Page 91 of Heart Sick Hate

It’s bright. Stunning. Not a splash of makeup on her face, and she might as well be glowing.

I glance over my shoulder at the clock on the nightstand. “It’s seven.”

She shrugs when I look back at her. “I’ve been up since six.”

“Nightmares?”

“No.” She shakes her head, pulling her lips between her teeth like whatever kept her up wasn’t any better.

Walking over to her, I pick her up.

“Crew,” she shrieks, holding the blanket tighter against her chest as I sit in her chair with her in my lap. “I’m not wearing anything under this.”

“Interesting.” I try to peel the blanket off her chest, but she swats my hand away, and I can’t help but laugh. “What are you doing out here? Watching the sunrise?”

The light of day does nothing to make this part of downtown easier on the eyes when all it does is reveal a concrete city.

“I was, but then I couldn’t stop thinking about that tree over there.”

“What about it?”

We’re only three stories up, and through the balcony slats, she has a perfect view of a tree swaying in the breeze. It’s still hibernating from winter and looks out of place on the city sidewalk.

“It has no bones.”

I tip my head back and laugh.

“I’m serious.” She nudges me with her elbow.

“Okay, Goldie.” I squeeze her when she tries to wiggle away. “And here I thought we smoked all the weed last night.”

“Very funny, but I’m not high.”

A piece of black hair falls from her messy ponytail, and I brush it aside. “I’m just messing with you. Tell me more about the tree.”

“So you can make fun of me?”

“Nope. Now I’m genuinely curious.”

It’s not a lie. I love how her wild mind works. Wheels spinning so fast I’m not sure how her thoughts don’t all cave in on themselves. She rarely says what I expect her to, and it’s fascinating.

“Well, like I was saying…” She rolls her eyes. “That tree moves like it has no bones.”

“Trees don’t have bones.”

“Says you.” Echo shrugs. “A tree has a spine stronger than either of us. Have you ever seen a forest after a wildfire’s moved through it? Even black and charred you’ll still find the trees standing. And it might look dead and desolate, but it doesn’t mean the forest is gone. Eventually, everything regrows. It just takes time.”

It’s so random and adorable; I can’t help that I’m lost in her words.

“But you’re saying that tree has no bones.”

“Not anymore.” She looks almost sad about it. “I’m sure it did once when it was just planted, or back in the forest where it belongs. But it doesn’t belong here.”

Her lips turn down, and I can’t help but think we aren’t talking about the tree anymore. She’s seeing herself in the branches—the roots. Her obligations.

“Who says a forest is where it belongs?” I challenge her. “Just because you come from one place doesn’t mean you aren’t really meant for another.”

“It’s nature.” She looks at me like my question is ridiculous.

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