Chapter 7
Ethan
A raven screams at me from overhead.
“I know,” I sigh as I tell her.
She screams again, then floats over the treetops, out of view.
I watch the spot where she disappeared, betting she’d like some ribbon too.
My hands are shoved into my pockets, clutching the ruined fabric. And the urge to toss the pieces into the sky, offering them up as an apology, is strong.
Strong enough that I clench my jaw and stomp my boots harder than necessary as I continue through the woods.
Tilda was breaking the law.
It is my job to uphold the law.
Somewhere in my mind, nineteen-year-old Ethan is swinging his leg, trying to kick me in the ass, muttering something about pretty girls and acting like a total fucking loser.
I narrow my eyes—at nothing—picturing my young, naive self.
You don’t know shit, I tell my younger self. Just you fucking wait.
My phone vibrates in my cargo pocket, and I finally release my grip on the ribbon bits to pull it free.
Heaving out a breath, I answer. “Sister.”
“Brother. Whatcha up to?”
I look at the forest surrounding me.
I’m far from any of the hiking paths. Far from where I parked my truck on the service road.
Far from any reasonable answer.
I’m here because I was curious. Wanted to see if Jack was finally back.
Jack.
Something wraps around my throat.
I don’t know that we were friends exactly. But to be honest, I don’t know that I’d call anyone my friend.
I’ve lived in this state my whole life. Never lived in town, but Lonely has always been the closest town. The school I went to. But everyone I knew from before, when I was young… we don’t stay in touch. Not since looking after my sister became my life. And not now that my work has become my life.
“You alright?” Sandra asks, bringing me back to our conversation.
“I’m good.” I lie. “Bad service.” Not a lie, but not relevant. “We still on for dinner tonight?” I’m not really in the mood, but canceling would just lead to more questions.
“Yep. Usual place?”
“If you don’t mind driving.” Our usual place is closer to me than it is to her.
“Nope, I don’t mind.”
I duck under another branch and come out onto the service road, putting my truck in sight. “Just call to confirm dinner, or do you need something?”
I’m being short, but Sandra ignores my attitude. “That’s all, Bro-than. I’ll text when I’m on my way.”
Hanging up, I unlock my truck, and I push all thoughts of the mountain fairy named Tilda out of my mind.