“You don’t mind if you have to wait all night?” He raised an eyebrow almost condescendingly.
I merely nodded with conviction and utmost truth. “A single night is nothing. You’re worth a millennium of nights.”
He sucked in a grunt as if I’d punched him in the chest. Giving me one last look, this one full of confusion and uncertainty, he turned around and vanished into the tree-hidden darkness.
* * * * *
I had a dream.
A dream about a girl and a boy and a shadow.
A shadow that refused to let the boy care for the living, because the dead already owned him.
In my dream, I offered the boy an ice-cream. I tried to coax him back into happiness. But the shadow wouldn’t let him go. It whispered lies. It said I would die and leave him. It spoke of genocide and homicide and death, death, death.
And the little boy nodded.
He agreed with the darkness and accepted its black, black cloak, then turned his back on me.
He accepted a life of loneliness as payment to never endure loss again.
And the little girl just stood there…waiting.
* * * * *
I opened my eyes to dawn.
A silvery, ashy dawn that barely made it from treetops to forest floor.
I’d waited for as long as I could. Well past midnight when creatures grew bold and the sensation of being watched by predators and prey chased me into the tent.
I sat in my sleeping bag, ears pricked for Jacob’s footsteps and not some hungry beast. But my eyes had steadily grown heavier, my mind fuzzy, until my body tumbled into sleep.
And I’d been harassed by dream snippets and nightmare wisps until a twig snapped, wrenching me upright.
He’s back.
Crawling from the tent, I swallowed hard as Jacob covered the dying fire with a kick of dirt and turned away from curling smoke. With a quick look at me, he nodded, then grabbed his backpack and began dismantling our night in the woods.
Without a word, I went to help him.
Like usual, we worked harmoniously, him focusing on one chore and me on another. A dance really. A choreographed routine that said we were used to working side by side, even if we weren’t used to talking.
Once the tent was back in its nylon carrier and the sleeping bags rolled up, we headed from the clearing and back on the overgrown path.
Jacob handed me a muesli bar, his fingers grazing mine as I took it.
We flinched.
He gritted his teeth.
I swallowed a moan.
Our morning as strained as last night.
But neither of us knew how to fix it, and it wasn’t until Cherry River came into view that I finally found the courage to whisper, “Nothing happened. Nothing was said. You have my word.”
He paused, his dark eyes lingering on the empire he toiled over. “I didn’t mean to say those things. I love my family. I don’t want you thinking I don’t.”
“I know you love them.”
He stood taller. “I’m lucky. Very lucky to have them.”
“You are.”
Catching my gaze, he murmured, “Summer is almost over.”
And in those four words, I knew what he was saying.
He’d agreed to let me help over summer.
Soon, he wouldn’t need that help.
Autumn was coming.
And when it arrived, he expected me to be gone.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Jacob
* * * * * *
“I’M PROUD OF you, Jacob. Immensely proud.”
I placed the chipped coffee mug in front of Grandpa John—no coaster required on this dinged-up, well-used family dining table. The steaming hot chocolate smelled overly sweet, and I craved a splash of whiskey to put in mine.
I’d need it.
I already wanted to bolt from the farmhouse and pretend this conversation never existed.
I wasn’t mentally prepared for this. I was still messed up from camping with Hope two days ago. I hadn’t slept. I’d forgotten what it felt like to live a normal life where my heart didn’t skip a beat whenever I saw Hope or my stomach didn’t plummet whenever I admitted I was falling in ways I couldn’t.
It pissed me off.
It petrified me.
On a minutely basis, I cursed my idea of being friends with her.
Why the hell did I take her camping?
At least before that night, I’d been able to pretend things were survivable.
Now, I could barely speak without wanting to attack her. The violence in my blood was confused. It wanted to kiss her, but it also wanted to strike her.
To hurt her so she left and never came back.
Gulping a mouthful of chocolate and focusing on my grandfather instead of my torment, I asked, “Why are you proud? Because we made more money this season than any other, or because I’ve helped Cassie break in three extra horses?”
He chuckled. “Both.”
“You can thank Hope for the grass return.”
And then you can say goodbye because she’s leaving soon.
I was glad at the thought of her gone.
I was eager to see her go.