When Sky Breaks: Burn & Break Duet Book 2

22. Sky

“Thanks,baby girl, but I can get through the door by myself.” Foster gives me a tired smile as he pulls open the front door.

We hang our jackets on the hooks in the hall, and I refrain from helping him. It was just a routine doctor visit to make sure everything is going the way it’s supposed to, but the trip wore him out.

He scratches his chin before shuffling through the living room and to the kitchen. “I’m fine, I promise. I’ll go rest in a few minutes.”

I follow him anyway and grab myself a drink of water from the filter in the fridge while he takes a sip of the ginger ale he left on the counter this morning. “Sorry. I just hate seeing you so sick, but I’ll try to remember you got this.”

“That’s my girl.” He winks, and that alone makes me feel better.

Since Trek is gone for a few days with a work thing, it’s just me here with Foster, and I’m trying not to spend it hovering. Which means I’m left with not a lot to do except think about my current situation.

Johnny’s working at the hospital for the rest of the day, and the fact that I’m relieved should give me pause. I should want him around. I should want to see him. But when he’s here, he dictates everything with Foster as if my experience as a nurse doesn’t matter. Then he laces it with some sweet compliment. It leaves me confused.

Then there’s August. Our conversation left a lot to be picked apart and where we go from that is as much up in the air as the clouds.

A noise from the backyard stalls the cup at my mouth. “What’s that?”

The sound repeats and I walk over to the back door, looking over my shoulder at Foster as he smiles behind his soda can. “Oh. That’s just August.”

I sputter and spin all the way around. “What? Why?”

He shrugs and tosses his empty can into the trash. “I asked him to. Trek is gone, and I need those deck boards replaced outside before winter sets in. Any snow we get will bow them further and break down the joists underneath. Best to stay on top of these things.”

I snap my mouth closed and listen as the rhythmic thunk of a hammer reverberates just a few feet away. I refuse to look through the blinds.

“I’m going to take that nap now.” He presses a kiss to my head as he passes me. “Wake me if you need anything.”

Need anything? How about a sedative? Preferably strong.

I stalk down the hall to my room and lean against my door after I shut it. The sounds of August hammering are louder in here. Shit. My room faces the backyard.

With Foster not feeling well, it’s not like I can just leave and go anywhere that’s not in the same place as August. He’s everywhere all over this town. Snaps, the bookstore, the coffee shop, the haunted house, my damn neighborhood—there’s no escaping him or the memories he evokes.

Annoyed, I sit in the middle of my bed and attempt to read a book. No use. After every whack of a hammer or thunk of wood, I’m reminded all over again.

Well, since I can’t avoid him…

I reach for my phone and pull up a search engine. I’ll just do some internet stalking. Just because.

I type in his full name, fully expecting not to find anything. He’s always been pretty isolated from the rest of the world.

Holy shit.

The search results stun me. They reveal August did very well for himself out in California. National Geographic worthy. He’s been on podcasts, had interviews with magazines, and was a guest appearance at a conference.

I enlarge several award-winning pictures and slump back onto my pillows. God, these are gorgeous.

As if you had any doubts, he’s always been talented.

No wonder he could take over Snaps for Colonel and build a house all before he turned twenty-five.

There’s no mention of a girlfriend on any of his social media profiles, and I don’t acknowledge how relieved that makes me. He could be private about her and it really doesn’t matter, anyway.

The sounds stop outside, and I freeze. Is he leaving?

Turning my phone off, I scoot to the edge of my bed and stand, hesitating for a second before pulling aside my curtains.

August’s back is to me, his black T-shirt lifted as he wipes his brow, showing a taut strip of his skin. The elastic of his boxer briefs peeks out from the top of his jeans molded to his tight ass. It’s enough to heat my cheeks, but I don’t look away.

He’s surveying the deck, his hands now on his hips, his long fingers splayed across the belt of his ripped jeans. For a man with a decent amount of money, he doesn’t flaunt it. You’d never know it by looking at him now. He’s still humble despite growing up poor.

I can’t help but compare him to Johnny. Johnny probably dreams in dollar signs, snoring out stock market increases and multi-million dollar cancer treatments. August is…just August. Working at the local camera shop when he probably doesn’t need to work at all. Replacing deck boards like it’s a normal thing to do on a Saturday at his ex’s house.

Why would Foster ask him over knowing how I feel about all this?

August shifts and turns around as if he felt me staring. A lock of his hair falls forward, and he smooths it back, his gaze probing. My chest rises and falls with choppy breaths.

Those ridiculous eyes of his have always been fathomless. They know too much. Have witnessed the darkest parts of me. Raked over me like hot coals in this very bedroom. Seen me at my best. Held so much compassion as I dealt with the effects of my biological father’s abuse. Yet I didn’t see the truth in them. I was truly blinded by love.

A small smile tugs at his lips, and I snap from my thoughts. Scowling, I yank my curtains together and close my eyes as I fist the material in my hands.

This room is too stifling, too full of memories. Perhaps drowning in reality TV will help relieve me of this…I don’t know what the fuck to call it.

After a few minutes of getting my heart rate back to normal, I open my door and stride down the hall on a mission to find the most mindless and brain-numbing show ever when I skid to a stop at the threshold into the living room. August is in my kitchen, head bent back, a glass at his lips as he sucks down water.

Goodness, was his throat that sexy before?

If nothing else, it’s a kiss—punch-worthy throat.

He finishes and turns to the sink—completely ignoring me, or maybe he hasn’t seen me—and washes the cup. Once he’s done, he sets it on the towel next to the sink, looking extra familiar in my home. Like he’s been here a lot.

Finally, he faces me. The only acknowledgment I get is a small nod before he heads outside, the sliding glass door closing on a quiet snick.

Absolutely baffled, I plop on the couch and turn on the TV, not even paying a lick of attention to anything that comes across the screen. I’m too hyperaware of the man outside.

Thirty minutes later, and still no luck getting lost in a show. I jump when the garage door to the house opens, and in he comes with a ladder, his biceps bulging under the weight, sweat beading on his forehead. That stupid lock of hair once again flops over his forehead.

He sets up the ladder right underneath the ceiling fan directly in front of the couch I’m sitting on. Another trip to the garage and he comes in carrying a wide box and sets it on the end of the couch.

After too many tension-filled seconds, he slides his gaze to me and scratches the back of his neck. “I have to cut the power to the living room.”

I stare and give him a stiff nod, no words making their way from my mouth.

The power off means the TV doesn’t work. The only option is to watch him or go back to my room. My ass refuses to move from the couch. This is my house, dammit.

He’s halfway through changing out the old fan for a new one before I can’t take the silence anymore. It’s thicker than the fog this morning.

“What are you doing?”

He pauses, lowering his arms, but doesn’t look at me. “Replacing the fan.”

“And the deck?”

“It needed new boards before someone fell through it.”

“But why?”

He eases down a few steps and turns, sitting on the bottom one, his long legs spread out in front of us, his elbows coming to rest on his knees. A screwdriver dangles in one hand. This shift sends his scent over me.

Irish Spring.

Wishing I could hold my breath, I move slightly on the couch, my cheeks warming at how close he is, his shoes almost touching mine.

“I’m surprised you haven’t figured it out already, Miss Mystery Reader.” He twirls his finger all over the room, amusement twinkling in his eyes.

I scrunch my eyebrows. Suddenly, I think about the new kitchen sink and the faucet that no longer leaks. The shiny wood shutters and lamppost that no longer flicker outside. The replaced fence boards. “It was you? Fixing all the stuff around here?” My pulse picks up.

He nods.

“So you’re like…friends with Foster?”

He shrugs and stares at his hands, twirling the screwdriver between his fingers. “You could say that, yes.”

“For how long?”

He hesitates before blowing out a breath. “At least half a year. Maybe more.”

I leap to my feet, staring down at him. “You’ve been around here this whole time?”

“Until you and Trek came home, yes. Foster needed—wanted some help.” He leaves it at that, but I can infer. August was here for Foster because I wasn’t. But I wasn’t because of the very man in front of me.

Taken aback by this new information and how to process it, I barely hear his next question as I abruptly sit on the couch.

“What?” I bark, still reeling about him being here in this house for that long without me knowing.

He blurts out. “Does he treat you all right?”

“Who?”

He pierces me with those soulful eyes. “Johnny. Is he everything you wanted?”

I swallow, not sure how to answer, my pulse pounding and palms sweating.

“Does he even know how you take your coffee?” His cool tone tips over my barely contained emotions.

A choked laugh leaves my mouth, and I lean forward. “You didn’t even know it until we met for coffee.”

August moves in until we’re nose to nose, my breath mingling with his in this strange dance of wills.

“But the difference is, I’d never forget. Just like I’d never forget the books you love to read or the songs you blare on the radio or your favorite flower. Or that your favorite food is mac and cheese. Not just any mac and cheese, but the kind that’s so stringy, you can feel your arteries clogging. I’d never forget the little things that make you, you.” He moves a fraction more. So much so that his warm breath skates across my lips.

My inhales are shaky as I track his eyes roving over my face.

“Just tell me this, Sky. Does Johnny know what you sound like when you come? Because I never forgot.”

For a beat, I’m frozen by his words, his stare, the pull he’s always had on me. But then I rear back as heat streaks through my veins. “Congratulations. If you wanted to graduate to an even bigger asshole, you succeeded,” I growl as crimson rises along my neck. “Of all the things you could’ve asked.” I shake my head. “Should’ve led with ‘has he done anything to completely wreck your life and leave it in pieces.’”

I get up to leave, but he snatches my wrist. I wrestle it away, and he puts up his hands. There’s a sharp, tangible charge in the air from our exchange. Static buzzes in my ears and my pulse flutters.

How dare he remind me of just how intimate we were. How I gave him my body and my soul, how I lived to hear those groans coming from his chest. How dare he remind me he’s the only man I ever let inside my body. Even now.

“Fuck, I’m sorry. Don’t go. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that. God, this isn’t me. I’m just in a bad mood and taking it out on you.” His face falls, and he scrubs at his hair, agitation in his movements. “I’ll just get back to work so I can leave you alone.”

Even as irritation fizzes in my belly, I furrow my brows. August rarely acted like this.

You don’t know him anymore.

Yet, my anger morphs into one of curiosity.

He moves to the ladder, but something in me stops him. “What’s the matter?”

He lowers the leg he had on the first rung and regards me carefully.

I sigh my defeat and nod in his direction. “I want to know.”

Stepping completely from the ladder, he sits on the couch, and I join him, leaving a lot of space, hugging my knees to my chest. His hands are in his lap, and he fidgets like he’s deciding what all he wants to tell me. “My parents rolled home about six months ago.”

My eyebrows shoot up to my hairline. “Really?”

“Yeah, I was shocked too. Never thought I’d see them again.”

“Rightly so. They treated you like shit.” I clamp my mouth shut as he darts his gaze at me.

This empathy for the enemy is strange. On one hand, I shouldn’t care why he’s in a bad mood, but the other part of me craves to comfort him.

“Well, not much changed when they came home, but I figured if I put them up in an apartment and did my duty as a son, they’d see me differently.”

“Foster used to tell me that leopards don’t change their spots.”

“He’s a smart man. I think he said something similar to me at the funeral. Or maybe it was some other sage advice. I can’t remember.”

I whip my head in his direction, and he hikes a broad shoulder. “My dad died. Heart attack in his sleep a few months ago. And ever since, I’ve been trying to work things out with my mom because she doesn’t have anyone. As you can imagine, it’s not going very well.”

A surge of annoyance on his behalf bubbles up. “I’m sorry to hear about your dad, but they abandoned you. You don’t owe her anything.” Then I see the tightness around his eyes and I deflate. “But I get it. She’s your mom.”

Hearing about her brings up emotions I’ve been trying to avoid. His mom knew my mom. Does she still know her? Do I even want to know? At least he still has one he can make amends with.

Who knows where my mom ended up. I’ve dealt with it the best way I can, but not always in the best manner. Perhaps if she was still here, I’d have someone to help me navigate this growing tension with August.

I laugh to myself. Yeah, right. Moments spent with her were not warm and fuzzy. She could barely spare me a hug.

However, as a kid, the man in front of me offered me his arms as a place for shelter. Hard to forget those times we spent huddled in the shack, doing our best to erase the pain of the outside world.

That’s what makes this hurt so much.

August notices my discomfort and shuts down the conversation. “Doesn’t matter. I’m sorry I brought her up, and I’m sorry I was a dick earlier.”

After a brief pause, he stands and grabs the screwdriver and a fan blade, putting us back into this awkward silence.

I watch him from my place on the couch as he finishes replacing the fan. Even when he turns the power on and tests the fan, I examine him in a slightly different light as he admires his work.

He’s complex. Spends his time with my dad, fixing things around the house with no ulterior motive other than to help. Reconciling with his mom despite the hell she put him through as a kid. His own father dying and the mixed emotions when he speaks of him. He visits Chase’s grave, that fact making me toss and turn at night more than anything else.

I mull this over as I follow him to the front door. He stops to lift his jacket from a hook. I didn’t even notice it when Foster and I came home. It’s like it belonged there. Just like how easy it was for him to be in this house as if he lived here. I try not to compare it to when Johnny comes over and the awkwardness that follows.

Shaking away those thoughts, I open the door and try not to breathe as August passes. It doesn’t work. His scent is warm and clean, too much and not enough at the same time. He turns and offers me a small smile, much like the one he gave me through my bedroom window.

Impulsivity takes over, and I speak, “To answer your question from earlier. No.”

He cocks his head and his brows dip. “I asked a few questions.”

Panicked, I nod and blurt out something else stupid. “Tell Lina I said hi. And I hope she makes you happy.”

I slam the door in his face, closing my eyes and thumping my head off the wood, berating myself.

Stupid girl. Stupid emotions. Stupid heart.