Ugh.
I worshipped him as a kid, because he was so sweet with me, so attentive. It felt wrong to crush on him today. I barely knew him anymore.
I was so wound up about this that I went for a long, long run. By the time I got home, I’d come to a conclusion that sounded extremely wise: I would stay away from him until he left town.
I hadn’t realized how nervous I was about Isobel’s surgery until I woke up on Monday so early stars still blanketed the sky. I texted August, hoping he’d silenced his phone while he slept. I’d feel awful about waking him up.
ME: Can you text me once the surgery’s over so I can come and visit?
His answer came barely a minute later. Yes.
ME: Did I wake you?
AUGUST: No.
From the time Mom was diagnosed till the very end, I hadn’t slept through the night. I was about to ask him how he was feeling, if I could do anything, when a new text appeared on my screen.
AUGUST: Sorry I haven’t come by this week. It’s been insanely busy at work. How are you and Jeb holding up?
ME: We’re good. Don’t worry about us. Besides, been busy here too. Almost everyone in the pack has dropped by.
AUGUST: Hope they’ve been bringing you good coffee.
I bit my lip. I couldn’t tell what the tone of his message was supposed to be: humorous or bitter?
ME: No coffee. But I have enough confections to open a bakery.
AUGUST:
Okay, so maybe August wasn’t bitter. Maybe he truly was concerned about the quality of our coffee.
ME: I should probably look into the bakery idea. I need a job. Ugh. Sorry to bore you with this.
Dot dot dots bounced on my screen.
AUGUST: We could use some help around the warehouse. Mom was taking care of the accounting, but she won’t be doing that for a while. And Dad’s planning on taking some time off to be with her.
I read and reread his message, strange emotions eddying through me. I needed to say no. Being around August was not a good idea. But, hell, I really wanted to say yes. The business had been my father’s, so I knew what it entailed. Although, considering the expansion, what the Watts did now probably differed from what Dad used to do.
AUGUST: It would come with good pay of course. Anyway, think about it.
It brought me back to one of our first conversations after my return to Boulder. He’d asked me if I wanted a job.
ME: If I say yes, but I’m completely incompetent, do you promise not to keep me on because of guilt or pity?
AUGUST: Where did that come from?
ME: Just swear it to me.
AUGUST: OK. I swear it.
It wouldn’t have to be weird. It’s not like we’d be working side by side. From what I’d understood, August was usually on the building sites.
AUGUST: Why are YOU up so early?
I looked out at the glittery expanse peeking behind my drawn curtains.
ME: Just worried.
AUGUST: Everything’s going to be fine.
I sighed, wishing I could be so optimistic, but life had thrown me one too many curveballs. Still, I texted: I know. There was no point in infecting others with my skepticism.
AUGUST: Get dressed.
ME: Why?
AUGUST: Because I can sense your stress all the way through the phone.
AUGUST: And wear comfortable shoes.
I sat up in bed, fully awake now. After I washed my face and brushed my teeth, I tugged on black leggings, a black hoodie, and my sneakers, then went out to the kitchen and wrote Jeb a note in case he woke up and noticed my bed was empty. As I placed the paper on the dining table, I hesitated to text August that he didn’t have to take care of me when he should be taking care of his mom, but a message popped onto my screen.
AUGUST: I’m downstairs.
I tied my hair up into a quick ponytail, grabbed my phone and keys, and left quietly so as not to wake up my uncle.
August looked pale, which was a feat considering his mixed origins. Then again, it could’ve been the effect of the light bouncing off his dashboard.
He smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I think we’re the two only people up in the whole of Boulder.”
It was 4:30. My street was completely deserted, and every window we drove by was dark.
“Where are we going?” I asked as I strapped myself in.
“You’ll see.”
I wasn’t the sort of person who liked to see, but I trusted August. As we drove, I played with the music, swapping his preferred jazz station with something a little more upbeat. And then I closed my eyes to rest them and drummed my fingers to the tempo of the music.
Up and up the mountain road we went. Finally, he pulled to a stop, grabbed a pack from the backseat, slung it over his shoulder, and we got out. We walked down a wooded trail that led to the sharp ridges of the Flatirons. The sight transported me back to the first trial, but I didn’t tell August. Not even when some pebbles came loose under my feet and adrenaline spiked through my veins. I drove back my fear of the mountain raining down on me. The rockslide had been manmade-or rather eldermade-just another part of the trials.
We came to a stop a couple yards from the lip of the steep cliff. I didn’t have vertigo, but still, I didn’t look down.
“You okay?” he asked as he unzipped his backpack.
“Yeah. Great.”
He kept his gaze locked on mine as he tugged a blanket out of his pack, as though he didn’t quite believe me. Could he sense my nerves through the link? He shook out the blanket and spread it onto the moon-bleached rock. “Want to tell me about it?”