Page 79 of When Sky Breaks

Fuck. What I wouldn’t give to have that smeared?—

Then I see who she’s with, and my stomach bottoms out.

Johnny’s across from her, casually looking over a menu, suave as can be in his slacks and dress shirt. He’s a pompous ass, and I wish Sky could see that.

My jaw clenches, as well as my fist. I’ve learned over the years that if it’s too good to be true, then that’s likely the case. My stupid plea at the church went unnoticed. I begged and bartered with god for another chance to prove myself to her if I ever saw her again.

The longer I stand here, the more the wave of hurt threatens to drown me. I want badly to be the anchor for her, but she’s the one tethering me, that rope growing dangerously thin.

Moving into the shadows so she or Johnny doesn’t see me, I close my eyes and rest my body against the freezing exterior of the building, clutching the flowers at my side, their tender fragrance wafting up to my nose.

Just breathe.

Maybe they’re only talking, and it’s not an actual date?

Assuming the worst gets people in trouble, but when it’s Sky, all my rationality falls to the side, and I crumble under the pressure of self-doubt.

Who am I compared to a big-shot doctor? Why would she pick me over him? He’s likely stable in every area, he’s a fucking cancer doctor, and I’m what? A travel photographer turned business owner who fixes things around people’s houses?

Who cares if I took a bunch of pictures people loved and paid me a lot of money for? None of it matters if there’s no one to share the experiences with. The camera may capture the image and, if you’re good, the emotion behind it, but Johnny saves lives, and I destroy them with one flick of a finger.

A pained shudder runs through me, and I open my eyes to the stars peeking through the clouds of the evening, the rest of the noise fading. There were nights in Cali when I slept under these stars, marveling at their vastness and the ability to stun even the non-believers into seeing the truth of the universe. We’re born from the dust of stars and, upon death, will return to them, learning the secrets of life we only thought we knew.

I inhale deeply and straighten from the wall. If I had made a different choice, I wouldn’t be here, facing any choices at all.

Baby steps.

Even if I’ve lost her to Johnny, I refuse to lose her altogether. Before she was my lover, she was my best friend, the only real one I had, and it’s better than nothing at all.

With that thought fragile and fleeting, I pause in front of a trash can, the flowers trembling in my hands. I want to believe I can be friends with her if it comes down to it. But I’d be lying. She’s a part of me now in everything I do, and to share her light with someone else is a fate I’m not sure I can handle.

A heavy exhale passes my lips as I sidestep the trash can, gripping the flowers tight. Giving her up—the idea of her and me in a relationship—hooks deep in my gut, twisting and turning until I can’t ignore it anymore. It’s as real a possibility as the earth dying one day.

Stiffly, I climb into my truck, laying the bouquet in the passenger seat, running a finger along a soft golden petal.

I shift into drive and head in the opposite direction of my house. If I can’t have her, she still deserves people who care and will show up in her life.

Aching or not inside, I’ll be there.

* * *

Last night I slept like shit, and the coffee I made has grounds in it, so today is going to be spec-fucking-tacular.

The camera around my neck like a noose, I leave the warmth of my truck and walk past the firehouse to where the Villains Playground is already a buzz of volunteers bringing in boxes for each of the rooms inside.

If I see her today…

Setting down a fresh cup of coffee on the grass, I snap a few pictures of the mural painted on the outside. The Villain’s Playground logo is graffitied in bright neon purple and orange with a clown who looks like it’s fighting its way out of the side of the building. Much like my heart trying to claw its way out of my chest every time the image of Sky and Johnny eating together filters across my mind. Which is way too fucking often.

Before that image becomes permanently lodged in my brain, I step around the corner and run right into someone carrying a box. We stumble, and I catch an elbow to steady them, muttering an apology as I lean down and pick up a…bloody stump of a fake foot.

“August?”

I finally look at the person I ran into and receive a punch to the gut.

Sky.

“Here’s your foot,” I sputter, putting it in the box.

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