When Sky Breaks: Burn & Break Duet Book 2

24. Sky

At breakfast the next morning,the thrumming of my nails on the table must have alerted Foster enough to speak up about it. “Something on your mind, baby girl?”

He studies me as I lift my fingers and wrap them around the spoon to dip into my oatmeal. He’s barely touched his, and it’s understandable. The chemo erases most of his appetite, and there’s evidence of how thin he’s gotten over the last few weeks. However, the hollow cheeks and pale skin don’t overshadow the flinty amusement and strength he possesses as his eyes crinkle.

I’m just going to come out with it. Can’t hide too much from this family. “Are you…uh, friends with August or something? I know he’s the one who’s been updating all the stuff around here.”

Foster tucks a fist under his chin and watches me squirm in my seat. If Trek was here, he’d no doubt chime in or make fun of my distress.

“Good to see you two talking again.”

“We’re not exactly talking.” More like tiptoeing around the tension between us.

“The fan looks nice, though, right?” he asks, his eyes twinkling as I scowl around a mouthful of oatmeal.

“What is your goal here? Why are you so invested in what happens between me and August?”

He shrugs. “It won’t really matter if you’re dead set on dating that doc. How is he, by the way? I haven’t seen him since that eventful dinner. Did our small-town cooking scare him off?”

I roll my eyes. “Not hardly. He’s fine, still around, busy at the hospital, but I imagine he’ll go home soon for his other patients.”

Foster cocks his head, and I feel the question coming, even though he likes to avoid all of mine.

“And when he leaves, and I’m all better, what then? Are you going back too? Should I expect him to be around for Thanksgiving and Christmas?”

I swallow the last bite of oatmeal before shoving it away and slumping into my chair. “I’ll answer you if you answer me.”

Foster would arch an eyebrow if he had any left. “I don’t want to make you feel bad by telling you this, but since you’re insistent, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

At this, I straighten my spine and lean in.

“I was shopping one afternoon and felt really fatigued. This was around the time I started feeling sick way too often. I knew something was up and was waiting to get into the doctor. Well, I passed out, and when I woke up, August was there. He took me to the hospital and then stuck around after that to make sure I was all right. Then he just started fixing things around the house and I let him. He was so adamant about it, and I was alone, so I figured, why the heck not?” Foster taps a finger on the table. “Then, when his dad died, I sort of took on the role of father for him. I apparently have that aura about me or something.”

My eyes flood with tears, and Foster nods. “I told you. Don’t think any of this is your fault. The cancer would’ve come about no matter who was here. I know August hurt you, and I’m not here to force a reconciliation between you two. He’s grown into a solid man and I’ve appreciated everything he’s done for me. But you come first. You and Trek. So if there’s something I need to know, then tell me.”

The truth is right there on the tip of my tongue. I wish I could tell him. But it wouldn’t do any good.

I shake my head and take my empty bowl and his half-eaten one to the sink. “There’s nothing to tell. We’re over and not sure if that’s going to change.”

Fosters hums. “Okay, fair enough. Then what about Johnny?”

I sigh, my fingers digging into the edge of the sink, forgetting I bartered an answer for an answer.

“I don’t know, Dad. He’s nice and shows interest in me.”

“But…”

I turn and lean against the counter. “But I don’t know if he’s right for me. I thought finding someone carefree and—” I stumble over my words, almost admitting I’d hoped Johnny being the opposite of August would make my life easier, but…

“He doesn’t light you up like he should.”

I shake my head. “Not like I hoped.”

“This early in, you both shouldn’t be able to go days without speaking or wanting to be around each other. That’s not a good sign, honey.”

Hanging my head, I dig deep to find that Foster’s right. More often than not, it’s August on my mind and not Johnny. Johnny was supposed to turn my life upside down and show me what I’ve been missing. Lately, it’s a chore to talk to him. For example, it’s been days with only a few text exchanges. I can’t possibly believe he’s okay with this level of non-commitment. But clearly, I am, as I haven’t made more of an attempt myself.

What about August?

I shut my eyes to erase his face. August may be more of a man now, but it doesn’t change the past—what he did.

Conflicted, I tidy up the kitchen when Foster leaves to rest. The pressure is overwhelming. I have no clue what I’m doing.

Why are matters of the heart so hard to trudge through?

* * *

With the frame to the Villain’s Playground complete, the plywood walls are ready for a paint job.

Trek got home yesterday but took another day off from volunteering to go do something, so I’m on my own today. I’ll admit I miss him and his sarcasm. All his quirks make me smile, and I’m glad we’re moving beyond all the hurt.

So why is it so hard to do the same for August? Trek was just as guilty as August for the fire, but forgiving him comes easier.

August is a good person at his core. And good people sometimes do bad things for the people they love, but accepting this is like accepting Chase’s death as mere collateral damage.

My chest constricts. Chase. He never got to live. I loved being his big sister. His sweet baby curls and sticky fingers left an everlasting imprint in my mind. Would he want me closing myself off from something real? Or worse, settling for someone who may challenge me to try new things but still doesn’t understand me on a cellular level?

Would Chase want me barely living because he isn’t?

Those thoughts almost consume me as I gather the paint supplies and head to the section of the wall I’m charged with getting done today. Thankfully, it’s a beautiful Indiana afternoon, and it helps drive away all my opposing emotions. The sun hangs high and the fluffy clouds dot the sky, masking the fact in a few short months, it’s going to be winter. I don’t mind the cooler temps and relish the breeze as it kicks up and sends my hair swirling before I wrangle it into a high pony.

Pushing up the sleeves of my thermal shirt, I ready my roller and dip it into the thick paint. Broad strokes up and down are all it takes to cover these walls. I get into a rhythm and hardly notice when someone else joins me until we bump elbows.

“Oh gosh, I’m sor—oh. Hi.”

My pulse takes off once I face him fully. The paint roller trembles slightly in my hand, and I set it down, wiping my palms on my jeans.

As usual, it annoys me how freaking handsome August is. The casual way he’s dressed doesn’t take away how alluring the man really is. Taller and broader. Definitely would make any woman weak in the knees.

His tattoos—including the damned apple tattoo we got together—peek from under his rolled-up sleeves, and it’s hard to look away from his forearms as he dips the brush into the bucket of black paint near his feet. It’s entirely rude to look this good in basic clothes. Even his jeans hug his toned legs in a way that’s utterly sinful. And I refuse to look at his backside when he bends to paint at the base of the wall.

“Sky,” he says, my name falling off his tongue in a deep voice as he stands to his full height. Was it always that gravelly?

“What are you doing here?” I swipe at my warm cheeks with the back of my hand and resume painting with a more vigorous stroke than before.

“Painting.”

I roll my eyes and fight like hell to keep the smirk off my lips. “Don’t you work?”

“Perks of being the owner. I pay my employees to do most of it for me so I can focus on other things.”

“Like pestering your ex-girlfriend?”

That grin of his is dangerous. “Exactly. So, you’re admitting I get a rise out of you?”

I pause and shake my head at myself. Of course, I walked headfirst into that.

“Don’t you need to go take pictures or something?” I sound exasperated but refuse to look at him.

“I’d much rather work alongside you.”

I jerk my head up in his direction. Bad decision as he’s staring right at me.

Ugh. Stop being cute, August Moore.

“As long as you quit saying things like that, I suppose it won’t hurt.”

His quicksilver eyes sparkle. “No can do.”

After a beat and extremely flushed cheeks, I manage to point my roller at the wall near him. “You missed a spot.”

He chuckles but says nothing else as he swipes his brush languidly over a covered section of the wall.

We paint in silence for the next half hour. But I’d be lying if every damn thirty minutes of it didn’t heighten all my senses.

The accidental brush of his arm against mine.

The low, masculine sound of his laugh when he drips paint on my hand.

The flush of my body as he drags the pad of his thumb across my skin to wipe it away.

Sweat gathers under my arms at his closeness. He smells too fucking good, and right now would be an excellent time not to have a nose.

He breaks the suffocating silence by dropping his brush into the empty bucket. The rumble of his voice pulls goosebumps to the surface of my exposed arms. “Will you come with me somewhere?”

Specks of black paint dot his cheeks and forehead, joining the tiny freckles on his nose.

He’s expectant, his lips arranged in a small, hopeful smile.

There’s no reason why I should say no. No only leads to more questions and more time to think about him. If I do this, I can go back to taking care of Foster in peace. At least, that’s what my head tells me. My heart says another as it thumps hard in my chest.

“Maybe I should rephrase it. Would your boyfriend be okay with you going somewhere with me?”

He’s not my boyfriend, I want to shout, but instead, my smile hardens.

“I’m a grown woman, and Johnny doesn’t tell me what to do. Besides, would Lina approve?” I’m showing my cards here, but I’m too amped to care.

His sly grin makes it worse, and I glare at him even as he chuckles. “Aw, I don’t think she’ll mind one bit about this.”

My eyes form into slits, trying to read between the lines. “Where exactly would you be taking me?”

August steps into my space and I clutch the roller tight in my hand. He’s so much taller than me when he does that, and I have to crane my head to see his face. Those deep gray eyes pin me like a butterfly to a frame, and my insides quake under such scrutiny.

“It’s a surprise.”

His phone rings, so I can’t answer him, which is probably a good thing. I’m not sure I should go anywhere with August, let alone somewhere that’s a surprise.

“Hold on, sorry.” He pulls out his phone, and his brows furrow as he swipes to answer. “Alex, what’s up?”

He listens, and a bunch of emotions flicker across his face.

“Shit, are you serious?” He groans before speaking again. “Is she injured?” He glances up, biting his thumbnail. “No, keep her there if you can. I’m on my way.” He ends the call and curses, holding his hands atop his head, pacing a few feet before stopping in front of me.

“Is everything okay?”

“It’s my mom. She’s at the shop, and she’s drunk,” he growls. “Alex thinks she might have fallen and cut her head. I’m sorry, I have to go.” He begins to walk away, but I snag his arm.

“Wait, I’ll go with you.”

He looks down at the hand I still have wrapped around his bicep. “You don’t have to?—”

“I’m a nurse, August. If I can help, I want to.”

A second passes as he roams my face for any lies before he nods and grabs my hand, pulling me toward the parking lot. Hard to ignore how familiar and right it feels to have my hand tucked in his as I focus on the facts—someone needs help, and I’m someone who can help.

This sense of purpose fuels me as I follow August. But I lose momentum when he stops us in front of his motorcycle.

“I didn’t drive the truck today. Hope this is okay.”

Uneasiness settles in my gut as I stare wide-eyed at the bike. Getting on that thing will force me to be in close contact with him. My legs near his hips. My chest at his back. My arms around his waist.

The urgency at hand trumps my silly emotions, so I draw in a ragged breath and nod, taking the helmet he offers as crimson stains my cheeks.

Focus, Sky.

He jumps on and starts the engine, the rumble crackling through the already tense air. August holds his hand out, and I take it, him keeping me steady as I swing my leg over and settle in behind him.

“You okay?” he asks, his voice felt through his chest as I lean into him.

“I should ask you that.” My voice is muffled through the helmet.

“I’ll be fine. I’m just lucky to have such a capable nurse with me.”

That warms me more than it should.

We shoot out of the parking lot, and I squeal, latching onto August tight around his waist, feeling his abs contract as we bend around the curve.

“Hold on tight.”

On instinct, I curl my fingers into the fabric of his shirt and he presses one of his hands against them to keep me from moving.

Soon, we’re parked in front of Snaps, and August hurries off the bike, helping me with the helmet and to my feet, before striding to the door and flinging it open.

“Where is she?” he asks, pulling me along behind him toward the back where Alex points.

I’ve never been in this part of Snaps, but it looks like any other backroom of a business. Boxes on steel shelves, a desk with a computer, piles of paperwork, and a printer.

My heart skips a beat when we lay eyes on August’s mom. She’s not the same woman I met briefly all those years ago. And although my gut still burns with how she treated August, there’s a shred of empathy stinging my eyes.

She looks terrible.

Propped in a chair, her chin rests on her chest, and her arms lay limply in her lap. She’s passed out but breathing as I note her chest slowly rising. Her dark, stringy hair sticks to her forehead near a gash, the blood already clotting.

“Mom.” August crouches in front of her, taking her hands and squeezing them gently.

I move next to him and examine her further. Hard to tell how deep it is with all that hair in the way. Going into nurse mode, I glance around for a first aid kit.

“Bathroom,” August says once he hears me opening some random cabinets.

I grab the kit and hold it between my knees as I wash my hands, eyeing both of them through the bathroom mirror.

His mom groans, and her hands start to flail.

“Keep her hands from her face. I need to clean that wound to see if it needs stitches.” I quickly dry my hands and jog back to them as August palms her shoulder.

“Mom, it’s me. You need to hold still. We have to check your head.”

She opens her eyes, the blue irises bleary and red as she focuses on the man in front of her. “Auggy?”

I hide my small smile as I rifle through the kit for some alcohol pads. I remember him hating when anyone called him that. What was it that Phoebe called him? Gus Gus. He definitely hated that one too.

“I’m here. Let Sky look at you. She’s a nurse, and she knows what she’s doing.” He’s never even seen me in action, yet he’s confident in me all the same.

My chest warms at the sentiment as I bend to my knees and ease her hair out of the way. She watches me, almost crossing her eyes, but then immediately hisses as I pull hair from the sticky wound.

“I’m sorry,” I say, wincing at her discomfort.

Once the alcohol is applied, she groans some more and clutches tightly to August through the pain.

“Mom, can you tell me what happened?”

A tear leaks down the side of her face and into the groove near her chapped lips. “I, I don’t really know. I know I drank too much, and then I couldn’t stop thinking about your dad, and then I needed to see you to say sorry for treating you so horribly as a kid. I didn’t think, I just started walking through town. I-I think I fell somewhere. There was some glass. I don’t know, baby, I don’t know.” She heaves in a breath, and my ribcage squeezes as I appraise her raggedy appearance and obvious anguish.

The gash leaks more blood, and upon further examination, it’s deeper than I’d like. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Moore, but this is going to need stitches. There might be some glass in it. It really needs to be checked out at the hospital.”

Tears form again in her eyes, and she drags in a labored breath before blowing it back out. Her breath smells heavily of alcohol.

“Do you have any water back here?”

August points me toward a mini fridge. When I grab a bottle and open it for her, August is up on his feet, his back to us, clutching his neck with his hands.

I step away from his mom once she’s sipping on the water and join him. Tightening my fist before releasing it, I gently place it in the center of his back. The warmth seeps through his shirt into my palm, and I resist the urge to wrap my arms around his waist.

He flinches, but I leave it there, wrestling with my own feelings as I comfort him.

“I don’t know how to help her,” he whispers, looking at his feet.

“We just take her to the hospital, and they will stitch her up, nice and easy.”

He spins, and I let my hand fall. “No, it’s not just that. She’s, she’s, look at her.” He holds his hand toward her. “She’s a mess, and I’m so ill-equipped to handle this.”

I spare a glance behind me. She’s wearing an expression I know well. I inhale deeply before meeting August’s tormented eyes. “Grief isn’t singular and looks different to everybody, but it hurts all the same.”

He pulls his lip under his teeth and watches his mom as she cries soft tears before tracking back to me. Understanding washes over his face, and his pain becomes my pain. “You’re right. Fuck. I’m sorry. This probably isn’t?—”

“No, please, it’s okay. She needs help and I’m here, so let’s get her up and get her to the hospital. She can sober on the way.” I stop August from whatever he was going to say because I need this moment of purpose to stave off the emotions seeing his mom could surface for me. The questions about Dannie she might have answers for. How she’s drowning in her grief, much like I drowned in my hatred for the last thirteen years over a woman she knew.

History aside, I can’t leave him to deal with her by himself. He needs me.

After we order an Uber, since taking her on the bike is out of the question, August and I lift his mom underneath her arms to steady her on her feet. She can at least stand, and I take that as a good sign as we shuffle toward the door to the store.

Luckily, the store is empty of customers. Alex opens the front door so we can sit on the bench until our ride arrives.

Out in the sun and crisp air, his mom perks up, sobering even more as she drinks the rest of the water I gave her. She shifts on the bench, caught in the middle of us. She pats his cheek, and he twitches his lips, eyes facing forward.

I can imagine this is hard for him, considering their tenuous relationship. But then she turns to me, and I’m struck by how similar she and August look. Same cheekbones, same nose, same piercing eyes.

She watches me before slanting her head, wincing as her cut pulls under the bandage I applied.

“Try to keep your head still. It won’t hurt so bad,” I say.

“You’re Dannie’s daughter, aren’t you?” She leans in closer, and I pull back a fraction.

August stiffens and I swallow. “Was Dannie’s daughter.”

It comes out harsher than I intended, but being home makes me confront all the issues from my past, including the woman who abandoned me.

Before she can respond, our ride pulls to the curb, and I shove down my feelings to help her into the Uber, sliding in after August.

He turns to me. “You don’t have to come if you don’t want to. I can pay for another Uber back to the firehouse.”

I shake my head stiffly. “I’m here and seeing this through. I want to make sure she’s okay.”

His smile is brief after telling the driver where to go. “Thank you. For what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re here. There isn’t anyone else I’d trust to help me with this more than you.”

His words seep into the corners of my mind. He trusts me and my capabilities. It’s more than I can say for Johnny, who at any opportunity reminds me he’s the doctor and I’m just the nurse.

Nurturing is in my blood. The moment Foster adopted me and restored my choices, the desire to help became natural. My father could’ve beaten out the resilience and the fight I had, but he unknowingly strengthened it. I find peace in helping others, often at the expense of myself.

Even if it means helping the man whom I’m finding harder and harder to see as the enemy anymore.