Page 85 of When Sky Breaks

All ten of the books are in a neat row on the shelf next to where I pulled this one. And there’s a dog-eared page in the new one I’m holding.

“He’s also clearly a monster. Where’s his bookmark?”

Winter cocks her cute head. “Fine. I’ve used silverware and old receipts as bookmarks, but at least I don’t mangle them.”

Ignoring the sleepy effects of the meds, I settle down on August’s couch and open to page one. But not before shooting off a text to him, berating him on his choice of placeholders, biting my lip as I wait for his response.

He bought the entire series he knows I’m obsessed with and has been reading them himself.

But buying books and displaying photos of me all over Snaps doesn’t mean he’s staying.

He’s currently at your house taking care of your dad while you’re sick. What kind of man just does that?

In minutes, the medicine overrides any more of my ambitions. I close my eyes to the answer to my question.

One who stole my heart all those years ago and has no intention of giving it back.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

sky

The first night at August’s house was a blur. The cold meds kicked my ass, and my head pounded from all the thinking I’d been doing while alone.

Well, as alone as I can be with a seventy-five-pound poof ball following me around everywhere. I don’t mind. Winter seems to know I don’t feel well and leans into me every chance she gets.

I even let her sleep with me in the guest bedroom.

And so it goes, I’ve fallen in love with the dog.

Right now, as I’m curled on August’s ridiculously comfortable couch, she’s tucked around my legs, keeping my feet warm. She’s nursed me back to considerable health like Nana the dog did in Peter Pan. Minus the cute head bonnet. Might need to see if the pet store has one. Just to giggle and see the look on August’s face.

Dad’s doing well—at least, that’s what his and August’s texts tell me. He’s napping mostly, so there’s nothing to do except read the new book—I hope August realizes he won’t be getting it back until I’m finished—watch mind-numbing reality shows, and think.

All I think about is the future. And if this is where I’ll be.

A cute little house tucked between the woods and the cornfields, occupied by the dog of my dreams and a man I never once forgot about. Down the road from my dad and maybe Trek if he stays. It’s an idyllic scenario and one I try not to build every hope on. Not yet, at least, but the longer I stay here, the more I don’t want to leave. The more I witness all the little things that represent the love August and I had in such a short time, the more I crave to push past any barriers and accept him, faults and all.

The man bought my favorite shampoo.

There it was in the spare bath, an unopened bottle of my apple-scented shampoo. It’s all too much and just enough at the same time. I’m not used to such physical acts of love from someone who isn’t my sweet, adopted dad.

So, I do what I usually do when I’m tense and pensive.

I clean.

Finding August’s cleaning supplies under his sink, I get to work ridding the place of my nasty germs. I’d hate to get him sick after all he’s done for me and Foster.

Thoughts of taking care of him filter to the front of my mind and I know without a doubt I’d help him.

Healing is in my veins, no matter who it is. I once tried to resuscitate a squirrel I found under the tree in our backyard, only to dissolve into tears when my attempt had been in vain. Foster and Trek helped me bury it under the tree, and I still think if there wasn’t something more I could’ve done to save his little life.

Penance for the other little life I couldn’t save.

After midnight, I drag myself from the comfy couch and practically crawl to the spare bedroom in a cold medicine-induced fog. I don’t remember getting dressed for bed, but I make it under the comforter and pass out with Winter by my side as she’s been for the last two nights.

Sometime in the night, my pulse races and my heart stutters violently in my chest, leaving me gasping for air as I shoot up in bed. Soaked sheets pool around my waist, and my arms shake as goosebumps pebble in waves.

I haven’t had a nightmare in years. Time dulled them after my second year in college. I believe I was so numb from the revelations I blocked it out at night as I tossed and turned.

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