Chapter 6
Maul: When the ball carrier is held up by opponents but stays on their feet, and teammates pile in to push them forward, a moving,
heaving contest for control.
Translation: The two are bound together whether they like it or not.
Wolf
I left Dublin, Ireland, at 3:25 p.m. on a Friday, and I ended up in Denver, Colorado, at 5:56 p.m. on a Friday, which means
I took a flight back in time. A flight that was far chattier than I expected, but that’s Everly Fletcher for you. Cliona is
right—Everly is a lot.
Little does she know, I knew that information long before she did.
Since the moment I met her first year, I could tell she was a typical, over-the-top American. Like a walking greeting card.
Always chipper. Always happy. Always smiling. And far too trusting of people. She moves through life as if she’s never been
hurt, and for girls like Everly, they probably haven’t. That’s privilege for ya. If only we could all be so lucky. I knew
then, as I know now, that we’d never be friends. She’s sunshine and rainbows, and I’m dark and cloudy storms.
The Fletcher family is quiet as we all load into a large black Sprinter van that Everly’s father booked. I’m sure renting
this big thing cost more than the single vehicle my parents own, but I suppose I’ll have to get used to being around people
who are comfortable having money.
It has perimeter seating, and I snag a spot behind the driver, only to have Everly’s brother sit right beside me. It wasn’t ten minutes down the road before the wee man they call Ethan managed to fall asleep leaning against me.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I can move him,” Cozy offers, clearly jet-lagged herself. I hold my hand up to stop her from getting up.
“He’s no bother,” I murmur, and she smiles a silent thanks as she leans on Everly’s dad.
I turn, and my eyes snag on Everly seated across from me. She looks away quickly like she wasn’t gawking at me like I’m an
alien, so I turn my gaze to the window to do the same.
Colorado is a far cry from home, to be sure. Everything is bright and new and covered in fresh pavement. Ireland is ancient
everywhere you go. Damp and green and mossy and damn near tilted like it’s drunk all the time. Here, it’s all wild and sharp.
Bigger skies, taller mountains, wide-open spaces with air so dry I crave a pint almost instantly.
As we make our way toward Boulder, Everly’s father points out something called the Flatirons. The only way I can think to
describe them is tall, slightly smashed mountains—almost like an incomplete painting. Like someone was drawing out a mountain
landscape and then got frustrated and swiped their hand along the side of it to start over. They could be compared to the
Cliffs of Moher, maybe, but flipped on its side and blasted with far more sunshine. Reminds me of me and my sister. She would
be the Flatirons, and I would be the Cliffs of Moher. Bit of light and dark vibes. Sun and moon.
The van pulls through the city of Boulder, where Everly grew up.
It’s a posh place that seems very well kept up.
Another complete opposite of Dublin. I expect this is the kind of place that serves oat milk in all its coffee shops and has a yoga studio on every corner.
It’s also clearly a pet-friendly town because there are people with dogs everywhere I look.
I even saw a bloke walking around with his cat strapped to his chest.
Dublin is messier. Louder and more run-down with its age. Where Boulder smells of fresh mountain air and new trainers, Dublin
reeks of chip vans, spilled pints, and regret over drinking too much the night before.
But don’t get me wrong, I fucking love Dublin. It’s that dirty grittiness to it that feels like home. This place feels like
existing inside a film.
We stop at Everly’s father’s giant house, and everyone piles out, saying their goodbyes to their daughter and offering polite
waves to me. They apologize for not seeing us up to the mountain but assure Everly that they’ll be by tomorrow with more of
her things and to celebrate her homecoming properly. She kisses them all goodbye, and when the door closes, leaving just the
two of us in the van, she slumps back in her seat, looking wrecked with exhaustion.
It makes me feel bad.
I could have been kinder on the plane. She didn’t deserve my harsh attitude. And she’s right. I should be grateful for her
and her family’s help with all of this. It is my mess, after all. If I’m going to be forced to be around her all summer, I
probably should try to be . . . well . . . friendly, I suppose.
“Hey there, Stretch?” I croak, and she turns her eyes from the road to look at me seated directly across from her. “Sorry
for being a dickhead on the plane, alright?”
Her brows furrow, and when the setting sun blasts through the window and illuminates her face, I see that her blue eyes are
wet and red-rimmed.
My heart lurches as I stand up to move over to her. “Fuck, I didn’t mean to make you cry.”
“You didn’t make me cry,” she snarls at me like I’m an eejit, so I sit back down. “I’m just . . . exhausted . . . and homesick.”
I tilt my head and look around. “But you are home, aren’t ya?”
“I know that,” she growls and turns away to dig into her purse. “I just regret committing to going to Fletcher Mountain first.
I would have loved a night back at my dad’s, but then I make my mom feel bad if I don’t stay at hers, and it becomes a whole
thing.” She pulls out a wee bottle of pills and tosses one into her mouth, swallowing it down with a quick drink of water.
“Forget it. You wouldn’t understand.”
She pulls her legs up and tucks them under her chin, and I can’t help but marvel over her. To care about everyone else’s feelings
all the time must be exhausting. No wonder she’s shattered.
Not to mention, we’re both on the precipice of big changes in our lives, not knowing exactly what the future holds. Transitioning
from university life to a real life. And Everly perhaps has it even worse, going from her old life in Boulder to a new life
in Dublin and back to her old life, but slightly different. It’s a lot.
I clear my throat and offer, “I can understand being overwhelmed if that’s what ya mean.”
She nods woodenly and then sighs, resting her cheek on her knees. “I just need to crash.”
“Maybe close your eyes for a bit. My gran always said things have a tendency to look better in the morning.”
She shoots me a wobbly smile and then lies down on the bench, stretching those long legs of hers out to get more comfortable.
I turn away to let her rest and watch the view slowly shift from city highways to steep mountain canyons. There are loads
of trees and forestry up here too. A beautiful sight that I think I could get used to.
After about thirty minutes of winding roads, I see a quaint little cutout of a black bear next to a sign for Jamestown.
Welcome to Jamestown
Est. 1883
Elev. 6926’
Pop. 250
It’s one of those tiny communities that you could blink and miss entirely. Lots of those in Ireland too, not that I’ve ever
spent much time in any of them. I spot a wee pub on the left where the sign reads:
The Mercantile
Where Everyone is a Little Feral
I can’t help but smile at that. It looks relatively decent—nothing like our old brick pubs in Dublin, but there’s at least
no men with dogs outside of it, so I already like it better than what I was spotting in Boulder.
The van slows and takes a sharp right, and I spy a small wooden sign that says Fletcher Mountain. Christ, is it that easy
to buy mountains in America that you can give them your surname? You’d never get away with that in Ireland. Everything has
some sort of historical relevance to it that protects it from the likes of capitalism. This truly is the Wild West out here,
isn’t it?
We lurch up the gravel lane, the setting sun slicing through the thick forestry. I wince as we take a sharp curve that has
no guardrails at all. Back in Ireland, we have our share of rough country roads, but they at least have the decency to be
flat. This feels like off-roading on the back of a bleedin’ dragon.
I glance over and am shocked to see that Everly is sleeping through this treacherous journey.
I half wish she were awake to help calm my anxiety a bit.
If she were, I’m sure she’d be insufferably talking nonstop, pointing out everything with teeth-gritting details.
Her nattering on has this annoying and calming effect I can’t explain.
Surely, this driver knows what he’s doing, right?
I turn back to look out the window and force myself to enjoy the views and stop fretting about the driver. Tall pine trees
press in from both sides as streams of sunlight bleed through the canopy overhead. I swear the air shimmers like it’s half-magical
or something. I sort of hate how fascinated I am by it. I’m proud to be Irish, and I never imagined I could be impressed with
anything more than my home country, but this here . . . this is proper beautiful.
I spot a wee sign and a turnoff that says Mount Millie Rescue Center and crane my neck to get a better look. That must be
where I’m to spend my days working this summer. Should be interesting. I grew up just north of Dublin, so I’m pretty much
an urban boy through and through, but I’m no stranger to hard work. So long as I don’t have to handle the animals too much,
I should be just fine.
We crest over a steep incline, and my jaw drops when I see the wide, sunlit clearing ahead that reveals what must be the Fletcher
compound.