Chapter Two
Sawyer
Sawyer didn't know what he was doing in Miss Maggie's Sleep Inn. He'd been enjoying the fire in a sweet little campsite one minute, the next he was playing the tootsie pop game with his dick. Except, instead of how many licks does it take to get to the center, it was how many times can I jerk off before this fucking erection goes away?
You shouldn't cuss so much.
Great, now the guy had infiltrated his thoughts as well. It only made sense, since he'd already scratched into every other corner of Sawyer's body.
Sawyer's dick getting him into trouble wasn't new. It wouldn't have been the first time that year. It wouldn't even be the first time that winter. And, being able to blame all that had happened that day on Sawyer's dick trivialized it to a level that was far more acceptable than what he'd built it up to be. Because, he'd thought that he'd experienced the perfect touch, the perfect kiss all from a man that didn't want to see him again. But who also cared if he hitchhiked. Damn infuriating caring types.
That was why Sawyer was where he was. And why Miss Maggie was knocking on his door asking him if he was hungry.
"I could fix you up a snack?" she asked through the door.
"Thanks, that sounds great," Sawyer replied politely. He wasn't sure what the situation was there since it was clear to Sawyer that Roscoe was at least attracted to men, but he could have been bi. When they'd arrived, Roscoe and Maggie had greeted each other like friends, and when Roscoe had introduced him, she had eyed Sawyer like a hawk does a mouse.
She wasn't at all what Sawyer had expected. For some reason, with a name like Maggie, Sawyer had expected an older woman, pleasantly plump with constantly red cheeks and a permanent smile.
Miss Maggie did have a pretty consistent smile, but she was also gorgeous. Like, model level gorgeous. Sawyer would have been jealous of Roscoe's friendship with her if he hadn't been able to still feel the press of Roscoe's cock into his stomach.
Talk about something he wanted to put into his mouth. Maybe he should ask Miss Maggie to prepare something like that for him.
"I'll be in the kitchen!" she hollered through the door, and Sawyer snorted. He'd refrain from asking her to prepare him cock of a sexy, bossy stranger, only because that meant she would have to touch it.
When Sawyer made it down to the kitchen, Maggie set a towering sandwich down in front of him. With at least three slices of bread, the monstrous sandwich was cut into fours and Sawyer could see thick layers of two kinds of meats, bacon, and cheese, plus lettuce and tomato. This was a snack?
"Ross said you needed fattening up."
Ross? Roscoe. Sawyer couldn't say he liked the nickname. Roscoe suited him much better. Like sipping on finely aged whiskey while listening to an old vinyl album in a dark room.
"How do you know Roscoe?" Sawyer asked nonchalantly.
"I am not a Noel native. Been here a little more than a year and the first months were really hard. I had a bit of trouble with the locals."
"Unwanted advances?" Sawyer asked.
"What? No. They didn't like that I was a lesbian. I guess, according to them, lesbians can't live in small forest towns."
He hated the part of him that felt relief at that moment. "Are you kidding me? I thought that was where they grew them."
Maggie blinked and then laughed. She had a pleasant laugh, full and honest. "I don't think they know that about us." She got up and returned with a glass and jug of milk. "I was fighting back on my own, had even called in reinforcements, but once Ross was here, it didn't take much. I mean, you've seen Ross. Most people do what it takes to stay out of his way. And I have found hatred of that variety is based on two variables, ignorance and the belief that they are the strong majority. The townspeople may still hate me, but now they're quiet about it."
Sawyer couldn't disagree. He'd faced several prejudiced people on the streets.
The door opened, and a tall man walked in. Sawyer knew other people were staying at the inn but hadn't seen them yet. This man was maybe five years older than Sawyer, with a cleft in his chin, dark features, and blue eyes, he was the quintessential attractive American male. Normally, Sawyer would have perked right up at such a sight, but now he couldn't stop looking at this man through new lenses. He wasn't quite as tall as Roscoe and wasn't nearly as wide. Roscoe was the type of man that looked like he could tear through a phone book. This guy also didn't have the delectable light dusting of body hair that Sawyer had felt and seen, poking up out of the collar of Roscoe's tee. He didn't have the gentle grays at his temples either, or Roscoe's warm, brown eyes that looked like amber toffee.
Sawyer set his sandwich down, disgusted with how smitten he was already. He forced a wider smile than he felt and directed it full force at the newcomer. "Hi there, name's Sawyer."
The man smiled at him pleasantly and sat down. "Hi, I'm Heath."
Maggie dropped a loaf of bread, meat in its package and cheese as well as vegetables and a knife in front of Heath. "C'mon, Mags!" he wailed. "You made his sandwich!"
"Because he's a guest."
"And what am I? Chopped liver?"
"No, you're my brother," Maggie replied. She looked to Sawyer, "Who is, and I have been instructed to tell you this using these words exactly, 'The straightest man I know.'"
Mortified, Sawyer's cheeks burned as Heath stuck his chest out as if Maggie had complimented him. "Damn right," he said, using a tone of voice that could only be described as dude-bro.
"Roscoe told you to say that?" Sawyer asked, glad his sandwich was so tall now because he could hide behind it.
"He did. Right after he told me to make sure you got plenty of food to eat," Maggie replied, smirking. "I don't think I need to tell you that he has never brought a guy around here. In fact, I've offered him free nights for life, and he's never taken me up on it. Until now."
Sawyer tore off the crust from one edge of his sandwich and began breaking it into tiny pieces. "Well, you said you haven't been here long. Likely he was always planning on and—"
"No. That's not it," Maggie replied.
Sawyer shut his mouth. He wasn't sure if he should be irritated or pleased. He already knew he was a distraction, wasn't that what Roscoe had said? He'd also said he wasn't in the mood for any distractions. So why go through all the trouble to keep him around, isolated from anyone else who might catch his eye? He pushed the plate away. Normally, he never gave up on the chance for free food but knowing that Roscoe had feelings for him, just not enough of them, was not good for digestion. "Thank you, Miss Maggie, for the sandwich. I guess I wasn't very hungry. Nice to meet you, Heath."
"But, you hardly touched it. Ross isn't—"
"With all respect, Miss Maggie, Roscoe isn't anything to me. You can tell him I ate you out of house and home. I'll be gone tomorrow anyway, not like he'll know the difference." Sawyer trudged up the steps wishing he'd never met that great hulking man. It's not like he'd gone out of his way. Sawyer had literally been in the middle of nowhere when that animal had come upon his camp. Thinking about the animal now, in relation to his thoughts of Roscoe, put a strange, crazy idea in his head. Roscoe had been so sure the massive beast was gone. How could he be sure? And why hadn't he been the slightest bit worried? Even a surfer took precautions when he was told there were sharks in the water, so why wouldn't a seasoned outdoorsman--as Roscoe obviously was--take more precautions against dangerous predators?
He flopped his body on the bed, as he thought it over. Except, now he was alone, in bed, thinking of Roscoe with the door shut. So of course, he got hard. Sawyer looked down at his erection and sighed. "You hopeless romantic," he chided his dick. "You're getting dressed up with nowhere to go." He ground his teeth, angry with the stupid man for affecting him so wholly. And then abandoning him. That kiss hadn't been the kiss of a man that disliked distractions. And what about how perfect Sawyer felt every time Roscoe had touched him? Like a missing piece of a puzzle sliding into place. Sawyer had so many questions, and for once, he was going to demand answers. But before he could, he was going to have to find Roscoe.
***
The next morning Sawyer got up with the sun. He thought he would slink out of the house before anyone got up, but Maggie was already in the kitchen, looking out the window while her brother was at the stove flipping pancakes.
When he spotted Sawyer, he pulled himself taller and sucked in his gut. "I know, weird seeing me cook. But see this spatula? I ordered it specialty. It's made for men with a wide, man-sized grip and a sleek black polycarbonate handle."
Sawyer blinked. "You really are the straightest man I know," he deadpanned.
Maggie laughed but stopped quickly when she saw Sawyer's backpack. "You're leaving?"
"I am, why? Did Roscoe leave you with a cryptic message about when I'm allowed to leave as well?" Sawyer said, acid in his tone. He hoped Maggie would realize the acid was for Roscoe and not her.
"No," she replied uncertainly. "Only that he would be back in a few days."
"Well, when he comes back, tell him I said bye," Sawyer said. Unless I tell him first.
He stepped out of Maggie's kitchen and gasped at the difference in temperature. It was easy to forget when he was being warmed by the fire that it was still winter outside. He stopped to button his jacket up to the top.
"You could wait a bit," Maggie said from the doorway. The poor girl was shivering in her bare feet and thin pajamas.
"Go inside, Maggie, it's too cold," Sawyer said kindly. "Staying longer will just make it harder to leave," he replied. It was the truth. The reason why he never stayed in one place for too long, because it always went sour. If he left now, then he could spare himself that awful moment when a person showed their true colors. He walked to the main road and followed it to the edge of the city before stopping to consult his map. Maggie would assume he'd continued down the road to catch the first driver that came by. Sawyer's true direction was away from the road though, into a forest that may or may not be infested with ginormous bear-like monsters. All so Sawyer could have the last word.
The good thing about being alone again was that there was no one around to tell him how stupid his ideas were.
There was also no one around to force him to admit that he was lost. Which he quickly became. On the map, there had been a lake a few miles south, and Sawyer had thought that would be a good place to start looking. In more primitive living situations, people and animals stuck near water.
Except, he hiked and hiked and never found the lake. He only found trees, trees, and more trees. Getting back to the road would be easy enough, he'd had the forethought to go Hansel and Gretel style and had marked every couple of trees. Backtracking was looking like his smartest choice. He should just get to the street and head out of town like he'd always planned to.
He frowned. Giving up meant leave that perfect feeling behind.
Sawyer's gaze dropped allowing him to spot a massive paw print. Hunching down to get a better look, he traced the outline of the print with his finger. Much bigger than his hand, the print was clear enough for him to see the toes and more importantly, the claws. It was so big that if he hadn't experienced what he had the day before, he would have thought this print was fake, some kids playing around. The smart thing for him to do would have been to turn around and run.
So, of course, he put his head down and trudged forward. He wasn't sure how much time had passed when the hair on the back of his neck rose. He stumbled, not hearing or seeing anything, but sensing something had changed that there was a pair of eyes on him that hadn't been there before. He kept on forward, trying to remember where he put his pepper spray when he heard a twig snap.
Sawyer had two choices. He could stop and acknowledge the sound, which meant he would also have to acknowledge whatever made the sound, or he could keep going and hope that, like last time, Roscoe would be nearby. He kept going.
One step in front of the other, he kept hiking. Without an idea of where anymore, or even why he effectively got himself more lost as whatever had made that noise in the forest became bolder and braver. The snaps and thuds grew louder until Sawyer felt like the monster was taunting him, pushing him to the point where he would have to acknowledge him. If this thing was playing with him, it meant it was aware and that it wasn't all that kind.
He ran. It was as if he had been on the knife's edge since the first sound and he had kept balancing and balancing until his self-preservation toppled.
There was a horrible growl, then a roar as whatever was back there made chase. Sawyer yelped, put his head down, and sprinted through the forest, tripping over branches and rocks. He looked up in time to dodge a tree he'd nearly ran straight into, but the monster was getting closer. Any minute, Sawyer could imagine the monster's jaws clamping down on his body. Would he go for the neck and make it a fast kill? Or would it pull him down by the leg and play with him for a while?
With a shudder and a shriek, Sawyer felt it come closer. He felt something wrap around his chest, pulling him to a stop. Sawyer screamed and flailed, hoping maybe to wiggle out of its grasp and gain an extra ten seconds. That was when he realized that what had grabbed him was not nearly as hairy as he thought it should be. He looked down to see human arms. A nose pressed against the side of his face and inhaled deeply. It happened again, and then he heard it speak.
"Why do you smell like him?" the voice barked.
Sawyer tried to turn around and get a better look, but the man held him tightly, sniffing his face like he was a turkey dinner. "Like who?" he squeaked.
"Don't be an idiot. You know who."
"R-Roscoe?"
"R-R-Roscoe?" the man mocked him and then chortled. "The pack is going to love it when I tell them this." Despite knowing nothing about this man, Sawyer could tell he was excited, nearly giddy at the thought of having something that made Roscoe look bad. Sawyer decided to hate him for as long as his life lasted, which might not be long. He still wasn't sure if this man was going to kill him or not.
But, he couldn't have been large enough to be as noisy as whatever was chasing him had been. He certainly couldn't have made that massive paw print. "What happened to the beast? The one that was chasing me?"
The man laughed like Sawyer had told the funniest joke he ever heard. Then, he pulled him along in a different direction and Sawyer was able to grab small glimpses.
First and most obvious was the fact that he was completely naked. From his brown hair, that was the same color as Roscoe's, to his toes he didn't wear a single thing. Weirder than that, if there was such a thing, was that he didn't seem the least bit bothered by that fact. Sawyer supposed if he lived in the forest, it wouldn't feel quite so cold but that still couldn't explain how easily he traversed the forest floor.
"Like what you see?" the man asked arrogantly.
Sawyer shook his head. "No."
Though to be fair, the man wasn't bad to look at, he looked enough like Roscoe to be attractive. But, Sawyer made it a habit not to like psychopaths, and this man was clearly a step away from Jack the Ripper.
"How long has he been keeping you on the side, I wonder," the man mused. "And after he refused to allow any of us into town. Oh, the pack is going to freak the fuck out."
"I think you have the wrong idea," Sawyer said quietly. Out of every outcome he'd thought over before his journey, getting Roscoe into trouble hadn't been on his radar. But now, it seemed that was exactly what he was doing. But how did this dude even know? Sawyer had too many questions and got the idea that he was missing a significant aspect of what was going on here.
"I don't think I do." The man stopped, turning the full force of his rodent-like gaze on Sawyer. He inhaled deeply. "You smell like our fearless commander, that is for sure. But not so deep that you've mated. Is he just keeping you on the side? A plaything?" The man backed up and looked Sawyer up and down. "I wonder if he'll share," he said out loud, not like he was asking Sawyer. It seemed like Sawyer's consent was not high on his priorities.
Sawyer stuck his feet in the ground and made his body rigid. "I am not Roscoe's anything. I was camping, and he happened upon my site and then helped me get to his friend, Miss Maggie's inn. Nothing is going on."
Except, something in his words made this man very happy. Sawyer already knew that was a bad thing. "His friend? He has friends in town now? Holy shit, Gaia will have to listen to me after I tell her this."
With new fervor, the man grabbed Sawyer and hauled him over his shoulder like he weighed nothing. Sawyer could either stare at the man's ass or close his eyes as he ran through the woods. When he heard other noises of life, Sawyer did open his eyes. They'd come to some kind of camp. Though, it looked a little like a town under construction. Building frames stood behind tents, and all-around people were working, hammering, sanding, pouring concrete out of wheelbarrows. When Sawyer spotted the first beast, as big as a small car, with a load of wood on his back, he yelped. That only brought everyone's attention to him. Sawyer clamped his lips shut. Today was not his day for making good choices.
"You've got nothing to worry about," the man said but with no kindness. "None of these people will want anything to do with ya. Though it seems like our good ole Roscoe did. You're lucky he didn't put a baby in you," the man sneered. "That great big beast would have a monster child. Would probably split you open before it came to term."
Sawyer went stiff. He was a man. Roscoe's dick had been magnificent, but it couldn't break the laws of biology…could it?
"Who is that?" a smaller male asked warily. He had a stack of wood over his shoulder but carried it like it hardly weighed anything at all.
"Who?" Sawyer's captor parroted. "Greg, I think you mean, what. This is our dear pack master's plaything."
Greg snarled, narrowing his eyes at Sawyer. "You're lying."
Sawyer's captor laughed, ignoring Greg's statement, he carried Sawyer through the encampment to the center where the tents grew closer together. There were a few more permanent structures here. Long cabins that housed even more people. Sawyer lost count. They blurred together until he saw something that was crystal clear.
Roscoe sat in a chair by the fire around fifty feet away with his shirt off and a towel over his shoulder. He wore a leather necklace with something dangling at the end and his gorgeous body was on full display as a woman bent over him to reach his cheek. She slid a straight razor down his cheek with the confidence of someone who had done the same thing many times before.
Roscoe hadn't spotted Sawyer and sat back, completely at ease, trusting this woman fully as she brushed her breasts against his naked skin to get a better angle.
"I found this stray wandering the forest," the man called out with a sneer. "Can I keep him?"
Roscoe got to his feet with a growl. The woman stepped back, holding the razor at his side. Roscoe's eyes burned into Sawyer's, and he stepped forward but then stopped as if realizing where he was. Or, more importantly, who was around him. Sawyer concentrated on the light dusting of hair at the base of Roscoe's neck rather than look at the rejection he was sure to find on his face. Sawyer had done all this to get the last word, he didn't realize it would be the last word he ever spoke.
But, Roscoe's hesitation was brief. He lunged forward, somehow looking bigger and scarier. "Get your hands off him."
"Off who? This ole thing? I told you, I found it wandering the forest. It clearly doesn't belong to anyone. I know our upright master and commander would never demand that we stay in the confines of this camp while he dillies off into the forest for a little action."
"Garth, what is this?" the woman who had been hanging all over Roscoe asked. Her voice was deeper than Sawyer would have thought, with a smooth, husky quality. Of course, it was.
"This is proof of what I was trying to tell you, Gaia," Garth replied, sounding a little unhinged. "That while we bust our backs to build this piece of shit place, our pack master and his band of brothers are off enjoying what they like."
"This town is for all of us, Garth. We're building it for us," Gaia replied tiredly.
"While a perfectly fine town sits already constructed just to the north of us. There is no reason we can't take it."
"There is a reason," Roscoe said, his tone low. "You are my den brother, but you do not have to stay."
"Roscoe," Gaia warned.
At this point, Sawyer was sure this Gaia chick and Roscoe were an item. It was stupid how despite everything else, including his impending most likely painful death, that that little tidbit would sting the most.
Roscoe had his hands out towards them, but from what Sawyer had seen of Garth, he knew he was fast and strong. Garth could snap his neck or back before Roscoe had a chance to do anything. "Let him go," Roscoe repeated like he was talking a sick person off a ledge. "He's got nothing to do with your beef with me."
Garth snorted, it bumped Sawyer, and he felt something deep in his pocket. His pepper spray.
"He's got everything to do with everything!" Garth roared.
Sawyer took advantage of his brief tantrum to reach into his pocket and before Garth could even finish asking, 'What are you doing?' Sawyer had the spray out and began spraying without aim or hesitation. Some of it got into his own eyes and stung, but the majority went straight into Garth's face. Garth dropped him in his attempt to get away from the terrible substance. Sawyer hit the ground hard but soon felt a second pair of warm hands grab him and hold him tightly in an embrace that was familiar.
"See him? Even now when that outsider attacks me he chooses to help him, over his own den brother," Garth shouted to the crowd.
Sawyer heard Gaia tell her brother to shut up before he was brought into one of the cabins, the door shut, blocking out the sounds and sights of the aftermath.
"Sawyer, are you okay?" Roscoe asked, his voice rich with worry. "You got some of that in your face. Try to blink it out, baby."
Blink? No way. Sawyer was keeping his eyes firmly shut. He felt warm water on his face, and then smelled soap. Roscoe washed his face, all the while insisting Sawyer needed to blink. He finally opened his eyes and saw the still shirtless Roscoe hovering over him looking more concerned than he had any right looking. His leather necklace hung closer to Sawyer's face. The pendant, a yellowing bit of something that looked like bone swayed gently. Sawyer's eyes went up to Roscoe's face when he spotted a fleck of what looked like shaving cream on his jaw. He scowled.
"She missed a spot," he said bitterly.
Confusion crinkled his forehead before awareness dawned. "It isn't what it looks like."
It was as if he had thought ahead of time about the worst possible thing for him to say at that moment and then said it. "It's no business of mine what it looks like, Roscoe. You don't owe me anything. I'm a distraction."
"That was an asshole thing for me to say. And leaving you the way I did was cowardly of me."
Sawyer sunk into Roscoe's arms despite how angry he still was with him. He'd been through something scary, and it was like his body was just now catching up to that fact. He felt exhausted and shaky. Stupidly, his body also seemed to search for Roscoe for comfort. If he'd been straight up with Sawyer, maybe this wouldn't have happened. Yeah right. You would still want the last word. Even if he told you he leads a group of people who work with huge bears in the middle of the forest.
Work with or…
No, the alternative was too weird. And yet, he couldn't believe it had taken him this long to formulate the question.
"Can you turn into a bear?" Sawyer asked, taking the towel from Roscoe.
Roscoe's hand jerked. "Did he scare you?" In true Roscoe fashion, he didn't answer the question.
"Like you scared me yesterday?" Sawyer asked pointedly. Of course, Roscoe hadn't been afraid of the huge beast coming back. He was the huge beast.
He folded Sawyer into his grasp, keeping him near as he asked, "What else did Garth tell you?"
"Not much. He was mostly just crazy angry at you. He seemed to think I proved something. Like how much of a shitty leader you were or something. Oh, except for when—" Sawyer snapped his lips shut. Learning this sexy man could turn into a bear was somehow less odd than the other thing Garth had mentioned.
"Tell me," Roscoe growled.
"No," Sawyer snapped. His eyes still stung, but he was starting to be able to see more clearly without having to blink through the tears. "You never answer my questions so why should I answer yours?"
Roscoe got up, stomping to the other side of the room.
"Oh great, the yo-yo act again. You know, I've seen it."
Roscoe stomped back to him. "I was trying to save you, you know."
Sawyer's anger brought him to his feet. "Yeah right! You were trying to save your own ass while also keeping me around. Cool trick having me stay in the one place where I couldn't find someone suitable to use to erase your memory!"
Roscoe snarled. "You wouldn't."
"I would because I don't even know you. Yes, you are warm, and when you hold me, I feel safe. I'll admit that I never feel more whole than when you touch me, but you're also ashamed of me—"
Roscoe dipped down and claimed Sawyer's lips with a growl. He smoothed his hands over Sawyer's body as if memorizing the shape and feel of him. His tongue conquered Sawyer's mouth mercilessly, owning every part that it touched. Sawyer had dreamed about that flavor. Even while awake, he'd imagined the taste of Roscoe's kisses so much he eventually told himself that he'd made it up. That no man could taste that good during a single kiss.
He'd been wrong.
Roscoe cupped his face, controlling not just the speed and depth of the kiss but of where they touched as well. For a crazy moment, he wondered if Roscoe also controlled his heart beats, his breaths.
"You taste spicy," he said against Sawyer's skin.
Sawyer grimaced. "It's the pepper spray. I hope your friend…subordinate is okay."
Roscoe didn't seem to like the idea of Sawyer worrying about another man. "He's fine," he grunted.
Cold water rushed over him, and he stiffened his spine, painfully arching away from Roscoe's warm embrace. "Yeah, he's got his sister to help him. Gaia?"
"Sawyer…" Roscoe began.
"He said something about you getting me pregnant," Sawyer blurted, just so they wouldn't have to talk about Gaia. "Like, something like that was possible. He seemed…adamant." Saying it out loud made him feel even more stupid. Of course, a man couldn't impregnate another man. They didn't have the bits…or the pieces necessary. Except, Roscoe wasn't laughing or calling him crazy. He was avoiding Sawyer's gaze. "Is it…is it like a bear thing?" he asked, feeling like the question was too inadequate. How does one ask about the seemingly impossible?
Sawyer watched him think it over. His strong face never changed as he decided whether to let Sawyer into this part of his life. If he told Sawyer that he didn't need to know how it happened, he would nod and leave. If he was allowed to. Roscoe opened his mouth. "Not so much a bear thing, but a shifter thing."
"Shifter?" he parroted dumbly.
"People that can turn into animals. I guess that is the easiest way to explain it, but it isn't quite true. I'm always influenced by my inner bear."
"Like an inner child?"
Roscoe snorted. "Sure, if a person could also then morph into the form of their inner child."
He let that sink in. "So, you are a man-bear."
"Shifter."
"Okay, shifter. And you can change into a bear. Like the other day." He shuddered. "Or like Garth was earlier."
Roscoe made a rumbling noise. "If he hurt you…"
"He didn't, not really. And shifter bears can impregnate males?"
"It isn't quite so simple, but the short answer is yes."
"Would it split me open?" Sawyer asked timidly, remembering Garth's taunts. He wrapped his arms around his body as he imagined such a thing.
Roscoe made an angry noise. "Absolutely not. Fucking, Garth. He was trying to scare you."
"He didn't have to try." Sawyer hadn't meant to say it out loud, the words had just popped out.
Roscoe stared at him for a long moment. He seemed completely at ease without his shirt on. His tan skin looked smooth, and Sawyer would bet his body hair would be soft. "I was trying to save you from this. Though, I planned to visit you today. I can't believe I lasted as long as I did," Roscoe said finally. "What happened at Maggie's?"
"Nothing happened. She's great. But I'm not some dog. You can't order me to sit and stay."
"I wasn't ordering you—"
"But you were keeping information from me. Information that would have been helpful when I was deciding to track you down."
"That was a bad plan from the beginning. I knew it. You're too young, and your brain is still forming."
"Hey! Dick! This isn't an age thing. Sure, traipsing into the woods so I could make you see what you were missing was a shit plan. I admit it. But so is not telling me vital information, like how you're a bear, and you lead this group of other bears and oh, the last thing, that you're taken."
"I'm not taken."
"Save it. I know a familiar touch when I see one." He marched to the door. "My eyes are fine, and I've gotten my closure so now I would like to leave."
Roscoe moved in front of the door. He didn't cross his arms or make any other macho type movement. He just existed. In all his muscled, partially nude glory. "You can't, Sawyer. I can't let you leave."