Amazeballs, Cal mouths at me and I just shake my head.
“You kept it,” Tyler says in a near-whisper, his slender fingers with chipped black nail polish ghosting along the wooden handle.
“Of course I did,” I rasp, and Cal’s right by my side, well aware of what this moment means to me. Tyler seems to shake himself then and places the fishing rod carefully back where he found it.
“So, where are the dra—”
“Ty, careful!” I call out as he stumbles over a large metal box on the floor and I just manage to grab his upper arms before he lands in a pile of old fly-fishing magazines.
“Shit,” he laughs at the same time I say, “I got you.” Then, a dark shadow moves across his face as the words register, and he pulls out of my grasp. My hands feel strangely empty, and as if he has read my mind, Cal grabs my left, squeezing it reassuringly.
“What’s that?” Tyler points at the metal box, squinting at the handwritten label on the lid.
“Nothing,” I say, pushing the box behind me. “Just old junk,” I add, my eyes catching Cal’s unspoken question of,babe?I shake my head at him.Not yet.Not. Yet. Cal smiles wistfully, nodding, pulling me against him, pressing a quick peck against my chin.
“They’re over here. On the shelves,” I croak, gathering myself as I nod toward the back of the attic. Endless rows of shelves are filled with books about fly-fishing, foreign countries, and international cuisine, and right to the left are several sketchpads neatly tucked away. I walk toward the back and when I reach the shelves, I trail my fingers along the row of sketchpads before pulling one out.
“Here,” I say as I turn around, only to bump into Tyler. His eyes are as big as saucers as he accepts the sketchpad from me. “Your monster fish,” I smile tentatively.
“Thanks,” he says, and he starts leafing through the pages, his gaze sweeping over the childish drawings of massive fish with huge teeth. “Wow, look at this guy, Mitch,” he laughs, bumping his elbow against mine. His breath is sugary and spicy from the BBQ sauce as he leans in, pointing at a fish with five eyes and vibrant pink scales. “He’s pretty neat.”
“He is,” I agree, trailing my thumb across the drawing. “You were already great back then.”
“Yeah? You think so?” There’s a strange vulnerability to his voice, and I nod.
“Yeah, Ty,” I say, and he doesn’t correct me. Not this time. “You were always a great kid,” I whisper, and he doesn’t protest or shy away from me.
“You should come with us. This weekend,” Cal says out of nowhere, wrapping his arms around my shoulders from behind. I hold my breath as Cal continues, “We have a small cabin up north on the road toward Yosemite. Great fishing lakes and streams, too.” It’s true. It’s a long weekend and we already have the truck packed. Most of our stuff is at the cabin, anyway. It used to belong to Cal’s grandfather. He built it himself. It’s very rustic, but great for a quick getaway from the city. Sometimes, we go hiking instead of fishing. Sometimes we just hang out and swim and… fuck around.
The stuffy air in the cramped attic closes in on me, but Cal just smiles like he knows something I don’t. Tyler licks his bottom lip, closing the sketchpad before placing it carefully back on the dusty shelf.
“Is Bree coming?” he asks tentatively.
“Sure,” Cal hums.
“Okay,” Tyler nods. “Okay, I’ll come.”I’ll come.The words reverberate through my chest as I finally allow myself to exhale. “I can draw by the water,” he says softly before his expression turns devilish. “I love swimming,” he smirks. “I’ve got these teeny tiny orangeSpeedos, Cal-Bear. They’ll look fucking amazing on you, too. We should get you some.” Then he hesitates, his gaze shifting to me. “You too, Mitch. You’d look fuckin—”
“Yeah, there’ll be none of that,” Cal growls as he attempts to suppress a smile. “We wear shorts, right, babe?”
“Sure,” I murmur. “Yeah, sure. Whatever.”
“Yeah, whatever,” Tyler laughs as he pulls out another sketchbook. “Or nothin’ at all,” he says to no one in particular. “I’m good with that, too. Nothin’ at all.”
Chapter Nine
Callum
My ears are still ringing from the aftermath of Tyler’s so-calledroad trip playlistwhen we enter the cabin. He agreed to come with us in the truck, but halfway through, I was already regretting that he hadn’t gone on his bike instead. Mitch’s lame explanation that the cabin was remote and difficult to find on your own sounded good at the time, but after listening to someone called Tyler the Creator for what seemed like days, I’m not so sure. As Tyler the Creator—accompanied by Tyler the Hyper Brat from the backseat—crooned‘Cause you make my earth quake’for the millionth time, all I felt was my brain pounding against my skull.
So a dose of the wilderness is exactly what I need. As usual, when we arrive at my grandfather’s cabin in the woods, a sense of calm engulfs me, and everything just melts away. All the noise from the city and the everyday chores. In an instant, it’s just gone like fucking magic and my shoulders automatically drop several inches. At least, that’s how it usually is.
“Holy fuck, Cal-Bear!” Tyler speaks a little too loudly against my left ear. Well, the quiet was good as long as it lasted, I guess. “It’s like fucking Goldilocks and the Bears out here. Sweet!” Then he breezes past me, slapping his hand against his left thigh a couple of times, heading for the back door to the wild property. “C’mon girl! Bree Baby, let’s gooo!” Jesus, if everything is going to be at that volume today, I’m going to need a steady stream of beer coming my way.
“We made it,” Mitch sighs next to me, nuzzling his nose against my beard. I instinctively wrap an arm around him, pulling him close, while we both stare at Tyler who, ass in the air, is trying to help Bree dig a massive hole in the middle of our lawn. “You still sure this was a good idea?” Mitch chuckles, but I can tell by the tone of his voice that he’s happy. Like, really, truly happy.
“Yeah,” I murmur into his hair. “I mean, his batteries are bound to run dry at some point, right?” Mitch laughs, shaking his head like it’s the stupidest thing he has heard in a long while.
“I wouldn’t count on it, sweetheart. When he was a kid, he had only one gear, and that was GO!—right until he’d collapse some random place and I’d carry him to bed.” There’s a wistful edge to Mitch’s voice that I’ve now come to recognize as the heaviness of his memories with Tyler. They weigh on him.Itweighs on him—that he left Tyler behind.
