Page 17 of Catch the Sun

I run.

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It’s mid-September and the weather is a scorching ninety degrees. The lemony fragrance of bloodroot wafts underneath my nose while a shaft of sunlight breaks through the cloud cover.

It’s the perfect Friday afternoon for being anywhere but there.

Sticks and branches crunch underneath my shoes as I make my way down the wooded trail toward Tellico Lake. I’m eager to be in the water, to erase the decay off my skin. McKay used to come with me, back when we were younger. We’d race to the lake together after Dad worked himself up into a whiskey-induced meltdown, and we’d pretend we were plotting our grand escape out of this town. For a few hours, we’d hide underneath the lake’s surface, counting those blissful seconds of freedom while we held our breath.

No sound, no sight, no stale taste of agony and broken dreams on our tongues.

It was just…quiet.

Peaceful.

I’m not sure when McKay stopped coming with me. I can’t pinpoint the exact year or date, but eventually he found other outlets to keep him sane.

Schoolwork. Basketball. Girls.

Brynn has been the best thing that’s ever happened to him and I’m thankful for that. But for me, a relationship just isn’t in the cards. Girls, friendships, connections—they all take up too much emotional capacity, and I don’t have room for the added burdens.

Besides, how could I ever invite a girl over? Our house is small, hardly nine-hundred square feet, and my father’s demons are vast. My responsibilities are widespread. Brynn has never even come by, and while McKay is content with the arrangement, I wouldn’t be.

A relationship is not feasible.

My fists clench as my speed kicks up and I leave a cloud of dirt and dust in my wake. The lake water sparkles on the other side of the tree line, calling to me, serving as one of the only things in life I can actually count on. Nature soothes me. I have a secret spot in a clearing a few yards from the water’s edge, tucked within a canopy of moss-covered branches that embrace each other like old friends. It’s where I go to relax, to decompress. To get away from it all.

After stripping down to my boxers, I take a dunk in the lake, floating on my back for a few minutes and staring up at the pillowy clouds.

It’s not long before I’m restless again.

I need a cigarette.

The legal age to buy tobacco in Tennessee is twenty-one, so my neighbor, Chevy, scores me a pack every now and then when he has the extra cash. Sometimes I’ll find them tucked inside a bag of groceries he’ll leave on our front stoop. It’s not even an actual patio, just a block of cement. Kind of like our house is barely a house—it’s an unfinished product of a washed-away dream.

Pulling my jeans back on, I fish out a cigarette and light up, watching as the sun dips lower in the sky and sets the treetops aglow.

I’m inhaling a long drag when a flash of orange catches my attention in my peripheral. Glancing up, I spot a girl in a carrot-colored romper leaning over the bridge, her arms folded on the rail as she stares down into the water.

Auburn hair, long and thick.

Pale skin.

Sad jade eyes.

Ella Sunbury.

Ropes of red-brown hair dance across her face while she hangs over the edge, unaware of my presence. Her attention is on the water as it flows downstream. She leans over farther, then farther, and my heart skips, wondering if she’s contemplating climbing over and jumping in. Maybe she wants to wash her entire life away. For a beat, I find her painfully relatable as I watch her hair float and undulate amid the early-autumn breeze. I’ve stood on that exact bridge before, in that same position, transfixed by the running river water and praying it would take pity on me and haul me away from here.

She lifts up then, shoving the hair out of her face.

The breeze goes still.

And so do I.

Her head tilts toward me and our eyes meet across the embankment. Recognition flickers to life. Ella straightens and stiffens, her fingers curling around the railing.

She doesn’t smile and neither do I.

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