The Lucky One//twd

023. Dust and Distance

Madison's POV

The CDC exploded behind us like the end of a dream—hot, orange light blooming in the rearview mirror. For a moment, no one said a word.

Even Dale was quiet.

We drove in a dead silence that buzzed louder than the engine. Carol sniffled softly in the seat behind me, but no one acknowledged it. No one had the energy. We were all too exhausted. Too numb. Too scared to admit we'd almost died for real this time.

I sat between Shane and Glenn in the back of the van.

Glenn hadn't looked at me once.

His shoulder brushed mine every time the road curved, and I kept flinching like I'd been burned. My body ached for sleep, but my head was full of static. What was I supposed to say? Sorry again for making out with Blake while you were twenty feet away? Yeah. That'd go over great.

I kept my eyes on the trees blurring past the window, trying not to feel like a ghost.

⸻

We stopped at an abandoned gas station about two hours later. Rick said we needed water, fuel, and rest. The others scattered—some to stretch, some to scavenge.

I slipped out of the van quickly, desperate to breathe air that didn't taste like guilt.

I didn't get far before I heard footsteps behind me.

Not Glenn.

Blake.

Of course.

He didn't say anything at first. Just walked next to me, hands in his pockets, gaze low. His boots crunched gravel in rhythm with mine.

"How's your head?" he asked finally, quiet.

"Still attached," I muttered.

He gave a dry chuckle. "Could've fooled me."

I glanced over at him. He looked tired—like he hadn't really rested since the CDC either. There were dark smudges under his eyes and a tension in his shoulders that hadn't been there a week ago. Maybe none of us were okay anymore. Maybe we never would be.

"You doing okay?" I asked, voice soft.

He shrugged. "Define okay."

"Didn't think you'd be chatty."

"I'm not." He kicked a rock down the road. "But you looked like you were about to disappear, and I didn't want to watch that happen."

I paused mid-step.

He turned to face me, finally. Really face me.

"I meant what I said," he told me. "Back at the CDC. I'm not gonna chase you. I'm not gonna pull you away from whatever you're still holding onto."

"I'm not holding onto anything," I said, sharper than I meant to. "Glenn hasn't looked at me since Atlanta."

"Then let him go."

"I can't," I snapped. "I care about him, Blake. I—he was there when everything fell apart. He made me feel like I wasn't falling with it."

Blake looked away, jaw tight.

I sighed, rubbing my hands over my face. "This isn't fair to you. Any of it."

He stepped back, just slightly. "No, it's not."

And that hurt more than I expected.

"But," he added, more softly, "I still don't regret kissing you."

I didn't answer. I couldn't. Not without saying something I'd regret too.

The silence stretched, thick and awkward, until I finally mumbled, "We should go back. Before someone starts wondering where we went."

"Right." His voice went flat again.

We walked back in silence.

We passed Glenn near the station doors. He didn't look at me. But he looked at Blake. Their eyes locked for a second too long.

I kept walking.

⸻

That night, we camped near a dry creek bed. I stayed close to Lori and Carol, offering to help boil water and set up supplies. I didn't want to be alone with my thoughts—or my feelings—or Blake.

But I felt him watching me once, just after sunset.

He was by the fire with Daryl and Dale. Quiet. Brooding. Trying not to look like he was looking.

I turned away before I could meet his eyes.

Because if I did... I didn't trust myself not to want him again.

And right now, wanting anyone felt like the worst mistake I could make.