Page 50 of Revelry
I looked away, but a knot tightened in my throat.
“I’m a big boy,” I reminded her. “And no one asked any of you to try to kick through any walls.”
Sarah watched me for a moment, and then she laughed, dropping her hold on the door. “Well, that’s the thing about family. We’re here even when you don’t ask us to be.” She stepped back, turning for the stairs and reaching into her back pocket once more. When she paused at the top step, she glanced back at me. “She’s going to leave, Anderson. Her home is in the city, and not even a year ago she was married to another man. Just keep that in yourbig boymind, okay?”
With that, she stomped down the stairs and I slammed the door, flicking the lock as soon as it shut. It didn’t matter how hot I ran the water in the shower or how hard I scrubbed, I couldn’t wash her words away.
She was right, that was the worst part.
What did I really expect? I was a rebound for Wren, a distraction, and I’d told myself that’s all she was for me, too. We’d agreed that we were both okay for the time being, and that the rest could be figured out later.
But every night I showed her my scars, every day she let me taste hers, and every minute I ignored the warning bells because I didn’t want to hear them. Not now, maybe not ever.
For two weeks I’d let myself exist in a clouded bliss, but now the fog had cleared and I realized I was standing on a rocky island surrounded by choppy waters with no way off. If I didn’t want to die here, I needed to start building a bridge.
And so when my head hit the pillow, I put the first board over my heart.
But I couldn’t find the will to nail it into place.
EFFULGENCE
ef·ful·gence
Noun
Radiant splendor: brilliance
“Come on, youngins! Keep up!” Momma Von called behind her as she stepped up and over another rock. She laughed when Ron grunted from the back of the group and I couldn’t help but smile, too.
Everything was just sogood.
It was a perfectly warm day, mid-seventies with a shining sun and scarce clouds. Of course we were high enough into the hike now that we were completely shaded by the tall pines, the sun shining through them in diamond rays that warmed my shoulders as we climbed. It was magical, climbing over small waterfalls and babbling brooks, forestry thick all around us. Under the trees, the temperature was at least ten degrees cooler, but a slight sheen of sweat had formed on my neck.
“Remind me again why we’re even out here,” Sarah said with a sigh, clearly bored.
“Because sometimes it’s good to work off all those beers we drink,” Tucker answered. “Plus, Wren’s never been out here. Can’t stay out in Gold Bar without a trip to the Haybrook Lookout Tower.”
Sarah rolled her eyes, bumping my shoulder as she pushed past me and climbed next to Anderson for a while. I watched them shamefully until she rolled her eyes at him, too, and stalked forward to pace with Momma Von. Anderson stayed behind them, but just in front of me.
I was busy looking around, taking in the scenery and clicking photos on my phone, but his cold shoulder didn’t go unnoticed. I tried not to take it personally, though—he had been sick the past few days.
I’d been looking forward to seeing him after my day with Momma Von in Seattle the other day, but he’d cancelled, said he’d been sick all day and not able to keep anything down. It must have been bad, because he hadn’t come by the day after or yesterday, either. Anderson was a work horse, that much I’d learned about him very quickly, so if he was staying inside, there was a reason.
The past two weeks had been incredible. Once I talked to him about the anxiety I was feeling and heard him say we were on the same page, everything seemed easy. I was into him, he was into me, and we were both aware of the individual issues we each had. It was the best kind of understanding.
Some days we laughed, some nights we shared our pain, and every time his hands touched me, I buzzed to life under his fingertips. He opened me up, both mentally and physically, and it turned out the thing I thought I should avoid in my time in Gold Bar ended up being the very thing that had helped me the most.
And though I was smiling, though things felt okay, and though we’d already talked about how we were feeling and kept that line of communication open, I couldn’t help the insecurity rolling in the longer we hiked.
Anderson had been quiet all morning, no hug or kiss or any kind of greeting that morning when we’d all gathered to make the short drive to the hiking trail entrance. Of course, I knew he was still a little uncomfortable with publicly displaying whatever we were, and I understood that, so I didn’t think anything of it. But now that we were on the trail with plenty of opportunity to be alone and talk, I knew something was off. He’d been so excited to show me this hike, and now he was acting as if I wasn’t even on it.
Insecurity was a tricky bastard. I’d gone from sailing on the highest of clouds to walking under one that was constantly drizzling on my head. He didn’t owe me anything, and I knew that, but I’d seen such a different side of him since the night I found him waiting on my front porch. Gone was the silent, broody man who’d piqued my curiosity. He’d been replaced by a man who loved to talk, to listen, to touch. And he laughed—he had thebestlaugh. I’d made it my mission every day to hear that sound at least once, and for two solid weeks I had.
The last few days with him being sick had been quiet, and I’d been slipping back into my thoughts. I knew I needed to do that, to face my fears and lick my wounds, but if I was being honest, it was hard—and by far my least favorite thing to do.
I’d asked him if he wanted me to bring him anything, soup or Gatorade, anything to see him. He’d declined, assured me he would be fine and he’d see me soon, and I’d filled my time with FaceTime calls to Adrian and working on Anderson’s clothes.
I missed him.
