring he’d adopted this morning.

But nothing distracted him. Hidden at a safe distance, I watched as he crested the final hill and stopped.

The hope of having an unsullied friendship with him shrivelled and died.

For a long time, Aster stared at the ruin of my family home. Gradually, the scent of his tears carried over on the brisk wind.

This man who was new to the island and understood none of the broken history of this place was crying.

I hadn’t cried. Not during. Not right after. Not in the years since. When Bonnie told me the best way to move on was to leave what had happened behind, a stopper had been placed over the part of me that could conjure sob-ridden sadness.

I didn’t talk about what had happened, barely thought about it, so I didn’t need to cry.

But Aster was crying. A deep ache spread through my chest. I wanted to run over and gather him in my arms. I wanted to escape to the other side of the island so I would have no idea what he was doing. I wanted to make him stop. I wanted him to never stop.

I did nothing. Eventually, Aster wiped the tears off his face and continued his exploration of the island.

This time, I didn’t follow. I walked over to where he’d stood and tried to see the house with a stranger’s eyes. Even without knowing what happened here, it had to look sad. It had once been a home.

The storm ended that. No one would ever live here again.

I stood on the hilltop and looked down at the broken remains of my family home. Like Bonnie’s voice the night before, being here was a good reminder of who I was and where I belonged.

I was a murderer, and I belonged to no one. I deserved to be alone.

This was why my hopeful thoughts as I’d followed Aster around like a lovesick puppy this morning had felt so alien. They didn’t fit with the life I had to live. I couldn’t have friendship with anyone, let alone anything else.

My first move of fleeing when Aster woke up this morning was one I’d repeat for the rest of his stay. Whenever possible, I’d avoid him. I’d keep our shared time in the cabin to a minimum. He didn’t need me to complete his project, so I wasn’t letting him down.

I would enjoy his scent in snatched moments and keep him at a distance. That would make it less painful when he left.

Because he would leave, in the end. Everyone did.

And I would be alone. Just like I should be.