Page 67

I wait for her to continue, to tell me why she’s happy that we’re both here against all odds, but she doesn’t.

So I gently nudge her. “On a scale of ‘I walked barefoot on a Lego’ to ‘Trevor is a misogynistic asshole and I have to put up with him for two weeks,’ where does us bumping into each other stand? In terms of annoyance.”

Charlee chuckles. I’ll take the win. “Somewhere in the middle, I guess.”

I hum. “I can live with that. Got scared for a sec that you’d have put me all the way up there with Trevor.”

She crosses her legs, settling more comfortably on the mat and blanket I laid out earlier. “Being with you again—I mean, not again, because we’ve never actually met in person before, but, you know, being in your life again, I guess . . . not that I’m in your life either . . .”

I look at her, amused. Is Charlee Fletcher . . . nervous?

“Let’s try that again,” she says. “Talking to you again brings me back to a place in my life where I was at my happiest. And where I also had my toughest moments.”

I know what she means before she even has to say it. “Your mom.”

Charlee nods, her eyes shiny. “She didn’t make it to the end of the year. She passed away that September from cardiac arrest. Doctors told us that her aggressive treatment combined with the stage of her breast cancer had been fatal.”

A wave of guilt crashes over me. I wasn’t there for her. She lost her mom three months after we were supposed to meet, and I wasn’t there. I should have been. I should have been and yet . . .

I wasn’t.

Gosh . . . the pain she must have gone through, that awful loneliness she always feared. The loneliness of losing a mother. A gaping hole that’s impossible to fill. And I was supposed to be the one she relied on. How many times did we talk about what would happen when the time came? That I’d fly to her, to support her and Riley in any way I could and just be there for her. Be a shoulder to cry on, a best friend. Whatever she’d have needed me to be, I would have been. Just for her. Always for her.

“I’m sorry, Charlee.” My voice shakes. “I didn’t think it’d happen so fast.” I didn’t think you’d be out of my life by then.

Her face is a blank mask when she says, “Neither did we. We knew it would happen eventually, but not like that. Not that brutally.”

I hesitate before I place my hand on her knee, even at the risk of losing it. But Charlee doesn’t move. Instead, she pushes into my touch as if seeking comfort.

“I’m not saying that for pity or to make you feel guilty,” she continues, as if she can read the torment in my soul. “For years after my mom passed away, I felt like I was running away from it. Keeping myself busy, literally escaping my own life and traveling the world to get as far away as I possibly could.” She lays her small hand on top of mine, and it takes all I have left in me to seem unfazed. “But I think . . . I think I wasn’t truly running away. At first, maybe. But I think it turned into something else. Being with you today has made me realize that. That I might have been chasing after something this whole time.”

Charlee takes a deep inhale and exhales shakily.

I wait, my heart drumming in my throat. It feels important, like she just discovered the key to a deep, buried secret she’s been trying to unlock for a long time. And I crave her revelation.

“Are you gonna make me ask?” I rasp.

“Are you gonna make me say it?” she shoots back.

I flip my hand and trap her fingers between mine. “I will never make you do anything you don’t want to.”

She smiles, swiping her thumb over the back of my hand. My body reacts with the same hypersensitivity I’ve known all my life. The simple strokes she applies against my skin turn my nerve endings into high-voltage wires, branding me, owning me. I shudder and close my eyes, reveling in the small pleasure she’s unknowingly giving me.

“I’m not ready to share that with you just yet,” she says, barely above a whisper. “I think I need to sit with it a little bit.”

“You’ll tell me when you’re ready.”

She gazes at me from beneath her long lashes. “Thank you.”

I peer at the roof of the tent. “Looks like the rain has calmed down a bit. How’s your ankle?”

Charlee barely shifts, but inhales sharply. “Not good.”

“Okay, don’t try to move it again.” I turn and fumble through my bag. “I might have some anti-inflammatories in here. Might help with the swelling too.”

I find the bottle and pop two out, then grab some water. “Here.”

She arches an eyebrow. “Are you trying to knock me out?”