Chapter Text
In the years after the accident, Peeta must have driven I-62, east to west and west to east, dozens of times. He'd start at the freeway interchange with 10 and follow it almost all the way to the Arizona state line, then double back. Later, when he joined the CHP, he drove it in the foggy darkness that enclosed almond groves and orange orchards, all the while dreaming up alternative scenarios for his dad and himself: a scenario where there was no truck, no hit-and-run, one in which his father was still alive. Under his headlights, he could see only twenty feet ahead. The fog lifted at dawn, and then the sun was out, the Mojave lay under a brazen blue sky.
In the years after, stepping into his house, trying to stifle the sound of his steps on the travertine floor, trying to avoid, also, the framed family photos lining the hallway, praying his mother wasn't home. He'd imagine his father was somewhere upstairs. He'd imagine his father calling down, Is that you, Peeta? Then his father would say, You won't believe what a customer told me this morning.
But the house would remain silent; the pain kicked him in the stomach. He'd say, "I don't understand, dad. Why'd you have to leave?"
It was the generally accepted story that his parents were all set to divorce until his mother revealed that she was pregnant, with Peeta. And then it was Peeta his father was with when the accident happened, Peeta who was with him when he died. "You must have distracted him," his mother said often in the years following. Either way, his father didn't hear or see the truck drifting into their lane. Peeta wondered how long he'd been sitting on the asphalt before his father's breath ran out.
His parents had recently remodeled their backyard. They were eager to show off their new barbecue pit. Peeta had invited Madge; he loved showing his girlfriend off to his family. He had been spending a lot of time in Madge's house, lounging with her by the pool. One day she'd pushed him in while he was still fully clothed; the water was icy and tasted like almonds. He was drawn to the bottom with such force that he felt he would never draw another breath again. His limbs froze. In the next instant, Madge jumped in after him. Why was that image the one he woke to, most mornings?
He woke with Katniss in his arms. Everything about that moment felt strange to him -- waking late, being in her room, feeling her warmth pressed against his front, lifting his head and seeing their clothes tangled together on the floor. Suddenly, she turned her body to face him. She lifted her hand to his face. "You were crying," she said.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, hugging her closer. She moved her knee slightly so that it rested between his own.
"Want to talk about it?" she asked.
"Not really, no," Peeta said.
She pressed her lips against his neck. She said, "I'm here, Peeta. I'm not going anywhere."