They just don’t need to know exactly howtrueit is. It’s not only the last few years that have seen me single as single can be. It’s my entire damn life.
Hours later, after meeting the guys for BP, then joining some of them for dinner at a local pub, night has fallen and I still haven’theard from Lark. She wasn’t at the stadium either, at least not that I could see.
But the skies are still clear, which means, regardless of how I’m feeling about the lack of communication from her, my mission is a go.
I grab an old hoodie from my closet and the large case that holds my baby. My pride and joy. The second most important item I own, next to my very first catcher’s mitt.
Once my astronomy gear is loaded in the car, I drive out of the city, and up the winding road that climbs one of the mountains in North Vancouver. When I reach the lookout I’m headed for, it’s empty.
Perfect.
It takes no time at all to set up my telescope, the hardest part being leveling the tripod on the rocky ground. But I’ve set up here many times before, so it’s doable. The air is cold tonight, with a bit of wind that’s biting against my skin. I grab the jacket I’m grateful I tossed in at the last minute and zip it up tight. There’s no snow up here yet, but it’s coming soon, I would guess. Then I won’t be able to come up here so easily, since setting up my equipment in the snow is a pain.
I take out my phone and open my favourite star chart to double-check the location of what I want to see, then set the telescope in that direction. It takes a bit to align everything and get it into focus but then, there it is.
It’s not the best time of year to view this particular star; in the spring, it’s much brighter. But there she is. The star I bought two years ago as a birthday present. A present I never gave to the person I purchased it for, worried it would be seen as too much.
The star I named Birdie.
Chapter eleven
Monty
I love sleep. Sleep is awesome. Babies have it so good, all they have to do is eat, sleep, poop, and cry whenever they want. And take toddlers. Some of them actually protest nap time! Come on, kid, don’t you realize sleep is fucking amazing?
Mom said since the day I was born, I loved to sleep. She actually worried about me as a newborn because all I wanted to do was eat and be cuddled while I slept.
All of that is to say, when it’s the one morning this week I’m allowing myself to sleep in as late as I want, and someone won’t stop knocking on my door, I’m not pleased.
Security in my building is pretty tight, which means there’s only a few people it could be. The guys on the team are on my approved entry list. Hell, Darling lives two floors below me. Lark and my parents have access, but that’s about it.
Normally, none of those people are ones I’d be grumpy toward, but I was really looking forward to that sleep in. Which is why there’s a frown on my face when I drag my feet over to the front door.
“Okay, okay. Geez. Give a guy a chance to wake up,” I grumble.But when I wrench open the door, ready to give whoever it is a hard time for waking me up, the grumpy, tired feeling fades away in an instant. Lark is standing there, her hands clasped tightly in front of her, and a nervous expression on her face I’ve never seen before.
“Hi.” Her voice is soft, just above a whisper.
“Hey,” I say, the word catching in my throat, my voice cracking like a fucking teenager going through puberty. I clear it, and try again, attempting to look cool and casual as I stand in the doorway. But given the fact that I’m still in my pajamas with Wookiees all over the pants and holes in my T-shirt, I’m guessing I fail.
“I mean, hi, Lark. How’s it going this fine morning?”
Jesus Christ. Now I sound like a dork.And seeing as she’s fighting not to smile, she thinks so, too.
I push off the door and step back. “Wanna come in?”
She nods, biting her lip, and brushes past me. Heading straight to the kitchen, I watch with some bemusement as she just makes herself at home, turning on the coffee maker and pulling down two of myStar Wars-themed mugs. The one she always uses is black and reads “This Is Not The Coffee You Are Looking For.” The other is one of my favourites and reads “May The Caffeine Be With You.” It’s not like this is the first time she’s made coffee in my apartment, but something seems off. Her hand trembles slightly when she sets the mugs down, and her movements are jerky as she goes to the fridge to pull out the vanilla flavoured creamer I keep there for her.
“Lark, what’s going on?” I ask, starting to get concerned. “Is this about the other night? Because I swear, I don’t care that youwere drunk. It was no big deal helping out. You didn’t puke or anything. And I slept on the couch the whole time, promise.”
“I broke up with Baron.”
The silence that falls after she says the five words I’ve wanted to hear for years is deafening.
Then, like a total idiot, I open my big mouth. “Oh. That’s cool.”
Lark makes some weird sound, something between a hysterical laugh and a snort, immediately clapping her hand over her mouth. I reach my hand up and scrub it across my face, partly wishing I could rewind time by ten minutes or so and not make a fool out of myself in front of my female best friend.
“Let me try again,” I rasp. “How are you feeling about that?”
