Page 28 of Knotted Laces

And the words are torn from me without conscious approval.

“You’re beautiful, you know that right?”

Athena goes completely still.

For long enough that I know I’ve totally gone and FUBARed this night.

“I just?—”

There’s a screech on the screen, a dragon appearing out of nowhere, my fictional universe sweeping in to save the day when I clearly can’t.

“Oh shit,” she says. “What do I do?”

“Right trigger and hit X like a motherfucker,” I order as I grab my controller and hurry over to where she’s getting decimated, pulling out my weapons, going ham on the creature, if only because it gives me something to do that isn’t being an idiot.

I kill it, walking my fictional druid back a good distance away, and then give her some further instructions, talking her through the entrance of the dungeon we’re trying to beat.

And I do it while finishing off my beer.

And then another.

I keep drinking as wefinallysurvive the raid.

And as my lids grow heavy and we head back to town to deposit our gold.

And as she asks me questions and puts a couple of items up for sale at the game’s auction house.

I keep drinking until all the beer bottles are empty and I’m drunk enough that I have to close my eyes, just for a second.

And I know I drank far too much when I wake up in the morning with a splitting headache, a clean den, a blanket spread out over me, and?—

No sign that Athena had been there at all.

Except for the paper bag from Molly’s sitting on the countertop.

And the sense that my hangover is from being drunk on Athena’s presence…

Not the beers.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Ats, Two Weeks Later

I sighand inhale the cool mountain air.

It’s warm down in the Bay—not blistering like mid-August will get, just definitely edging into summer. But up in the Sierras, only a couple of hours away, it’s the perfect mix of cool and balmy.

I loved living in Stoneybrook, loved beingrightnext to the Atlantic.

The sand, the surf, the whitecaps in the distance…all beautiful.

But there’s something unreal about these mountains. Maybe it’s the granite slabs protruding up to the sky. Maybe it’s the conifers huddled in tight clumps together all the way up to the tree line, the pockets of snow that cling to the clefts and valleys, despite the incoming summer season. Or maybe it’s the rivers that parallel the highway on the way up, parts both fast and slowly bubbling, or filled with rapids and smoothly flowing, dotted with huge boulders and fallen trees and bridges that cross the river, giving access to quaint cabins and winter houses.

It’s…Stoneybrook in the mountains.

It’s…so far away from the concrete and buildings where I grew up. Only a few hours away but with little to no greenspace. No mountains or fresh air or freedom.

I inhale and exhale again, know that I need to get into my car and drive back home.

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