The Hunter In Me

14 - Groovy

Owen grinned. "And you're so humble, too. What's not to love?"

"That's what I'm saying."

For a minute, the only sound was the wind breezing through the open window as we passed fields full of roaming cows. Lilla's words continued to swirl in my brain.

"Why are you so worked up?" Owen asked. "She didn't hurt your feelings, did she? Tell me you're not that sensitive."

"What if she's right?"

"About what?"

"You don't need me—I'm no help with hunting. Maybe we should let Lilla use the blocking spell on us. You know enough about my life to get by without me for a while."

"No. Are you kidding? There's no way in hell I'm letting that happen. We'll finish the mimics together. I'll leave, and everything can go back to normal. That was the deal, and I'm not changing it."

Before I could form a response, Owen said, "I feel you worrying. What is it?"

"I'm surprised you didn't even mull it over. Stopping the mimics is your whole reason for being here. If blocking me can help, then..."

Owen pulled into the driveway and parked. He shut the engine off but didn't get out. Instead, he took a deep breath and puffed out my cheeks when he released it. "First, we're not even sure they can sense us. They haven't found us so far."

"Okay. And second?"

Owen's stress level spiked. "Second, you're my friend. I won't do that to you."

I waited for the thing causing his anxiety, and then realized that was it. "Was it that painful to call me your friend?"

Resting my forehead on the steering wheel, Owen growled. "No. It's just... it's weird. I'm not like you. I learned at home and trained. My brothers were my closest friends, and they were only fifteen when... " He squeezed the keys in my fist. "Can we be done with the touchy-feely shit?"

I wished he'd talk more about his brothers. Years of therapy drilled into me that keeping things bottled up caused pressure that could result in an explosion—or in my case, a poorly timed eruption that led to a short personal vacation from school and a mark on my permanent record. Talking would be good for Owen, but I wouldn't push. This conversation was already too much for him.

"Okay, we're done. But, Owen?"

"Whaaaat?" He dragged the word out as though it was painful.

"Whatever happens, I'm glad we met, and I'm glad you're my friend, even if you're severely emotionally stunted."

Owen chuckled as he opened the door. "Shut up, you damn hippie."

***

The aroma of grilled meat and onions lingered in the air as Dad and I cleared the dining table.

"It's been a while since we had steak. That was good." I grabbed a towel to wipe the counter clean.

"I'm pretty impressed with the fresh green beans I made. They're not meat or potatoes, and they were still great!"

I smiled as I loaded plates into the dishwasher. "Yeah, they were. Look out, Martha Stewart. Dad's got green beans!"

Dad flicked my ear. "You shouldn't make fun. Cooking is a skill. Besides, Martha's cool now; she hangs out with Snoop."

We laughed as Dad leaned against the cabinets, finishing his sweet tea and crunching on ice while I closed the dishwasher and it hissed to life. "I'll be out late tonight. I'm going into town."