Page 30 of When Sky Breaks

With Trek on Foster duty after his first round of chemo and Johnny doing some work from his hotel room, I head to the hardware store to get a jumpstart on the list of items needed for the initial construction of the haunted house.

I’m grateful for this opportunity to do something else with my time other than think about my conversation with Trek. It looped through my mind all night. He’s right for once. I owe it to myself to get everything off my chest, and the only person left to talk to is August. He’s the missing link in this chain. Whether or not I can forgive him is still debatable.

Taking out the partial list Foster gave me, I shove all that away to focus on one thing at a time. Very much the same as the last time I was here, I head straight for the aisles I need and begin crossing items off my list.

Batteries of all sizes

Drill bit in size one-sixteenth

Red spray paint

Knife: Eight inches long

Oddly specific, but okay.

Caulk

I snicker, rolling the word around, trying unsuccessfully to pronounce the L. No use. Cock it is. I cackle like an immature heathen and receive a side-eye from a little old lady fiddling with the paintbrushes. Finally, I find it and toss it in the cart.

Rubber

Rubber? What kind of rubber are we talking about? Now, I’m thinking like Trek and giggling about condoms in a hardware store. Making a note, I’ll have to ask Foster and come back for whatever this is later.

Six-inch planks of wood

Well. That sounds a bit more realistic than eight inches.

It’s been way too long since I’ve last gotten laid if this is where my train of thought lands.

I’m in my own world, laughing at this list and what I can turn into a sexual euphemism when I turn the corner to the lumber section and run into a body.

A live one.

“Oh my gosh, I’m so sorry,” I stammer, maneuvering my cart to the side to check on the person I bowled over with my overloaded cart. “Are you okay?”

The dark-haired man brushes off his dusty jean-clad legs from where I plowed into him and stands straight, offering me a polite smile. It morphs into one of familiarity once we recognize each other.

“Benny?”

“Hey there, Sky. Wow, how are you?” He’s just as surprised to see me as the rest of the dang town.

Benny Torres. August’s old best friend—maybe still his best friend—grew up. In high school, he was a bit on the shorter side and relatively unassuming, but the years after gave him a glow-up. His near-black hair is glossy, and his bronze skin darker from what looks like all the work he does out in the sun. The T-shirt he’s wearing, covered in sawdust, clings to his broader frame and the new muscles he acquired.

Whoa. Benny is gorgeous.

I realize I’m staring too much and glance down at his arms and hands instead. Bad idea because those are nice too, but luckily, there’s a wedding band on his left ring finger. Wouldn’t that be the talk of the town? Falling in lust with the best friend of the love of your life.

Former love of my life.

“I’m good. I’m home for Foster. He’s, uh, having his first cancer treatment, and he needed me to help. You know, getting stuff for the haunted house.”

“Right. Yeah. I’m sorry to hear about Foster. One of my guys at the lumberyard told me about his diagnosis. I’m glad he’s okay, though.” Benny gestures to my cart. “I’m here for that, too. Just dropping off lumber and then taking some to the firehouse for the build.”

After a few more comments about the upcoming festival, Benny tilts his head and stares at me with those penetrating brown eyes. I shift on my feet. It’s obvious there’s a question burning in his mind.

“Does August know you’re here? Back in town, I mean?”

There it is. So they’re still friends, after all.

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