Page 8 of Safety Net
I reached for the edge of the roof, trying to hold myself in position. But the rung underneath my other foot cracked too. Before I could inhale, both completely broke in unison. A coordinated attack, if you ask me.
I landed on my knee first. The sharp pain traveled down my shin too fast for me to react. I bit down on my inner cheek, trying to focus on anything but the broken, bleeding skin.
“Lincoln?” Static from my pain muffled Sam’s voice. “Are you still there?”
I inhaled, feeling a throbbing ache as I tried to brush it off and stand. When I attempted to push off the ground, I noticed a cut on my hand, the blood painting my palm and sliding down my forearm. Fuck, that burned.
“Don’t move yet,” a soft, concerned voice said.
I looked toward the end of the porch. Celeste Able stood a few feet away. Her hands were full of reusable bags that she dumped before coming to my side. I thought it was a dream because her gentle touch on the back of my palm made all my pain vanish for a moment.
The wind picked up her perfume; the soft, floral scent teased my nose and triggered memories of all the times I’d volunteered at the community center just to say ‘hi.’ Just to see her for a second.
Celeste kneeled, examining my hand and knee. I smiled at her despite the pain making my mouth taste of copper. She stared back, uninterested and unfazed, like she usually did, and damn it, my heart hammered. Wanting someone I couldn’t have was the only pain worth focusing on.
“Lincoln?” Sam’s voice called out again, disrupting whatever stare-off Celeste and I were having. “Are you good?”
“He fell,” Celeste answered while I remained frozen in shock at her presence.
“What?” Sam asked. “Who’s that? You’re talking too quietly.”
Celeste dipped her head, embarrassed. She cleared her throat and tried again. “Lincoln fell from a ladder.”
“What are you doing here?” I finally recovered enough to speak again.
She didn’t answer, and I realized how accusatory I sounded. But this was unprecedented. Celeste only came around when Naomi was home. Her visits were brief, and she avoidedinteracting with anyone outside of her best friend as much as possible.
“I was…” Celeste shook her head, unable to meet my gaze as she tried to respond. With her head dipped down, I could see the stars I loved so much in the corners of her eyes. So precise. So beautiful.
Her brown skin glowed underneath the sun, the light turning her eyes a golden brown. Usually, her dark hair was in twists, but today she wore it loose, the coils reaching well past her shoulders.
Celeste had wide-set eyes, big and bold enough to make her nerves more noticeable. I’d learned in the past year there was not much that wouldn’t set off her anxiety. And yet, I still resolved to try. I wanted to be someone she felt safe enough to talk to—or at least tolerate. I could live with tolerance. Maybe even thrive because this was Celeste—a wildly creative human being who loved her quiet corners and her art. I was attracted to the gentle flow of it all.
“I was… dropping off some things for Naomi,” Celeste finally managed to get out. Her gaze stayed trained on the ground as she asked, “Can you stand?”
“What’s that?” Sam’s voice interrupted.
“I can stand,” I assured before checking in with myself to see if it was accurate. As soon as I moved, an involuntary hiss escaped my lips. The nerves in my knee made a case for stillness. I clutched my thigh, trying to get my muscles to relax long enough for me to calm my breathing and reach a verdict.
“How bad is he?” Sam asked.
“He’s having problems getting up.” Celeste lifted her head high so her voice would carry. “And he’s got a cut on his hand. There’s a lot of blood.”
She examined the cut, unblinking. Celeste was far calmer around the injury than I was.
“What the hell were you doing, Lincoln?” Sam asked.
“I’m fine.” I winced at my hand. The bleeding had slowed, at least.
“Can you help him up on your own?” Sam asked.
“Um…” Celeste studied me. She was almost a foot shorter than I. There wasn’t much muscle on her, either. “I could try.”
“It’s fine,” I said. “Hang up on that nerd and call one of the guys for me.”
“Aren’t they in Richport?” Sam asked.
“Still?” I cursed.
