In that moment, Clare no longer felt like she was sliding down an endless slope. Dorran had found her hand, and he was pulling her up. She was glad she could hide her face in his shirt. She didn’t want to meet his eyes. “I’ll make it up to you.”
“Please.” He was hoarse. “I only want one thing. Would you eat?”
He adjusted her so that she sat at his side on the bed’s edge, then he reached to the kitchenette and retrieved the bowl. Clare took it and stared into the warm stew inside. She didn’t know how he’d managed to heat their food that morning—it would have taken a lot of effort to build a fire in the dirt outside the caravan—but he’d done it. She picked up the spoon.
The stew felt as though it were choking her, but every mouthful seemed to spread relief through Dorran. When she was done, he took the bowl from her, set it aside, then gathered her into his arms. He kissed her forehead. It was gentle. Desperate. She leaned into him, resting against his shoulder, holding him as tightly as he held her.
“I didn’t expect this to be so hard,” Clare managed. “I was only focussed on getting to Beth. Four hours there, four hours back. We were supposed to be home by now. But everything—the freeway, the bridges, Marnie…”
“It is worse than you could have anticipated.” He sighed. “Myself, as well.”
She’d been so focussed on her own pain, she hadn’t considered how he felt. “This must be horrible for you too.”
His fingers ran over her hair. “Do you remember, on our last day at Winterbourne, how I went to search the passageways alone? You were so angry when you found me.”
“Still am,” she mumbled.
That brought out a cautious smile. “I am sorry. I wasn’t trying to exclude you from the work. Sealing the doorways was just an excuse. In truth, I was searching for the creatures.”
She lifted her head, frowning at him. “Why?”
“Because I sensed we were close to leaving our home. And I felt so desperately unprepared. I needed more practice. I needed to understand them. I needed to be sure I knew what to do and how to protect you before we left our shelter.”
She swallowed thickly. “I don’t know if anyone is ready to handle the hollows. You’re probably doing the best any person can.”
“No. I am under-prepared, and in ways I did not even expect. Every day, every moment, I fear I am on the cusp of a mistake I cannot recover from. You have been hurt. Now you have lost your aunt. And—” His voice caught. “I do not know how to make this right.”
She closed her eyes. The words tumbled out of her before she could stop them. “Your shirt has a stain on it. On the collar.”
“Ah. No wonder—” He pulled out of the embrace, his expression tense. “I am sorry. I had thought I—” He stood, staring about the caravan. His eyes landed on cabinet doors, and he pulled them open to sort through the contents. He found clothes in one of them. They sported bright colours and patterns and were sized to fit an older, plumper couple, but Clare and Dorran had only brought extra jackets, no change of clothes. Dorran pulled a plain green shirt off its hanger then slipped out of the top he was wearing, discarding it in the caravan’s corner. As he pulled the replacement over his shoulders, Clare caught sight of the bandages on his wrist. Guilt twisted her stomach. She’d forgotten about the bite.
“Dorran.” She held out a hand, calling him back. As he sat at her side, she took his arm and ran her fingers over the bandage’s edge. “Does it still hurt?”
“No.”
She squinted at him, trying to read his expression. There was a lot to see; the fear still lingered, along with nervousness and painful vulnerability. But the impassive mask had been shed. He was no longer trying to hide from her.
“I love you,” she whispered. “I really, really do.”
His eyes flickered with deep joy, relief, and adoration. He leaned towards her, closing the distance, and Clare kissed him unreservedly. She still hurt. But she no longer felt alone. And that made more of a difference than she had expected.
“Rest, now,” Dorran murmured, brushing stray hair out of her face. “We are safe here. You can sleep.”
She wanted to. Spending the day in the caravan with Dorran, knowing he would hold the nightmares at bay, hugging him tightly as feeling slowly seeped back into her… it sounded good. But the reality of her world wasn’t so simple. She braced herself against the despair that wanted to crawl back into her. “I don’t want to give up on Beth.”
“No,” he said. “I thought perhaps you would not. Then are you ready to return to the car? We can look for another way across the river.”
“Yes.” Smiling felt foreign, but not bad. “Thanks for not listening to me yesterday. I don’t think I could forgive myself if we’d just driven home.”
They looked through the caravan before leaving. It gave Clare a strange feeling; they had borrowed a stranger’s home for the night, and Clare didn’t feel right leaving it messy. She flipped the sheets back into an approximation of neatness and swiped their empty tins into the kitchenette bin. It was bordering on laughable when the caravan would likely never be inhabited again, but it made her feel better.
Dorran found a day’s worth of long-life food and teabags in one of the cupboards then stopped beside the wardrobe. “Anything here that you would like?”
“As long as it fits, I won’t complain.” Clare felt grimy, and she knew Dorran must, as well. She flipped through the woman’s clothes, looking for something that might be comfortable and practical. The dresses would be hard to run in. Most of the blouses
