Page 17 of Squatch Out!
I think about that. Then I wonder—have I ever truly been happy? Like, the soul-deep content kind of happy? And suddenly I realize that’s how I’ve felt ever since arriving here. Despite all the hiccups, like creepy Darren and being abducted by bigfoot, this place makes me truly happy. Which makes me kind of sad, since I can’t stay. I quickly push that thought away to ponder another day, and not on the side of a mountain with a stranger.
“You should write self-help books,” I say.
He chuckles. “I don’t know about that. Most people don’t care much for anything I have to say.”
“Well, maybe they should.”
“Maybe they should,” he agrees.
CHAPTER EIGHT
SEAN
Just like last night, I was halfway back to my cabin before I was able to shift back.
Even though I make way better time as a squatch, with the daylight comes tourists who can pop up anywhere or at any time. Although awkward, at least now if someone catches me walking bare-ass naked, they’d likely avoid eye contact and move away. Giving them a story to share later, ‘Y’all are not going to believe the walk of shame I saw on my hike today.’
Turns out, I have bigger problems. Like the fact that the keys to my place were in my pocket when I squatched out in front of the campers, which means they are long-gone somewhere on the side of the mountain.
Climbing up onto my porch, my ears ring with Owen’s nagging voice:“Why don’t you keep a spare key somewhere, like under the welcome mat?”
Gritting my teeth, I silence his imagined voice with a well-aimed kick to the door, just under the knob. The second the wood splinters under my foot, I remember that I ran out so fast last night, I never locked the door behind me.
I want to bang my head against something as I carefully close the ruined door behind me. Thanks to the broken lock, it doesn’t want to latch anymore, so I brace it with the small table I keep my mail on. My dinner is still sitting beside my recliner, long gone cold, and the TV is on.
After the long night, and two shifts, I’m too tired to deal with clean-up, so I bypass it and walk straight to the back of the house and into my bedroom. Way beyond weary, I don’t stop until the front of my thighs hit the edge of my bed, and then I just fall face first into the mattress. I’m out the moment my body stops moving and sleep like I’m dead until Owen comes pounding at my door sometime after noon.
It’s not the pounding that wakes me so much as the crash of the busted door, followed by my brother’s shouting. “What the fu—Sean, how many times do I have to tell you to get a spare key?”
Letting out a long, painful groan, I force myself out of my bed. I’m still naked, so I grab a pair of gray sweatpants lying beside my overflowing laundry basket. At the sound of my shuffled steps coming down the hallway, Owen gives me a brief glance, probably to make sure I’m dressed, as he tries to fix the broken door. Our houses were built around the same time and by the same builder, who built a dozen other homes for the park rangers to use. The only difference between mine and Owen’s houses is that his has an extra guest room. Since he was the oldest, we just assumed he’d be the first of us to settle down and have a family, so he’d need more room.
How does that saying go?The devil fools with the best-laid plans.
Standing back, I watch my brother fuck with the broken latch until he finally gives up with a heavy sigh. He braces the small table against it, the way I had it, and heads for the kitchen.
“How did it go?” I follow after him, where he’s already head and shoulders deep in my fridge, reaching for a beer, only to find?—
“What the fuck is this?” He holds up a colorful can pinched between his fingers like it might bite him.
“It’s cider. So, what happened?”
“Nothing happened.” Owen ducks back into the fridge. “Where’s the fucking beer?”
“I ran out.” Grabbing the can from him, I pop the top. “So nothing at all happened when you took Olivia back to her camp?”
“You think alcoholic apple juice isbetterthan beer?”
I start to hand him the open can but then pull it away when he reaches out to take it. “First, tell me about Olivia.”
Owen makes a face. “The girl was fine. Just a little shook up. She even went along with the bear story, which doesn’t make sense if she’s up there looking for squatch. I don’t think we’ll have any trouble from her.”
I lower my arm, and he takes the can from me. Then, like a fucking kid trying something he’s certain he won’t like, he takes the tiniest, most tentative sip and makes a face.
“Fuck! This shit is awful.” After slamming the fridge door shut, he storms back into the living room, where he falls into my recliner. Still gripping the can of cider, he wakes up my TV and starts scrolling until he finds the show I was trying to watch last night. Leaning back, he pops up the footrest and tilts the can back to take a long drink.
Without looking away from the TV, he says, “You should go check on those campers. Make sure they aren’t making trouble.”
Thismotherfucker. Coming intomyhome, stealingmycider, and thenmychair andmyTV?—
