Red Moon Rising

55. scars

Chapter Song: Shame On The Moon - Bob Seger

XX

Something hard and cold smacks the back of my neck, and I whirl in the dark to find my attacker. In the still winter air, my breath fogs upward like a ghost lit by the full moon. The yard is glittering, the warmth of the previous day leaving a diamond crust over the sloping mounds of snow that slip up to the house.

"Hiding like a coward?" I ask to the night, but I get no response. Instead, I hear the crunch of a boot grinding into snow, and I catch Sage's eye just as she lifts her arm. But I'm prepared, hurdling my own snowball toward her before she gets a chance to strike.

"Mmf!" She falls back into a snowbank, and I follow the sound of her laughter to find her sprawled over a drift. "Layla," she whines, dragging out the end of my name. "That one got into my coat."

"I don't have great aim with my left arm. Sorry."

"No you're not."

"Yeah, you're right, I'm not. But you started this, remember?"

Another snowball smacks Sage in the side of the head just as she sits up, and she gapes at me before whirling to the shadows. "Hayden, I swear to god I will end you."

"Bad aim, bad aim! I'm sorry!"

"Seems like there's a lot of that going around."

Sage takes a snowball out of my hand and hurls it back at her match, frowning as he ducks cleanly out of the way. Hayden just points at her and laughs as she huffs and begins to form another ball, and I find myself laughing too. It's easier than I thought it would be, to laugh with her and Hayden. They've forcefully adopted me in the past two weeks, whether we're ordering and organizing seeds for the spring or tending to the small hydroponic farm and greenhouse they run through the winter—or becoming embroiled in whatever whim Sage decides we should share. Yesterday, she wanted to learn to make dumplings. The day before, it was iceskating. Today, Sage decided she wanted to have a good old fashioned snowball fight, whether Hayden and I agreed or not.

I've healed enough that that there's only minor discomfort when I move now, the stretching soreness of stitching skin and muscle. But my strength is returning, bit by bit, through meals shared with Jack and Red and exercise forced on me by Sage. She has a gentle, persistent energy that is hard to resist, that makes me want to say yes to whatever spontaneous activity she's decided on for the day. It feels like something is filling up in me when I'm around her and Hayden; they're nourishing people to be with.

Our snowball fight persists as I duck behind the sloped shelter I'd hastily shaped together. Lurching back into the open, I hurl a snowball at the only figure standing in the clearing, heart stopping as I realize it isn't Sage or Hayden catching it in the stomach.

"Damnit," Jack mutters, eyes sliding to me. He's just in a sweatshirt and jeans, and the snow has soaked into his clothes already.

"Sorry," I say quickly. "I didn't realize you were out here."

"I could hear yelling from inside, so I came out to check."

"Oh." I don't know how to talk to him anymore. He's given me my space the past couple of weeks like I asked, and so we talk politely at dinner—more at Red's prompting than anything—but then I see nothing of him for the rest of the day. It was a relief at first to not constantly have to monitor myself around him, but lately his absence has left a pit in my stomach. I don't know if it's because of him, or simply what he reminds me of—what I've lost. Somehow Jack knows, and he keeps his distance.

"If you stand there like that you're going to get involved," warns Sage. "Hayden escalated this snowball fight, so all bets are off."

"You guys should keep it down. People are trying to sleep."