Page 4 of Close to the Edge

For the millionth time in my life, I wish I was different. Normal. An average sized guy with average looks and brains—wouldn’t need to be anything special. Just normal, so I could fit in and maybe even have a shot with this girl.

Someone says something to her. The server jolts, and looks down at a middle aged woman on the nearest bench.

The second she looks away, I force my legs back into action and flee.

* * *

Rowan’s on his deck with his wife Evie when I reach their cabin, both of them sitting on a wooden bench he carved last year. It’s one of the first things we talked about back when he resurfaced—him sending me progress photos, me ribbing him for sloppy craftsmanship even though it was damn near pristine. Just like old times.

Evie’s bare feet are propped in Rowan’s lap so he can rub any soreness away. That sight calms me down as I stride up the mountain path to greet them, waving one arm over my head. My breaths are coming hard, because I charged up this mountainside like my tail was on fire after freaking out that server.

Glad to see Rowan is treating his woman right. Not that there was ever any doubt on that score—Rowan’s noble, through and through.

But still. It’s nice to see someone’s getting a happy ending around here.

“Don’t get up,” I call as Evie goes to swing her legs down. We’ve met a few times over the last few months, waving at each other over video chat, but it’s nice to finally see her in the flesh.

The woman who coaxed Rowan back into society—the woman who kick-started his healing process. I owe her so much for doing what I never could. She’s smaller than I imagined, even with that baby bump stretching the front of her sundress, and her hair is fiery red.

Evie beams at me, seemingly thrilled to meet me too, and some of the tightness in my chest loosens. If my best buddy’s wife was freaked out by me too, I might have taken to that cave myself.

“You made it!” Evie says, right as Rowan calls, “About damn time.” But he’s grinning too, sliding out from under Evie’s feet and placing them tenderly on the bench.

Then my brother in all but blood thunders down the deck steps and meets me on the mountain path, our bodies slamming together in a vicious hug. A bird bursts out of a nearby tree, flapping toward the pink, cloudless sky.

I squeeze my buddy hard, a wave of cool relief washing over me. Rowan really is here, looking happy and calm. He’s solid and real, hugging me tight enough to squeeze the air out of me, and for the first time in years, I feel anchored again.

“Missed you,” I mutter, my voice gruff. We’re not usually ones for banging on about our feelings, but it needs to be said.

Rowan laughs and punches my shoulder as he steps back. “Missed you too, man. Want a drink?”

“Like you wouldn’t believe.”

The steps groan beneath my weight, but the deck is sturdy beneath my boots. Thank god. Unlike Evie, whose hand feels delicate as hell when I lean down to shake it, and I make a mental note to be extra careful not to accidentally barge into this woman.

“He’s been so excited to see you,” she confides as Rowan ducks into the cabin in search of more drinks. A pleased flush spreads over my cheeks, but I’m pretty sure my sunburn covers it, so that’s fine.

Never did get used to having a close buddy like Rowan. After being the freak show all through school, it always felt too good to be true. And for a while, once he went AWOL in his cave, that seemed to be the final punchline: I could have a friend like that in my life, I could belong like that, but only for a short while.

But Rowan’s back, and I’m here on his deck—choked up with a surprising well of emotion. Is there something in the air around here? I’m acting unhinged tonight.

“Saw a girl on my way up here,” I say, changing the subject to the main thing on my mind. Every step up this mountainside, I’ve been dwelling on that server. “Working in that bar, Flint’s. She was tall with a long dark ponytail—the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen in my damn life. D’you know her?”

Evie’s spluttered laugh makes me blink. “You mean Tess? Rowan’s sister?”

No. That’s not…

No.

I shake my head slowly, even though now Evie’s said it, I can kind of see the resemblance. The tan skin; the dark hair; the tall, athletic frame.

But no. There are plenty of tall people in the world with dark hair, damn it.

“Not her,” I say with a confidence I don’t feel. “Must’ve been someone else.”

“Well, Jana works Friday nights—”

“Jana,” I say, my shoulders dropping with relief. “That’s her, then.” Jana. The woman who called to me like a siren in a polo shirt is called Jana. Nice.

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