“Hold up,” snaps Kinsey. “You didn’t say anything about two nights.”
Frank is momentarily baffled. “I didn’t? My fault, then. It’s a weekend event. We’ll hike back Sunday.”
“Kill me,” mutters Tiffany.
Frank shows the first signs of irritation. “This is a privilege, and every year the residents have a great time. Try to reserve your judgement. Oh, and pack a bathing suit because there’s a small hot spring in the area.”
Callum pumps a fist in the air. “Rad.”
Even Declan cracks a half smile, looking around 70 percent alive.
Sensing someone’s stare, I look down to find Kinsey’s stormy gaze trained on me. She’s clearly annoyed I’m not mirroring her disgruntlement. I shrug; she huffs and rolls her eyes. Whatever. Either she’ll get used to the idea that I’m not her sidekick or she’ll leave me alone. With some surprise, I realize I hope it’s the former. She’s almost… a friend.
“Any more questions?” asks Frank, cocking a brow at Tiffany, who nods.
“How many chaperones will there be?”
I perk up, interested in the answer.
Frank’s eyes narrow. “Why?”
“Just curious.”
We’re all a little shocked when Frank falls for Tiffany’s I’m-super-cute-and-innocent face. He relaxes, smiling. “Just me and Dr. C, which incidentally means you’ll all be helping haul supplies and set up the tents.”
Cue Kinsey’s dramatic groan.
Frank continues, sending each of us pointed looks. “Where we’re going, there are no services within twenty miles. You set out on your own, you’ll get lost, dehydrated, and eaten by some coyotes. Maybe we notice you missing in time to commission a search party, maybe we don’t. Maybe we can’t find you and cut a shitload of red tape to get a chopper out here. But you’ll probably be dead by then.”
The room is quiet, even Kinsey’s shocked stare locked on Frank’s face. I laugh, loud and abrupt, startling everyone.
“Something funny, Mia?” Frank asks, frowning.
Still smiling, I shrug. “Just appreciating your badassery in a new light, Frank.”
His turn for a shocked expression. “Oh. Well, er…” With a cough, he promptly ignores me. “Okay, that’s it, guys. Go pack.”
I’m out the door first, walking fast. By the time we cross the Fish Tank, I hear Kinsey bitching to Tiffany. Probably about the impending lack of hot water and blow dryers.
Immediately, I feel a spike of shame.
“What are you frowning about?” asks Callum, reaching past me to hold the door open. We step into sunlight, our hands leaping to shade our eyes from the glare off the pool.
“Ugh, I’m annoyed that you were right.”
He barks a short laugh. “About what?”
I squint at him, catching Declan’s interested look over his shoulder. “You told me to dump my baggage and I’d feel better, and you were right.” Before he can say I told you so, I grumble, “I’m just not sure I like the better version of me.”
“Why?” Declan’s dark eyes scan mine as he walks up to us.
I focus on Callum’s easy grin, and he answers for me. “Because feeeeeelings,” he sings loudly. “Oh so many feeeeelings!”
I roll my eyes, heaving a sigh.
“Is that why?” asks Declan.
For a badass rock star, he looks all kinds of innocent right now, his body vibrating with curiosity and his eyes beseeching mine. But like I told Leo, I’m still 10 percent crazy. Since I’m awake approximately fifteen to sixteen hours a day, that means I’m allowed a good hour and a half of bad behavior. I haven’t met today’s quota yet.
I stop walking, the men halting with me. Staring Declan dead in the eye, I say, “What you really want to know is whether I’ve forgiven myself for the heinous shit I’ve done, so you can have some hope for the same. Sorry, bud. My opinion of myself has only declined since I got here.”
“Jesus, Mia,” mutters Callum, then tells Declan, “Don’t listen to her. She just had a huge breakthrough with the doc and is a little shell-shocked. Think of it like this: we spent years building these protective cocoons around ourselves with lies and denial, and here, we work to break free of the shell. What’s inside, though, is—”
Declan and I share a glance, then dissolve into laughter.
Callum glares at us. “You guys suck.”
Declan claps him on the back. “Good on you, bro. You’re a beautiful butterfly now.”
Callum snorts. “Fuck you.”
Behind us, the door to the Fish Tank opens. Kinsey, Tiffany, and Preston walk through, followed by Frank.
Shooting us a frown, Frank yells, “Did I say enjoy a social hour, or pack your damned bags?”
“On it!” shouts Callum.
I glance at Declan. “Welcome to Crazy Town.”
Our excitement at being beyond the fence is short-lived. Hiking three miles across relatively flat ground should—theoretically—be a piece of cake. Callum and I could probably make it to the campsite in less than an hour, even toting backpacks and duffels with supplies. Unfortunately, we’re not alone, and at the rate we’re going, we’ll be setting up tents in the dark.
I actually feel bad for Kinsey and Tiffany. After a mere mile, they already look ragged, their hair limp, faces bright red, and their steps faltering. Even Frank with his extra cushioning and Preston with his stick limbs are having no problem keeping pace. Declan isn’t doing too bad for a detoxing alcoholic, either. And naturally, Leo looks unfairly perfect in running pants, sneakers, and a white tee.
Despite my physical fitness, I’m still feeling the additional pounds I’m hauling. Loose strands of hair stick to my neck and face, and my calves and shoulders burn. Leo, on the other hand, might as well be walking on a treadmill in an air-conditioned gym. He’s barely sweating, carrying just as many supplies as Callum, and looks like any other hot-as-fuck guy taking a leisurely stroll. The cherry on top of my sexual frustration is his stupid hair. Completely windblown, dark strands everywhere and no part in sight, it’s a visceral reminder of what it felt like to drag my fingers through it.
I spend most of the hike wishing my attraction to him were based solely on physical allure. My libido has never been the boss of me. But sadly, when I look at him—too often, too long—all I see is the calm point in a storm. I want to tackle him, crawl inside his skin, and stay safe and warm until everything isn’t so frightening anymore.
I’m so fucked.
21
moon-light
day 18
We make it to the campsite before dark. Barely. The spot shows clear signs of use—a central fire pit boasting a blackened tripod for hanging pots, a few makeshift benches of sun-bleached wood atop rocks, and a generous area of mostly flat, shrub-free ground for the tents.
The sky is a hazy watercolor of purples and reds, and the distant mountains reflect the last fire of sunset. The sight is a breathtaking reminder of how vast the universe is, how small we are. As I unload my pack and stretch sore muscles, I feel the rare blessing of contentedness. For the moment, at least, there’s nowhere else I need or want to be.
While Kinsey and Tiffany nurse their sore feet, the rest of us put up the tents in the last light of day. Three tents total, spaced about ten feet apart in a semicircle. Frank is bunking with Callum and Preston, Leo will share with Declan, and the three women have the last. When I see the tight fit of sleeping bags in our tent, however, I consider the appeal of sleeping beneath the sky.
That idea fades fast as the sun dips below the horizon and the temperature drops. As the rest of us pull on sweatshirts and pants, Frank starts a fire in the rock-bordered pit. Leo appears with dinner—a campfire pot and freeze-dried packages that he mixes with water. There are good-natured grumbles around camp about the rustic fare; that is, until the stew begins to heat, sending up a mouthwatering scent.
Darkness settles like a heavy blanket, the moon not yet risen. Despite its inherent stillness, the desert
sings at night. Gentle gusts of wind carry to our ears the chorus of crickets, the muted flap of wings overheard, the hoots of owls, and the occasional patter of small critter feet. When it blows just right, we can even hear a trickle of water from the nearby hot springs.
Two high-powered halogen lamps illuminate the entirety of the camp as we gather for a meal of hearty stew, fresh sourdough bread, and apples. Whether in reverence for nature or outright fatigue, when we speak, our voices are near-whispers.
I focus on my food, listening to the mellow chatter around me. A few times, I glance up to find Leo’s eyes on me from across the fire. My crazy is in hibernation, though, because I can’t hold his gaze for more than a second before looking away. It’s too hard with him looking so unprofessional and… normal. The emotional distance between us feels blurred on my end, though I doubt he’s experiencing the same confusion.
I’m his patient and he’s my therapist. That’s it. But right here, right now, as he smiles at something Callum is saying and the firelight flickers over relaxed, happy faces, I’m having trouble convincing myself we’re not simply a group of friends on a weekend camping trip. Even focusing on Kinsey and Tiffany doesn’t help—the exercise, fresh air, and full bellies have given both women blissful countenances.
I’m relieved when Frank asks me to help clean up dinner. I throw myself into the task of scrubbing the dishes and utensils with biodegradable soap and packing them away in a duffel behind one of the tents. I hide in the dark as long as possible, until Callum’s voice finds me.
“Mia! Take off the apron. It’s time for s’mores and Truth or Dare!”
Dragging my feet, I head back to the fire. One of the halogen lights has been turned off; the other is far enough away, set between two tents, that the night presses close. The campfire presses back, flickering brightly against the seven faces turned in my direction.
“I’m tired,” I say artlessly.
Frank speaks first. “By all means, you can—”
“Hell no!” interjects Kinsey. “Girl, get your ass over here. I’m reliving the youth I never had!”
And then comes the ultimate torture in the form of a deep, teasing tone. “Are you scared, Amelia?”
My eyes snap to Leo. Yes, you asshat. And do you really want to play? Did you forget how badly I want to break you? His smile slowly fades, though his gaze doesn’t waver from my face. Steady challenge issues from his shadowed eyes.
Declan, who’s sitting beside Leo, looks between the two of us, his brows lifting. Then he laughs. “Doc, your balls are definitely bigger than mine. If she were looking at me like that, I’d probably beg for my life.”
“Pleeease, Mia?” begs Kinsey.
“Yeah, come on,” adds Tiffany.
Callum squawks like a chicken. I break eye contact with Leo and stomp forward. Plopping cross-legged on the ground, I snatch a marshmallow from a pack and stab it with a stick.
“Commence the bonding,” I announce, then point my stick-impaled marshmallow around me. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
“Oh, oh, I’ll start!” chirps Kinsey. Her knees bounce as she chews her lip in thought. “Mia, truth or dare.”
I flip her off and everyone laughs. “Truth.”
“Really?” whispers Callum, surprised at my choice.
I’m surprised, too. It just slipped out.
Frank clears his throat loudly. “Do we need to lay down some ground rules?”
Kinsey waves him off. “No. I’ll go easy. So, Mia… most embarrassing memory, please.”
“Boring,” mutters Declan.
I don’t even have to think about the answer. “When I was in eighth grade, I got my period for the first time in the middle of class while wearing white pants. I didn’t know it had happened until I stood up and a boy behind me screamed that I’d pooped blood and was dying.”
When the laughter fades, I look around the group, squashing my first impulse to pick Leo. “Tiffany, truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“Hmm. Okay, I dare you to braid Frank’s beard.”
Both Tiffany and Frank groan in protest, but the result is worth it. The attention is off me, and Frank’s biker-long beard sits in a perfect French braid.
Declan goes next, then Callum, then Preston. Frank dares Declan to eat a raw egg, which is produced from a cooler and downed with disappointing ease. Callum and Preston both choose truth, but the mood stays light, both the questions and their answers funny.
“Okay, um, Doctor Chastain?” asks Preston hesitantly. “Truth or dare?”
“Truth.”
“Do you have any hobbies? If so, what are they?”
“Come on, P-man!” exclaims Callum. “That’s totally lame.”
Preston shrugs indifferently.
“Yes, I do have hobbies,” answers Leo. “I like to hike, mountain bike, kayak… really anything outdoors. Let’s see, I also collect books—first editions—and my favorite evenings are spent reading at home, listening to jazz and smoking an imported cigar.”
Everyone gets a kick out of the response, especially Kinsey. “Do you also enjoy romantic dinners and sunset walks on the beach?”
Leo grins, eyes sparkling. My stomach tightens and drops to my toes. I can’t take it anymore. I just can’t.
I leap to my feet. “I’m going to bed,” I announce and beeline for the tent amidst surprised protest.
Not until I’m inside do I realize I should probably pee, maybe brush my teeth… Fuck it. I drop face-first onto my sleeping bag and pull the hood of my sweatshirt up to block the sound of voices.
It takes a while, but eventually my body overrules my brain and delivers me to sleep.
22
moon-bright
day 18
A painful, pressing need in my bladder jolts me awake at an undermined hour. Kinsey and Tiffany are passed out beside me and the camp is quiet. The walls of the tent glow, backlit, and it takes me a few seconds to realize it’s not the lamps but the moon.
Carefully maneuvering to my feet, I step over Tiffany’s legs and unzip the door. Thankfully, the tent is new and the sound muted. Outside is a different world from the one I left. Brightened by moonlight, the landscape is both beautiful and alien, like something out of a science fiction movie. Shadows abound, giving wavering aspects to small, spiny plants and making giants out of boulders. At least there’s no need for a flashlight.
Warmth still radiates upward from the sun-baked ground, but the air is delightfully chilly. I pick my way through the sparse brush to a location safely distant from camp and quickly take care of business. As I’m walking back, I hear something that stalls my feet.
The gurgle of water.
Do I think about coyotes? Snakes? Getting lost? No, I don’t. There’s no voice of caution. No monitor of reason. No fear at all. My mind is as empty and dark as the space between stars.
It’s not hard to find the small trail, worn by many feet over the course of years. My steps are unhurried, my heartbeat steady. Everyone’s asleep. What’s the harm in exploring? Maybe taking a skinny-dip in the hot springs? It wouldn’t be the first time.
As my eyes adjust fully to the night, the moon becomes an inverse sun. So bright. So clear. The scent of sulfur increases, teasing my nose and ramping up my excitement. I make my way up a short incline and around an outcropping of rocks. Before me is a perfect, dark pool of water, maybe seven feet across. Steam rises from the surface.
A startled intake of breath tells me I’m not alone. When I see the sole occupant, his broad, bare shoulders glistening wetly, I’m not surprised. Why am I not surprised? On the heels of that thought is another: Of course, I’m dreaming.
“Amelia,” he says, voice rigid.
I don’t ask for permission before I toe off my sneakers and socks and whip my sweatshirt over my head. There are sounds in the night, but all I can hear is his breathing, suddenly loud. All I can feel is the assault on my sensitive skin as my jeans come off, then my shirt, and finally my br
a and underwear.
Dream-Leo looks down and mutters, “Could have used a warning.”
Dream-me replies, “Where’s the fun in that?”
Water swirls and laps as he moves through the pool and offers me a hand, his gaze carefully averted. “It can be a little slippery.”
The contact of his fingers is a revelation. Another follows when first one foot, then the other, hit the water.
Oh my God, I’m not dreaming.
“Holy shit, that’s hot.”
Despite his firm grip, I slip. And since this isn’t a dream, I don’t slide magically into his arms. Leo tries to catch me, but I fall sideways, accidentally kicking him in the junk—crap, he’s naked—and going headfirst underwater.
I come up coughing, expelling a nose-full of water. “I’m so sorry,” I gasp.
Leo is as far away from me as he can be while still remaining in the pool. His shoulders are rounded defensively, and I’m pretty sure he’s checking to make sure his balls are still there. It was a solid impact.
“Glancing blow,” he wheezes. “I’ll live.”
“Sorry,” I repeat feebly.
He doesn’t say anything else, his eyes closed in a prolonged wince. I shift on the natural rock seat, unable to recall a time I felt this unbelievably awkward. At least my skin doesn’t feel like it’s melting off anymore. The downside is I’m achingly aware that I’m naked. And. So. Is. He.
“Sorry to crash your party,” I murmur. “Believe it or not, I really thought I was dreaming.” Not until Leo goes unnaturally still do I realize what I’ve said. I force a laugh. “Whoops. Let’s pretend I didn’t say that.”
He drops his head back against a smooth rock, arms falling to his sides and eyes opening to the sky.
“Fucking fuck. Fuck. Son of a… fuck.”
His whispered words belatedly register in my ears. A queer calm drifts through me, stilling my thoughts, while an equally potent spike of adrenaline makes my heart race, my breath shallow, and my fingertips tingle.
The Fall Before Flight Page 11