Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Sixteen

I was excited about my hike that morning, even though I’d had to wake up at the crack of dawn to do it.

I’d still been squeezing in jumping rope a few days a week, longer every day it seemed like, and I’d even gone as far as wearing a light backpack sometimes while I did it. Was I anywhere near ready to do Mount Everest? Not in this lifetime or the next unless I developed a lot more self-control and stopped being scared of heights, but I had finally convinced myself I could handle a difficult hike. The four-mile one we’d done had been rated as intermediate, and I’d survived it. All right, barely, but who was keeping track?

Mom had a little star and a wavelike symbol next to it. I hoped it meant something good since her information had literally been pretty direct with no other notes on it.

Every day I could feel my heart growing. Could feel myself growing here in this place.

The truth was, I loved the smell of the air. I loved the customers at the shop who were all so nice. I loved Clara and Amos, and even Jackie was back to making eye contact with me . . . even though we didn’t talk much. And Mr. Nez made me so happy during the few times I’d gotten to see him.

I was doing a lot better at work. I’d put up a bat house. I’d gone on a date. I was owning all of this. I was settling in.

And finally, I was going to do this hard-ass hike.

Today.

Not just for my mom, but for me too.

I was so motivated I even sang a little bit louder than normal while I got ready, telling someone about what I really, really wanted.

Making sure I had all of my things—a life straw, a bottle with a built-in water filter, two extra gallons to start with, a turkey and cheddar sandwich with nothing else in it so that it didn’t get soggy, way too many nuts, an apple, a bag of gummies, and an extra pair of socks—I walked out, double-checking my mental list to make sure I hadn’t forgotten anything.

I didn’t think so.

Glancing up as I made it to my car, I spotted Amos trudging back to the house, shoulders slumped and looking exhausted. I bet he’d forgotten to roll the trash can to the street and his dad had woken him up to do it. It wouldn’t be the first time. He’d complained to me about it before.

I lifted my hand and waved. “Morning, Amos.”

He lifted his hand back lazily. But I could tell he noticed what I was wearing; he’d seen me leave the house enough to go for hikes to recognize the signs: my dark UPF pants, a long-sleeved UPF white shirt I’d bought at the store layered over a tank top, my jacket in one hand, hiking boots on, and a cap barely resting on the top of my head.

“Where are you going?” he asked, pausing on his journey back to bed.

I gave him the name of the trail. “Wish me luck.”

He didn’t, but he did nod at me.

One more wave and I ducked into my car just as Rhodes came out of his house, dressed and ready for work. Someone was running later than usual.

We’d barely seen each other over the last couple of weeks, but every once in a while, his words the day of my date with Johnny came back to me. Kaden used to call me beautiful all the time. But out of Rhodes’s mouth . . . it just felt different, even if he’d said it casually, like it was just a word with no meaning behind it.

That’s why I honked, just to be a pest, and noticed his eyes narrow before he lifted a hand.

Good enough.

I was out of there.

I’d hoped in fucking vain, I realized hours later when my foot slipped on a patch of loose gravel on a downhill part.

Mom had put the star around the name of it to symbolize the stars she’d seen after getting a concussion crossing the main ridge of the trail.

Or maybe a star to mean you had to be an alien to finish it because I wasn’t ready. I wasn’t ready at all.

Fifteen minutes in, I should have known I wasn’t in good enough shape to do this in a day. It was five miles in, five out. Maybe I should’ve listened to Rhodes’s advice way back when he’d suggested I camp, but I still hadn’t been able to talk myself into doing it by myself yet.

I’d sent Uncle Mario a text to let him know where I was hiking and approximately what time I would get back. I’d promised to text him again when I was done, so that someone knew. Clara wouldn’t worry unless I didn’t show up at the shop the next day, and Amos might not notice I wasn’t around until he hadn’t seen my car for too long, and who knew what he’d consider to be too long.

You didn’t know what it was like to be alone until you didn’t have people who could or would notice if you went missing.

Besides being out of breath, my calves cramping, and having to stop every ten minutes to take a five-minute break, everything had been going okay. I was regretting it, sure, but I hadn’t given up hope that I could actually finish the hike.

At least until I got to that damn ridge.

I really had tried to catch my balance on the way down, but I’d hit the ground hard anyway.

Knees first.

Hands second.

Elbows third when my hands gave up on me and I’d gone face-first.

Into gravel.

Because there was gravel everywhere. My hands hurt, my elbows hurt, and I thought there might be a chance my knee might’ve been broken.

Could you break a knee?

Rolling onto my butt, careful not to slide farther off the trail and toward the jagged rocks below, I blew out a breath.

Then I looked down and squeaked.

The gravel had scraped my palms raw. There were little pebbles buried in my skin. Beads of blood were starting to pop up on my poor hands.

Bending my arms, I tried to glance at my elbows . . . only to see enough to imagine that they looked the same as my palms.

Only then did I finally take in my knees.

The material covering one of them was totally torn. It was scraped raw too. The material over my other knee was intact, but it burned like hell, and I knew that knee was fucked up too.

“Oww,” I moaned to myself, looking at my hands, then my elbows—ignoring the pain that shot through my shoulders as I chicken-winged my arm—and finally back at my knees.

It hurt. Everything fucking hurt.

And I hadn’t brought anything with me as first aid. How could I be so dumb?

Slipping my backpack off, I dropped it on the ground beside me and peeked at my hands once more.

“Owwie.” I sniffled and swallowed hard before looking back the way I’d come.

Everything really did hurt. I’d liked these pants too.

There was a tiny stream of blood going down my shin from my knee, and the urge to cry got worse. I would’ve punched the gravel if I could close my fist, but I couldn’t even do that. I sniffled again, and not for the first time since moving out here, to basically the middle of nowhere, but for the first time in a while, I wondered what the fuck I was doing.

What was I doing with my life?

Why was I here? What was I doing, doing this? I was doing hikes by myself with the exception of the one time. Everyone had their own lives. No one would even know I’d hurt myself. I had nothing to clean my wounds with. I was probably going to die from some weird infection now. Or I’d bleed out.

Squeezing my eyes closed, I felt one little tear pop up, and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, wincing as I did it.

Pure frustration mixed with throbbing pain formed a ball in my chest.

Maybe I should go back to Florida, or go back to Nashville; it wasn’t like there were any chances I’d ever see Mr. Golden Boy there. He rarely left the house. He was too hot shit to hang out with normal people after all. What the hell was I doing?

Whining, that’s what.

And my mom never whined, some small part of my brain reminded the rest of me in that moment.

Opening up my eyes, I reminded myself that I was here. That I didn’t want to live in Nashville, Yuki or no Yuki. I’d liked Florida, but it had never really felt like home because it seemed more of just a reminder of what I had lost, of a life I’d had to live because of the things that had happened. In a way, it was a bigger reminder of a tragedy than even Pagosa Springs.

And I didn’t want to fucking move from Pagosa. Even if all I had were just a couple friends, but hey, some people had no friends.

Just earlier, when I hadn’t been feeling so pathetic, I’d thought that everything was working out. That I was getting somewhere. I was settling in.

And now all it took was one little thing to go wrong and I wanted to quit? Who was I?

Taking in a long, deep breath, I accepted that I was going to have to go back. I had nothing for my hands, my knees ached like fucking hell, and my shoulder was hurting more and more by the second. I was pretty sure I’d be in unbelievable pain if I’d dislocated it, so I’d probably just hurt it a little.

I had to take care of myself, and I had to do it now. I could always come back and do this hike again. I wasn’t quitting. I wasn’t.

Picking the hand that looked the worst, I set it palm up on top of my thigh, gritted my teeth, and started picking out the gravel that had decided to make a home in my skin, hissing and groaning and flinching and saying, “Oh my God, fuck you,” over and over again when a particular piece hurt like extra hell . . . which was every piece of gravel.

I cried.

And when I finished that hand and even more blood pooled in the tiny wounds and my palm throbbed even worse, I started on the other.

I was taking care of myself.

There was a small first aid kit in my emergency roadside bag, I remembered when I was nearly done with my other hand. I’d bought it when I got my bear spray. It didn’t have a whole lot, but it had something. Band-Aids to help me survive the entire two-and-a-half-hour drive home, on top of the time it would take to hike back out.

Oh my God, I was going to cry again.

But I could do it while I dug out rocks from my elbows, I figured, and that was what I did.

Three and a half hours and a lot of curse words and tears later, my hands still ached, my elbows did too, and every step I took hurt the joints in my knees and the painfully stretched skin covering them. If I didn’t have black pants on, I was sure I’d look like I’d gotten into a fight with a bear cub and lost. Bad.

Feeling defeated but trying my best not to, I sucked in one breath after another, forcing my feet to keep fucking going until I made it to the stupid-ass parking lot.

I’d gone through periods of pure rage toward everything on the way down. Over the trail in the first place. Over doing this. Over the sun being out. At my mom for bamboozling me. I’d even been pissed off at my boots and would have taken them off and thrown them into the trees, but that was considered littering and there were too many rocks.

It was the boots’ fault for being slippery, the sons of bitches. I was donating them the first chance I got, I’d decided at least ten times. Maybe I’d burn them.

Okay, I wouldn’t because it was bad for the environment and there was still a fire ban in effect, but whatever.

Pieces of shit.

I growled just as I turned on a switchback and came to a sudden stop.

Because coming toward me, head down, backpack straps clinging to broad shoulders, breathing steadily in through his nose and out through his mouth, was a body I recognized for about ten different reasons.

I knew the silver hair peeking out from under a red ball cap.

That tan skin.

The uniform.

The man looked up then, blinked once, and stopped too. A frown took over a face that solidified I knew the man on his way up. And I definitely recognized the raspy voice that asked, “Are you crying?”

I swallowed and croaked, “A little bit.”

Those gray eyes widened just a little and Rhodes stood up even straighter. “Why?” he asked very, very slowly as his gaze swept over me from my face down to my toes before going back up. Then those eyes flicked down to my knees and stayed there as he asked, “What happened? How bad are you hurt?”

I took a step that was more like a limp forward and said, “I fell.” I sniffled. “The only thing broken is my spirit.” I wiped at my face with my sweaty forearms and tried to smile but failed at that too. “Fancy seeing you here.”

His gaze went back to my knees. “Tell me what happened.”

“I slipped along the ridge and thought I was going to die, lost half my pride along the way too,” I told him, wiping at my face again. I was so fed up. Beyond fed up. I just wanted to get home.

His shoulders seemed to relax a little with every word out of my mouth, and then he was moving again, setting down two trekking poles I hadn’t noticed he’d been holding along the side of the trail and slipping his backpack off too before he stopped in front of me and kneeled. His palm went around the back of the knee with the ripped pant leg, and he gently lifted it. I let him, too surprised to do anything other than stand there trying to balance as he whistled under his breath, inspecting the skin there.

Rhodes glanced up from under those thick, curly lashes. He set my leg back down and touched the back of my other calf. “This one too?” he asked.

“Yeah,” I answered, hearing the sulkiness I was trying to hide in my voice. “And my hands.” I sniffled again. “And my elbows.”

Rhodes kept kneeling as he reached for one of my hands and flipped it, instantly wincing. “Jesus Christ, how far did you fall?”

“Not that far,” I said, letting him look at my palms. His eyebrows knit together in a pained expression before he took my other hand and inspected it too.

“You didn’t clean it?” he asked as he lifted that arm up a bit, grimacing again. I’d taken my UPF shirt off not even thirty minutes before falling. My skin might have been more protected if I’d left it on. Too late now.

“No,” I replied. “That’s why I turned around. I don’t have anything on me. Ouch, that hurt.”

He lowered my arm slowly and took the other, lifting it high up to check out that elbow too and earning him another “Oww” from me when it made my shoulder ache.

“I think I hurt my shoulder when I tried to break my fall.”

His gaze met mine. “You know that’s the worst thing you can do when you fall?”

I gave him a flat look. “I’ll keep that in mind next time I fall on my face,” I grumbled.

I was pretty sure his mouth might have twisted a little as he stood up. Rhodes gave me a single nod for sure though. “Let’s go, I’ll walk you down and get you cleaned up.”

“You will?”

He slanted me a look before picking up his trekking poles and backpack, slipping the straps on, then maneuvering the two sticks through crisscrossing cords on his back, leaving his arms free. Finally aiming his body back up the trail toward me, he held out his hand.

I hesitated but set my forearm into his open palm, and I watched as some emotion I didn’t initially recognize slid over his face.

“I meant your backpack, angel. I’ll take it for you. The trail’s not wide enough for both of us to go down at the same time,” he said, his voice sounding oddly hoarse.

Maybe if I hadn’t been in so much pain, and been so damn cranky, I would’ve been embarrassed. But I wasn’t, so I nodded, shrugged, and gingerly tried to take my backpack off. Luckily, I just started to shimmy a strap off when I felt the weight leave my shoulders as he tugged it away.

“Are you sure?”

“Positive” was all he replied with. “Come on. We’ve got half an hour to get back to the trailhead.”

My whole body slumped. “Half an hour?” I’d thought I had . . . ten minutes max.

My landlord pressed his lips together and nodded.

Was he trying not to laugh? I wasn’t sure because he turned around and started heading down the path ahead of me. But I was pretty sure I saw his shoulders shaking a little.

“Let me know when you want water” was one of the only two things he said on the way down.

The other being “Are you humming what I think you’re humming?”

And me replying with “Yes.”

“Big Girls Don’t Cry.” I had no shame.

I tripped twice, and he turned around both times, but I gave him a tight smile and acted like nothing had happened.

Like he predicted, thirty minutes later, when I was basically wheezing and he was acting like this was a stroll down a paved path, I spotted the parking lot and almost cried.

We’d made it.

I’d made it.

And my hands hurt even worse from how dry the cuts were, and my elbows felt the same way, and I was sure my knees would too, but their joints were so bad, they didn’t have room to wonder about any other pain.

But just as I started heading toward my car, Rhodes slipped his fingers around my biceps and steered me toward his work truck. He didn’t say another word as he unlocked it and dropped the tailgate, shooting me a look over his shoulder as he patted it briefly before heading around to the passenger door.

I went straight for the tailgate and eyed it, trying to figure out how to sit on it without using my hands to boost myself up.

That was how he found me: staring at it and trying to decide if I went face-first and shimmied up on my stomach, I could wiggle around and sit up on my butt eventually.

“I’m trying to figure out how to—okay.”

He scooped me up, one arm under the backs of my knees, the other around my lower back, and planted me on the truck. In a sitting position. Like it was no big deal. I smiled at him.

“Thanks.” I would’ve figured it out, but it was the thought that counted.

It didn’t change the fact he was confusing, but I wasn’t going to pick at that thought any longer. I still hadn’t moved past him calling me beautiful. I probably wouldn’t.

From under his arm though, he set a red kit beside my hip. Wordlessly, those big hands went straight for my foot, and I watched as he undid the lace and tugged the boot off by the heel as I said, “Hold your breath. I’ve been sweating, and I’d like to think my feet don’t smell, but they might.”

That gaze flicked up for a second, and he lowered it again before doing the same to my other boot.

I sighed in relief. Man, did that feel good. I wiggled my poor, tormented toes and sighed again just as he started rolling my pant leg up, stopping the fold just above my knee. His hands were gentle as they did the same to the knee that hadn’t totally torn.

And I watched, silently, as his palm cupped my calf and he extended my leg, the side of it pressing against his hip. He tilted his head and examined it some more before doing the same to the other. He had just started digging through his case when I asked, “Whatcha doing here?”

He didn’t look over as he pulled a couple packets out and set them on top of my thigh.

Not the tailgate. My thigh.

“Someone reported illegal hunting; I was coming to see if I heard anything,” he answered, setting out a small clear bottle too.

I watched him put on some gloves, then take the top off the bottle and give it a swirl. “I thought hunting season hadn’t started yet?”

He still didn’t look at me as he lifted my leg again at an angle and squirted the clear fluid over my knee. It was cold and it stung just a little, but mostly because the skin was broken. I hoped. “It hasn’t, but that doesn’t matter to some people,” he explained, focused below.

I guess that made sense.

But what were the chances . . . ?

Had Amos told him I was here?

He did the same to the other knee, which was scraped up but not as bad.

“Are you going to get in trouble for not going up there?” I asked him with a hiss as it stung too.

He shook his head, setting the bottle aside and nabbing some precut strips of gauze, which he used to dab under the wounds, drying them. Rhodes worked on me some more before grabbing a couple more gauze pads and putting them over the treated wounds, taping them down.

“Thank you,” I told him quietly.

“You’re welcome,” he replied, meeting my gaze briefly. “Hands or elbows first?”

“Elbows are good. I need to work up to my hands; I think those will hurt the most.”

He nodded again, taking my arm and starting the whole process over again with the solution. He was drying it off as he asked quietly, “Why are you by yourself?”

“Because I don’t have anyone else to come with me.” With his head ducked, I got a really great view of his incredible hair. The silver and brown mixed together perfectly. One could only hope to gray that nicely. At least I did.

Those almost purple eyes flicked to me again as he applied something to my elbow. “You know it’s not safe to go hiking alone.”

Here was the inner dad and game warden. “I know.” Because I did. Better than anyone, probably. “But I don’t really have a choice. I texted my uncle and told him where I was. Clara knows too.” I watched his face. “Amos asked when I was leaving this morning. He knew too.”

His features didn’t shift in the slightest. Amos had definitely told him. Right?

But what? He drove all this way . . . to check on me? Drive two and half hours away . . . for me?

Yeah, right.

“You turned around at the ridge then?” he asked as he covered my elbow with a big Band-Aid.

“Yeah,” I told him sheepishly. “It was a lot harder than I expected.”

He grunted. “Told you it was difficult.”

He remembered? “Yeah, I know you did, but I thought you were exaggerating.”

He made a soft sound that might have been a snort . . . coming from anyone else . . . and I smiled. He didn’t see it though. Fortunately.

“I need to train harder before I try this again,” I told him.

Rhodes took my other elbow. His hands were nice and warm even through the gloves. “Probably a good idea.”

“Yeah—oww.”

His thumb brushed right below the wound of my elbow, and his eyes flicked up. “Okay?”

“Yeah, just being a baby. It hurts.”

“Mm-hmm. You scraped them up pretty bad.”

“It feels like—owwie.”

He snorted really softly again. It was definitely a snort.

What the hell was going on? Did he take his chill pill again?

“Thank you for doing this,” I said once he’d tenderly—and I mean tenderly—put another Band-Aid on my other elbow.

Rhodes took my hand then, flipping the palm up and setting it on top of my leg. “How were you planning on driving home?” he asked softly.

“With my hands,” I joked and grimaced when the pad of his index finger grazed one of the puncture-like wounds. “I don’t really have another choice. I figured I’d just cry and bleed all the way home.”

Those gray eyes moved toward my face again.

I smiled at him as he took hold of the solution again, working it over my hands. His thumb grazing over the tiny wounds there like he was making sure there was nothing else embedded in my skin; then he poured some more. I gritted my teeth and tried to get my mind off what he was doing. So I did what came second nature. I kept on talking.

“Do you like your job?” I asked, making a face he didn’t see.

His eyebrows knit together as he kept on working. “Sure. More now.”

That distracted me. “Why now?”

“I’m on my own now,” he actually answered.

“You weren’t before?”

One gray eye peeked at me. “No, I was a cadet.” He didn’t say anything for so long, I didn’t expect him to say more. “I didn’t like starting over and having people tell me what to do again.”

“They really treated you like a rookie? At your age?”

That had his head jerking up, the funniest expression on his handsome face. “At my age?”

I pressed my lips together and lifted my shoulders. “You’re not twenty-four.”

Rhodes’s mouth twisted before he lowered his gaze once more. “They still call me Rookie Rhodes.”

I watched his fingers on my palm. “Were you . . . in charge of a lot of people? In the military?”

“Yes,” he answered.

“How many?”

He seemed to think about it. “A lot. I retired a master chief petty officer.”

I didn’t know what that was, but it sounded pretty important. “Do you miss it?”

He thought about it as he again, gently, put a big Band-Aid over my wound, his fingers slicking the edges down so that they adhered well. “I do.” The corners of his mouth widened as he took my other hand. His were a lot bigger than mine, his fingers long and blunt as they stretched the material of the gloves. I could tell they were nice, strong hands. Very capable-looking.

It wasn’t any of my business, but I couldn’t help myself. This was the most he’d talked to me in . . . ever. “So why did you retire then?”

His full mouth pinched. “Did Amos tell you his mom is a doctor?”

He hadn’t told me much of anything. “No.” I’d just settled for imagining a beautiful woman that Rhodes had once loved.

“She’s wanted to do this Doctors Without Borders–type program for years and got accepted. Billy wouldn’t want her to go by herself, but Am didn’t want to go, so he asked if he could stay with me.” He glanced at me. “I’d missed so much of his life because of my career. How could I tell him no?”

“You couldn’t.” So not only was his ex more than likely stunning, but she was smart too. No surprise there.

“Right,” he agreed easily. “I didn’t want to be gone if he needed me. I was up for reenlistment and decided to retire instead,” he explained. “I know I’m gone a lot, but it’s less than it could have been.”

“You can’t stay at home with him all day with any job.” I tried to make him feel better. “And you’d probably drive him nuts if you were hovering around constantly.”

He made a soft sound.

“I’m sorry you miss it though.”

“It was my entire life for more than twenty years. It’ll get better with time,” he tried to say. “If I was going to be somewhere, I’m glad he’s here. It’s the best place to grow up in.”

“You wouldn’t go back after he starts college? If he goes?”

“No, I want him to know I’m here for him. Not out in the middle of the ocean or thousands of miles away.”

Something tugged at me then. How much he was trying. How deeply he had to love his child to give up on something he loved and missed so much.

I touched his forearm with the back of my other hand, just a quick brush against the soft, dark hairs. “He’s lucky you love him so much.”

Rhodes didn’t say anything though, but I felt his body loosen a bit as he worked on my palm quietly, taping me up.

“He’s really lucky to have his mom and other dad too.”

“He is,” he agreed, almost thoughtfully.

When he finished with me and was putting all of his things back into his bag, his hip right against my knee, I went for it. I leaned forward, put my arms around him loosely, and hugged him. “Thanks, Rhodes. I really appreciate it.” Just as quickly, I let go of him.

His cheeks were flushed, and all he got out in a quiet voice was “You’re welcome.” He took a step back then and met my eyes. The lines on his forehead were in full effect. If I didn’t know him better, I’d think he was scowling. “Come on. I’ll follow you home.”

I didn’t sulk all the way home, but I maybe pouted a quarter of the distance there.

My hands still stung. My knees—the insides as well as the outsides—felt battered too, and I’d accidentally hit my elbow against the center console and cursed half the members of the Jones family to hell . . . because there was no one else really that I had any beef with.

I didn’t even bother putting my shoes fully back on either. I’d just slipped them on enough to hobble to my car and get in. Rhodes had closed the door after me, knocking once on the top while I’d kicked them off and set them in the passenger seat.

I stopped once to pee at a gas station, with Rhodes pulling in too and waiting in his truck until I got back.

Frustration pulsed deep inside of my chest, but I tried not to focus on it too much. I’d tried to do the hike. And failed. But at least I’d tried.

Okay, that was a lie. I hated failing more than anything. All right, just about more than anything.

So when I spotted the turnoff for the driveway to the property, I sighed in relief. There was a semi-familiar hatchback parked in front of the main house that I vaguely remembered belonged to Johnny. I hadn’t seen him again since our failed date. Rhodes went for his usual spot, and so did I. Leaving everything in my car that I absolutely didn’t need, which was all of my stuff minus my cell phone and boots that I casually slipped on, I got out to see my landlord already shutting his truck door, attention on the ground as I closed mine.

“Rhodes,” I called out.

“Want to come in for some pizza?”

He was inviting me over? Really? Again?

My heart skipped a beat. “Sure. If you don’t mind.”

“I got an ice pack you can put on your shoulder,” he called out.

He watched me as I staggered over, muttering, “Fuck,” to myself because every step hurt.

“Are you sure you’re not going to get in trouble for leaving work early?” I asked as we went up the deck stairs.

He opened the door and gestured me to follow. “No, but if anybody asks, I did help an injured hiker out.”

“Tell them I was very injured. Because I am. I had to drive back with my wrists. If I could give you a review, it would be ten stars easy.”

He stopped in the middle of closing the door and looked at me. “Why didn’t you say something when we were at the gas station? You could’ve left your car there.”

“Because I didn’t think about it.” I shrugged. “And because I didn’t want to be more of a baby. You already saw me cry enough.”

The lines across his forehead crinkled.

“Thank you for making me feel better.” I paused. “And for helping me. And following me back.”

That got him to start moving again, but I kept on yapping.

“You know, you keep on being nice to me, and I’m going to think you like me.”

That big body stopped right where he was and one gray eye was on me over his shoulder as he asked in that rough, serious voice, “Who says I don’t like you?”

Excuse me?

Did he just say . . . ?

But just as quickly as he stopped, he started moving again, leaving me there. Processing. I snapped out of it.

I hadn’t realized until then that the television was on, and I heard Rhodes say, “Is the pizza ready?” It wasn’t until I was in the living room too that I spotted Amos’s head over the back of the couch.

“Hey, Mini John Mayer,” I called out, hoping I didn’t sound weird and winded from what Rhodes had said. Or was it more like what he’d implied? I’d have to think about it later.

That tiny little pleased expression he tried his best to hide crossed his features as he said, “Hi, Ora.” Then he frowned. “Were you crying?”

He could tell too? “Earlier,” I told him, making my way over and holding out a loose fist since it was the only thing that wasn’t injured.

He fist-bumped me back but must have seen the bandages on my palms because his head jerked a little. “What happened?”

I showed him my hands, elbows, and lifted up the knee with the torn pant leg. “Almost fell off the ridge. Living my best life.”

There was a snicker from the kitchen area that I refused to take too seriously.

The teenager didn’t look amused or impressed.

“I know, right?” I joked weakly.

“What happened?” another voice asked. It was Johnny coming from the hall, wiping his hands on starched khaki pants. He stopped walking when he spotted me. The good-looking man flat-out grinned. “Oh, hi.”

“Hi, Johnny.”

“She’s eating with us,” Rhodes called out from where he was in the kitchen, rooting around in the freezer.

Johnny grinned, flashing bright white teeth that reminded me of why we had gone on a date in the first place, and then started moving again. He held out his hand, and I showed him my palm briefly before flipping it back into a half-assed fist. He bumped it.

“You fall?”

“Yeah.”

“You didn’t make it to the lake then, Ora?” Amos asked.

“No. It happened right at that sketchy ridge of death crossing, and I had to turn around.” I told him the truth. “I’m not in good enough shape yet to do it in a day, apparently. I threw up twice on the way up.”

The kid made a disgusted face that made me laugh.

“I’ll brush my teeth later, don’t worry.”

That disgusted expression went exactly nowhere, and I was pretty sure he leaned away from me. We had come so far. I loved it.

“Are you okay?” Johnny asked.

“I’ll live.”

A blue ice pack was shoved into my face, and I tilted my head back to find Rhodes holding it, the cleft in his chin looking extra adorable right then. “Put this on your shoulder for ten minutes.”

I took it and smiled at him. “Thank you.”

I was pretty sure he muttered, “You’re welcome,” under his breath.

Amos moved the pillow beside him, giving me a pointed look, and I took the spot, setting the ice pack between my collarbone and shoulder with a wince at how cold it was. Johnny took one of the two recliners.

“Pizza should be ready in about ten,” he said to who I figured was Rhodes, who didn’t verbally respond. From the sound of it, he was doing something in the kitchen. “What hike did you try and do?”

I told him the name.

Johnny’s smile was flashy. “I haven’t done that one.”

“I thought you said you don’t really like hiking.”

“I don’t.” Was he trying to flirt again?

“Hold that ice pack closer on your back.”

I peeked over my shoulder to find the man who’d spoken in the kitchen, putting up dishes from the dishwasher. I watched his pants stretch across his thighs and butt as he bent over.

Suddenly my hands didn’t hurt so bad.

“Am, don’t forget it’s your dad’s birthday tomorrow. Make sure to call him so he doesn’t cry,” Johnny said, drawing my attention back to them.

“It’s Rhodes’s birthday?” I asked.

“No, Billy’s,” Johnny answered.

“Oh, your stepdad?”

Amos frowned this face that reminded me exactly of Rhodes. “No, he’s my real dad too.” I tried not to make a face, but it must have been obvious I had no idea what he was talking about when Am said, “I have two dads.”

I pursed my lips together and kept on trying to think about it. “But one’s not a step?”

He nodded.

“Okay.” This was none of my business. I knew it. I didn’t need to ask for clarification. But I wanted to. “And you’re his uncle on his . . . mom’s side?” I asked Johnny.

“Yes.”

Had they been . . . in a polyamorous relationship? An open relationship? So they didn’t know who the birth father was? Johnny had been fine with his best friend being with his sister?

“Billy’s our other best friend,” Rhodes spoke up from the kitchen. “We’ve all known each other since we were kids.”

Both of his friends had been with his sister? That made no sense. I glanced at Am and Johnny, but neither one of them had an expression that gave me any clues about how this worked out. “So . . . you were all . . . together?”

Amos choked, and Johnny busted a gut, but it was Rhodes again who spoke up. “Neither one of you is helping. Billy and Sofie, Am’s mom, wanted to have kids, but Billy had . . . trauma—”

“He couldn’t have kids,” Am finally supplied. “So he asked Dad. Rhodes. Dad Rhodes. Instead of them using a donor.”

Things finally started clicking.

“Dad Rhodes said yeah, but he wanted to be a dad too and didn’t want to just . . . donate. Everybody said okay. Now I’m here. Make sense?” Am asked casually.

I nodded. I hadn’t seen that coming.

And suddenly, my little heart swelled. Rhodes’s best friend and his wife wanted to have a child but couldn’t, and he’d agreed, but insisted on being a part of the baby’s life. He’d wanted to be a dad too. Did he think he’d never have kids on his own? With someone else?

It was . . . it was beautiful.

And my period must have been really close because my eyes filled up with tears and I said, “That’s one of the nicest things I’ve ever heard.”

Two horrified faces looked at me, but it was Rhodes who spoke up, sounding the same way. “Are you crying again?”

How could he tell? “Maybe.” I sniffled and turned my attention to Amos, who looked like he wasn’t sure whether to comfort me or move away. “That’s the kind of love you have to write about.”

That got him to give me the same skeptical face he’d given me when I’d initially brought up him writing a song about his mom. “You don’t think it’s weird?”

“Are you kidding me? No. What could be weird about it? You had two dads who wanted you but couldn’t have you. You have three people who love you to death, not including your uncle and who knows who else. The rest of us are missing out.”

“Dad’s last girlfriend thought it was weird.”

His last girlfriend? So he did date. I kept my face even.

But it was Rhodes who grumbled, “Am, give me a break. That was ten years ago. I didn’t know how religious she was, how she didn’t even believe in divorce.” I heard the sound of dishes moving around. “I broke up with her right after that. I said I was sorry.”

Amos rolled his eyes. “It was eight years ago. And she was annoying too.”

I pinched my lips together, sucking this interaction and information up.

“You haven’t met any other women I’ve seen since, Am.”

“Yeah, because Mom says you need to dye your hair to get a girlfriend, and you won’t.”

“You’re talking a whole lot of shit considering you might turn out like me and start finding some grays when you’re in your twenties, man,” Rhodes responded, sounding pretty incredulous.

Amos snorted.

And before I could tell myself not to butt in, I did. “I don’t know about that, Am. I like all the silver in your dad’s hair. It’s really nice.” Which I did. Even though I shouldn’t have said it, so I backtracked to cover my steps by throwing out, “And I don’t know about anybody else, but I think it’s beautiful what your parents did. There’s nothing ugly about selflessness and love.”

He took my bait even though he still didn’t believe me. “Where’s your dad?” the teenager suddenly asked, trying to change the subject, I guess. “You never talk about him.”

He got me. “I see him every few years. We talk every few months. He lives in Puerto Rico. He and my mom weren’t together for long, and he wasn’t ready to settle down when they had me. They barely knew each other actually. He loves me, I think, but not like your dads love you.”

Amos still scrunched up his nose. “Why didn’t you go live with him after your mom . . . ?”

“He’s not on my birth certificate, and I was already with my uncle and aunt when he found out what had happened. It was better for me to stay with them.”

“That’s messed up.”

“I’ve had so many other sad things happen, that it isn’t even in the top ten, Am,” I told him with a shrug.

And I knew I’d made it awkward when imaginary crickets chirped afterward.

So I was beyond surprised when a hand reached over and patted my forearm.

It was Amos.

I smiled at him and happened to glance over into the kitchen to see another pair of eyes looking in our direction.

The faintest smile was on Rhodes’s face.