“If it works out, I want to try,” I say.
RJ tugs me closer. “Whatever you feel like, Sugar, we’ll do.”
I settle against him, looking at the screenshots from Mattie again. But a moment later, I’m sitting up as straight as I can in the weird position across three laps. “I know where she is,” I announce.
“How?” Walker asks.
I poke at the screen in my hand. “Here, look, she asked these two friends first, but after they replied, she still asked this other friend. It’s like she was fishing for a better option. They’re up at Lutsen. Bryce knows the area too, so he’d feel safe there.”
“Lutsen? Like, the ski mountain north of Duluth?” Trips asks.
“Yeah. One of her friends has a ski-out condo there.”
I feel a heavy exhale from Walker against my thigh. “We’ll go see what we can find. But what about you? Would you like anything to eat?”
I stretch, reveling in all the places my body touches theirs. “Honestly, I need to shower. And try to get my hair unknotted.”
“Then food?” he asks.
I lean forward, pressing my lips to his. “Then food.”
Forcing myself to my feet, my body stiff and aching from lounging for an unknown number of days, I shuffle to the bathroom, ready to try to reengage with my life.
I didn’t die. And I won’t let my dad’s sacrifice go to waste. I’m going to live one hell of a life, and when we meet in the afterlife, I’m going to tell him all about it. Or at least, about all the parts where I’m fully clothed.
He doesn’t need to knoweverythingI plan to get up to.
Chapter 68
Trips
The hum of Clara’s shower reminds me I should take one too. I’m sure I’m ripe as all hell.
So I follow Walker and RJ upstairs, the stink of paint sharp in the hallway. “Walker, why does it reek up here?”
He flashes me a dark look, but lets me follow him down the hall, where half of his furniture is shoved against the walls. Unlocking his door, he reveals one hell of a mural taking over every inch of his room. It’s even on the ceiling. “Shit,” I mutter, taking in the red and black, the violence and fear written in shadows and color, the muscles across my ribs involuntarily clenching in a visceral reaction to the emotion splashed across the walls.
“I was dealing. We can paint over it when we move out.”
Spinning, taking in the ceiling, the curves of lines that somehow remind me of Clara, I don’t know what to say.Jansen follows us in, taking in the walls and ceiling. “You’re done,” he says.
“I ran out of space,” Walker clarifies.
Instead of answering, Jansen whips out his phone, taking picture after picture of the art installation we’re standing in. I turn to Walker, and something about the way he’s bracing himself makes my heart sink. He thinks I’m going to chew him out for ruining the walls.
If the last few months have taught me anything, it’s that I’m not my father. But that doesn’t mean I’ve done a good job of showing that to the people in my life. “I’ve never seen anything like this, Walker. It could be an installation in a museum. Good work.”
He covers his shock quickly, but as I grab my stuff and head to the shower, I resolve to do better going forward.
Clara’s shower must be done by the time I make it back downstairs, as I only hear soft, frustrated muttering leaching out from under the door. Wandering into the kitchen, trying to figure out what part of Walker’s feast I should reheat, I’m surprised when Clara shrieks down the hallway.
It sounds angry, not scared, but that doesn’t stop me from sprinting to the bathroom, shoving the door open with a bang. Clara’s alone, wrapped in a towel, half of her hair in one hand and scissors in the other.
That hair isn’t attached to her head anymore.
“Fuck, what are you doing?” I yell, snatching the scissors from her hand even though the damage is already done.
“It was too tangled.”
