Chapter seven
HE REGRETTED it almost immediately.
Alex was waiting on the porch, watching for the truck.
He had dressed. Jeans and flannel again, which—thank god. Nate didn’t need distractions. Yes, Alex was… attractive. But Nate didn’t want to think that. Especially since so much was unknown. Everything, really. Add in the fact that Alex was more likely to murder him than look at him in any way other than a nuisance. Times, oh they were a-changing, but Nate had been the subject of smear-the-queer a handful of times by guys that looked just like Alex. They’d stand outside the gay bars in DC and shout shit at the queens who blew air kisses at them defiantly. They were aggressive, and everyone knew you couldn’t leave alone. You had a buddy. A system. You carried Mace. You wanted to live your life the way those that had come before had fought for, but you had to be careful. There were people out there who wanted to hurt what they didn’t understand.
He’d never been hit, per se, never been attacked. Not physically. But he’d been in the Pride Parade last year along with thousands of others. He’d been in Freedom Plaza for the street festival. He’d seen the men and women with their Bibles, their faces red, screaming about Sodom and Gomorrah, about how the faggots and the dykes were bringing about the End Times, that God himself found them to be a sin, a blasphemy against nature. He’d seen the cops in their uniforms turning an indifferent eye. He’d seen men in military uniforms looking upon them with disdain, even as some of their brothers and sisters marched, knowing that with the newly passed Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell, they could be discharged, even though it was technically supposed to protect them to an extent.
He didn’t know Alex. But he knew the type.
Or maybe he’d be the type that’d fuck to get his rocks off and then still spit on you as you passed him by on the street. Nate knew those types too. They were worse. They were angrier.
It didn’t matter.
Nate wasn’t thinking about this. None of it.
He turned off the truck. He opened the door.
He wouldn’t be intimidated. This was his home.
Alex didn’t speak as Nate made his way toward the cabin. Art was nowhere to be seen. She was probably still inside. Nate didn’t think Alex would let her wander off on her own.
He reached the porch, and before he put his foot on the first step, Alex said.
“Where did you go?”
“Away.”
That was apparently the wrong answer. “Where?”
“For a drive, man,” Nate said, keeping his tone even.
“You don’t own me. I’m allowed to do what I want.” He wasn’t sure where the bravado was coming from, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to question it.
“You took your phone.”
“Yeah. I did. Because it’s mine.”
“Who did you call?”
He wasn’t dumb. Nate had to keep reminding himself that.
“If I even called anyone, I don’t see how it’s your business.”
“You call the cops?”
“No.” That wasn’t a lie.
“Do we need to run?”
That startled Nate. It was so… blunt.
“Why would you need to run?”
Alex remained as stoic as ever. He was good.
“In case you have someone coming after us.”
Nate laughed a little wildly.
“Who the hell would I send after you?”
“You’re a reporter. You probably have contacts.”
“I’m a journalist,” Nate snapped at him, unnerved by just how close Alex was.
“And I worked for a paper on the other side of the country. That I was fired from. Do you really think anyone there would be willing to help me?”
“Why were you fired?”
Nate scowled.
“I don’t owe you shit. I didn’t call the cops. No one is coming after you. At least not from me. I obviously can’t say the same for you—”
Alex nodded stiffly.
“We need to talk.”
That… was surprising.
“Are you breaking up with me?” Nate asked before he could stop himself. He winced.
“Uh. Pretend I didn’t say that.”
“I don’t know if I can now.”
Nate gaped.
“Did you just… make a joke?”
“I don’t joke,” Alex said.
“If we’re staying here, you need to know a few things.”
“What do you mean, if you’re staying here—don’t walk away from me when I’m talking to—goddammit.”
He sighed before climbing the steps and following Alex into the cabin.
ART WASN’T sitting on the couch. Instead she’d pulled a chair from the kitchen out to the living room. She swung her legs as she sat on it. The sunglasses were gone, as was the towel. Her hair was dry and looked a little fluffy. She grinned when she saw Nate. “Hey.”
“Hey,” Nate said. “Hi.”
“I told you he’d come back,” she said, looking up at Alex as he passed her by.
He grunted at her on his way down the hall.
She rolled her eyes fondly.
Nate wasn’t sure if he was supposed to follow. Alex said he wanted to talk, but Nate didn’t feel comfortable being in a bedroom with him. He wanted to be able to run if Alex pulled the gun again.
“He’ll be right back,” Art said.
“He’s going to get the scrunchies.”
“The… scrunchies?”
“Yep.”
Once again, Nate didn’t know what to do with that.
“He said we had to talk?”
She sighed.
“What is he doing, trying to break up with you?”
“That’s what I said!”
“I know. I heard you talking. The door was open.”
“Jesus.”
“You say his name a lot. Did you know he hung out with beggars and whores?” She frowned.
“Though, whore isn’t a very nice thing to call someone. Anyway. It’s weird, right? He had all these friends who weren’t what someone like him was supposed to have, but he did anyway. But most people don’t talk about that when they pray to him. They’re all so focused on his death. That’s just morbid.”
He felt like everything was upside-down.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
She waved a hand at him.
“It doesn’t matter. I just think it’s important sometimes to be remembered what you lived for rather than what you died for.”
The floor creaked as Alex appeared in the hallway again. Nate realized he had to duck his head just a little to keep from hitting the lintel. Even his shoulders seemed in danger of brushing the walls on either side of him.
Nate groaned inwardly. Not the time. Not the time. Not the—
“Did you bring the scrunchies?” Art demanded.
“Yes,” Alex said. And he had. In his hand was a baggie filled with brightly colored bands. Some were thin—like rubber bands—and others were larger and covered in polka dots. She made grabby hands at the baggie, and Alex handed them over.
She hummed a little song under her breath as she dug through the baggie before eventually setting aside a couple of the small bands. They were teal.
“One or two,” Alex asked her, standing behind the chair.
“Two please.” Then.
“Ha! Pigtails. Because bacon makes everything better. I get that now.”
Nate wondered yet again if he was caught in a dream.
Alex nodded and then did the most remarkable thing.
He reached those big hands down, the skin callused, the fingers thick, and began brushing them through her hair with purpose, separating it right down the middle. Art continued to sing quietly as he did so.
Nate watched, helpless to do anything else. He couldn’t look away.
Alex, massively intimidating and scary Alex, began to braid the little girl’s hair.
“I’m keeping her safe,” he said, not looking up at Nate.
Nate struggled to find his voice, entranced by the sight in front of him.
“I—that’s what she said.”
“I can’t tell you everything,” he continued, fingers moving deftly.
“Not because I don’t trust you, but—”
“You don’t. Trust me, that is.”
He didn’t even hesitate.
“I can’t. I don’t know you. She’s—if there’s a chance, even the smallest one, that something will slip, that you’ll say something to someone without meaning to, it could end… badly.”
“For who?”
He shrugged.
“Us. You. You could be brutally murdered or—”
Art coughed pointedly.
He jerked her hair a little harder than necessary.
She tilted her head back slowly, glaring up at him.
Alex sighed before pushing her head forward again.
“You’ve been… nice.”
“Wow,” Nate said.
“That sounded like it hurt for you to say. Congratulations for being able to get that all out on your own.”
“It did,” Art said.
“Showing feelings hurts him all the time.”
“I’m not showing feelings,” Alex said.
“You told me I had to say this.”
“Well, yeah. But I didn’t say to tell him he’s been nice.” She looked at Nate.
“I told you to say you’ve been hospitable. There’s a difference. You haven’t been nice. Not really.”
“Thank… you?”
She beamed at him.
“You’re welcome.” She tried to look back at Alex again.
“See how easy that was?”
He pushed her head forward.
“It’s a synonym.”
“Well, that’s just a lazy excuse. Do better.”
His mouth thinned.
“You have been hospitable. And you didn’t have to be.”
“You pointed a gun at me,” Nate reminded him.
“Multiple times. I don’t think I had a choice. Forced hospitality isn’t hospitality. It’s a hostage situation.”
“You left,” Art said.
“You could have stayed gone. But you came back.”
Which—yes. That was true. He had no idea why. “I did.”
She started humming again.
“She’s my responsibility,” Alex said, halfway done with the left braid.
“And I take that very seriously.”
“You’re not her father. Are you?”
He looked up, eyes boring into Nate. He kept still, waiting for Alex to find whatever he was looking for. Finally, he gave a small shake of his head.
“I’m her bodyguard.”
“My protector,” she said, snapping a scrunchie against her fingers.
“My big, brave Alex.”
“What are you guarding her from?”
Alex finished one braid and snapped his fingers near her ear. She handed him a teal rubber band over her shoulder. He snapped it around the bottom of the braid with a practiced twist of his fingers.
“She’s important.”
It was like pulling teeth. “To?”
“Me. Others.”
“Appropriately vague. How expected.”
Alex wasn’t amused.
“I told you that I couldn’t tell you everything.”
“You’re not telling me anything I couldn’t figure out on my own—”
“You said Mafia earlier,” Art said.
“That wasn’t right at all.”
“It was a guess.”
“A terrible guess. Maybe I’m a space princess.”
Nate groaned.
“Star Wars.”
Her smile was luminous.
“I do love those movies.”
“Then why are you Artemis Darth Vader and not Princess Leia?”
“Eh. That’s a little on the nose—ow. You didn’t have to pull so hard!”
Alex was scowling down at her.
“Maybe you should stop talking.”
“Maybe you should—oh. Right. Copy that. Let’s get on down this old dusty trail, then, partner. You’re starting to mosey a bit.”
“Look,” Alex said.
“All you need to know is that I am doing all I can to protect her from people who want to hurt her, and that’s final. I haven’t kidnapped her, I’m not abusing her—”
“I never said—”
Alex looked up sharply.
“You thought it. I know you did.”
Nate couldn’t deny that.
“And I don’t blame you for that,” Alex continued.
“I know how this looks. I know what… you must be thinking. A guy like me. Her… the way she is. But you have to understand. You have to believe me when I say I would rather die than see anything happen to her. I’m doing everything I can to help her. Everything.”
“You’re not going to die,” Art said, a frown on her face.
“I don’t like it when you talk like that. Don’t say it again.”
“How long?” Nate asked him.
“How long what?”
“How long have you known her?”
“A long time,” Alex said, the second braid almost finished.
“Longer than it seems.”
“And her parents?”
The skin under his eye twitched.
“That’s… who we’re trying to find. Who we’re trying to get her back to.”
A thought struck Nate. A terrible thought.
“You didn’t kidnap her. She was already taken.”
“Yes.” Alex looked relieved.
“That. Exactly that.”
Nate’s mind was already moving, connecting bits and pieces.
“Was it—” Oh shit, that was an awful thing.
“A… ring? Like… slavery?”
Alex looked confused for a split second before it hit him. His eyes went wide.
“No, no. Not like… that. Nothing like that. It was—”
Art rolled her eyes.
“I know what you’re talking about. No, Nate. I wasn’t being trafficked.”
He stared at her.
“How old are you?”
“Ten,” she said.
“Thereabouts.”
“And you’re on the run. Hiding out. Here. In my cabin.”
“It was the farthest one away,” Alex mumbled.
“It didn’t look like it’d been used in a long time.” He snapped again, and she handed him the other scrunchie.
“It’s almost like fate,” Art said seriously.
“Do you believe in fate, Nate?” Her nose wrinkled.
“That rhymed. I don’t like rhymes very much.”
“I don’t—no. I don’t. Believe in fate.”
“Kismet? Destiny? Nothing?”
“No.”
“Huh.” She squinted at him.
“Then what do you believe in.”
“I don’t know.”
“Ghosts?” She clapped her hands.
“I like ghosts. Have you ever seen one?”
“No.”
“I haven’t either,” she said, sounding strangely disappointed.
“Done,” Alex said. He tugged on the ends of each braid.
“It’s a little off-center.”
Art reached up and ran her fingers over the top of her head and down the braids.
“Still. You’re getting better at it. Remember the first time you tried? You growled at me the whole time, and it ended up looking like I’d been attacked by an owl.”
Nate laughed. It came out sounding slightly hysterical, but he couldn’t stop it. Both Art and Alex looked surprised.
“You’re just—how am I supposed to believe any of this? You’re asking me to take you at your word. To trust you. How can I do that when you don’t trust me?”
“We’ll get there,” Art said, putting the remaining scrunchies back in the baggie.
“I know it. It’ll take time, but most things do.”
Alex was staring down at her, an undecipherable look on his face.
“How long are you going to stay here?” Nate asked quietly.
Alex scratched the back of his neck.
“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.”
“It’s not time to leave yet,” Art said, hopping down from the chair. Her pigtails bounced behind her head. Nate didn’t know the first thing about how to do such things, but they still looked good. She was achingly pretty.
“I’ll know when it’s time.”
“How—”
She walked over to him, stopping with the tips of her sock-covered toes against the tips of his Chucks. She motioned for him to lean down. He looked at Alex. Alex was watching Art, that same odd look on his face.
Nate did the only thing he could.
He crouched down until he was eye level.
She tilted her head at him as she studied him. Her eyes were bright and knowing. He didn’t flinch as she reached up and cupped his face. Her hands were warm.
“Sometimes you need to take things on faith,” she said quietly.
“Even if you think you have no faith left, I promise you, you do. All of you do. It’s easier, I think, to stay lost. But when you’re found, when you open your eyes, you can finally see the truth for what it is.”
He didn’t understand. She made no sense. But there was a lump in his throat he couldn’t seem to swallow past.
She leaned forward and kissed his nose with a loud smack.
He was stunned.
“I’m glad you found us,” she whispered, her breath on his face.
“I think we needed you to.”
And then she smiled.
He was speechless as she let him go. She stepped away, already demanding that Alex get her a mirror so she could see how pretty her braids were. Alex looked at Nate, and there was almost a crack in that stoic mask he wore, something that looked strangely vulnerable, but it was gone only moments later.
Art took him by the hand and led him down the hall to the second bathroom.
He could hear her squeals of delight, telling Alex how much better he was getting at this, that give it another week and he’d be perfect, and did he like how she looked? Was she the prettiest Artemis Darth Vader in all the world?
He didn’t hear what Alex said, but he had a good idea.
He was still crouched, blinking slowly, when they came back out.
“Time for lunch, huh?” she said.
“I think we should probably have more bacon, just to make sure this morning wasn’t a fluke.”
SHE WAS standing off the back deck, staring up at the sky. Alex and Nate were watching her. Nate had spent the last couple of hours trying to gather his thoughts, trying to put everything in order so it made some sort of sense. He was missing large pieces, pieces that he’d likely never know. At least not with things how they were now. He didn’t regret making the phone call to Ruth. But he wasn’t going to tell Alex about it either.
If Alex was telling the truth, if what Art was saying was possible, then there would be a trail. Somehow. Whoever her parents were. Whoever Alex was. Whoever she was.
“Your last name isn’t Delgado, is it,” he muttered, not looking at the man standing only a few feet away.
“No.”
“Is your name even Alex?”
There was a brief hesitation. Then.
“Yes.” And.
“Her name really isn’t Artemis Darth Vader. In case you were wondering.”
Nate turned slowly to gape at him.
“Did you just make another joke?”
“Of course not.”
“That… sounded almost like a joke.”
“I told you, I don’t make jokes.”
“He’s funny only sometimes!” Art called up to them.
“And usually he doesn’t even mean to be.”
“See? Now that I believe.”
Alex scowled. It was starting to get familiar.
And it shouldn’t be. Nothing about this should feel familiar. That way lay danger. This was temporary. All of this was temporary.
This time yesterday, he was just outside of Roseland, wondering if Big Eddie’s Gas and Convenience was still there. He was driving toward the mountains, getting ready to hunker down and lick his wounds, to deal with all that he’d done to get to this point. He was going to drink himself into a stupor for a few days, feel a little sorry for himself. And when he was done, he was going to pick himself up and gather up all the pieces that had broken off, try to see if there was any way to fit them back together.
These people, this man and this girl, didn’t fit into any of that.
And how that burned. There was a maddening itch just below his skin that begged to be scratched, to demand the truth. Oh, he’d believed what Alex had said while braiding Art’s hair. For the most part. He was good at picking through bullshit, setting aside truth from untruths. But the vagueness of it all was driving him up the wall. He was sure the scenarios running through his head were far more outlandish than reality. Mysteries, when solved, usually ended up disappointing. When the spotlight shines down, when all the shadows melt away, all that’s left isn’t going to be as impressive as the secret made it seem. He’d been here before time and time again. He’d always forced himself to remain pragmatic, even when he was a kid.
Still. What if…
“How long?”
“How long what?”
He didn’t look at Alex, trying to sound nonchalant.
“How long have you been on the run?”
“Why?”
“I’m trying to get to know you, man.”
“Why?” And that sounded infinitely more suspicious.
“You’re staying in my cabin,” Nate said, irritated.
“I think I’m allowed to ask questions.”
“Do you ever not ask questions?”
“No. Never.”
Art bent over, picking up a rock and staring down at it as she bounced it in her palm.
“A week,” Alex finally said.
That… didn’t sit right with Nate.
“And how long have you been here?”
“Here.”
“Yes. Here. On the lake. In my cabin.”
“Fucking reporters,” Alex muttered.
“I heard that.”
“You were meant to.”
“Be nice!” Art said without looking. She bent down and picked up another rock. The waves lapped at the shore. The sun was shining. There were barely any clouds in the sky. It was a perfectly normal day.
“Five days,” Alex said.
Nate finally gave in and glanced at him.
He was watching Art. His arms were crossed over his chest, the sleeves of his shirt straining against his biceps. He was scowling, of course, because that was most likely the default expression on his face. The scruff on his cheeks and neck was a little thicker than it’d been the day before. He didn’t seem the type to grow a beard. Nate thought he would have shaved every day as part of a strict, regimented routine. He’d get up even earlier than Nate was used to. He’d do sixteen thousand push-ups. He’d eat thirty hard-boiled eggs. He’d drink coffee as black as his soul. He’d glower at everything while he watched the sunrise, contemplating whatever it was men of his caliber did. After, he would shower, using shampoo that probably smelled like medicine. And once finished, he would floss and brush his teeth. Finally, he would shave. Any hint of facial hair would be gone by 6:00 a.m.
But here he was, stubble on its way to becoming something more. Nate had never been able to grow a beard. It’d always come in patchy and wiry. He’d had a goatee in college, something he’d been proud of at the time. In retrospect, it was a wonder he ever got laid with that thing.
It didn’t matter, though. He didn’t know this man. He didn’t know this girl. And they didn’t trust him. Alex had said as much. Not that Nate had given them any reason to, but still. Art wasn’t… normal. At least not like any other ten-year-old he’d ever seen before. Maybe she was older than she claimed to be. Maybe she was Alex’s young teenage bride, and they were on the run from irate parents that—
“How did you get shot?” he blurted.
The scowl deepened.
“It was a mistake.”
“How does one mistakenly get shot? Did you shoot yourself?”
Alex turned slowly to look at him.
“Right,” Nate said hastily.
“Stupid question. Of course you didn’t shoot yourself. What was I thinking? I’ve seen you handle a gun.”
Alex looked back to where Art was continuing to pick up rocks.
“So, I guess we’re not going to answer that question, huh?” Nate asked.
“I told you. It was a mistake.”
“Yes. You did say that. Which… doesn’t really say anything at all. Must have happened a while ago, though.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s healed.”
“Rubber bullet.”
Nate blinked.
“Oh. Right. I guess that—huh. So you got shot mistakenly while rescuing Art from people who want to get her back, and they carried guns with rubber bullets instead of real bullets because…”
Alex didn’t take the bait.
“That must have hurt.”
Alex grunted.
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re aggravating?”
“No,” Alex said.
“No one. Ever.” Then he walked down the steps off the deck.
Nate stared after him.
“Was that another joke? Because if it was, you have a terrible sense of humor.”
Alex didn’t acknowledge him. Nate thought that was rude. He watched as Alex approached Art. She didn’t look up at him, but Nate thought she knew he was coming. When he stood beside her, she showed him the rocks she had in her hands.
“Which ones?” she asked.
“Because some of them are better than others, but I like this one because it’s pretty.”
He reached down.
“This one. And this one.”
“But not the pretty one?”
“No. It wouldn’t bounce right.”
“Oh. Because it’s not flat enough?”
“Yes.”
“So that means I can keep it.”
Alex sighed.
“How many rocks have you kept so far?”
“Today? Or since we’ve been here?”
“Art.”
Her face scrunched up.
“Seventeen.”
“You can’t take them all.”
“Seventeen isn’t all the rocks, Alex.”
“You know what I mean. If we have to go, we can’t take it all. There will be some things we’ll have to leave behind.”
Art glanced back at Nate. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up.
“Maybe. But not now. Not yet.”
“Not yet,” Alex said quietly.
“Okay. Now show me. You promised.”
“Did I?”
“Alex! Don’t be mean.”
“Never,” he said, and for some reason, Nate believed him.
They walked closer to the water. The beach was rocky, tufts of grass growing through the stones. Alex hovered right behind her as she carefully stepped on the rocks, hands ready in case she slipped. She didn’t. He stopped her before she could get any closer, telling her he didn’t want her to get her shoes wet.
“Because the world would end if that happened, right?” she asked him.
“Do you want me to show you this or not?”
“Yes.”
He picked a rock from her hand.
“See how I’m holding it? You need to let it rest against your thumb and pointer finger.”
“Like this?”
“Almost.” He reached down and fixed her grip.
“There. That’s better.”
“Feels a little weird.”
“Does it?”
“Yeah. Rocks are strange.”
“You don’t have—it’s fine. You have a good hold on it?”
“I do.”
“Okay. Watch me. Watch my arm.”
She did.
He brought his arm back, then swung it out in a flat arc. He let go of the rock. It skipped along the surface of the lake. Nate counted. Of course he counted. It was what you were supposed to do when skipping rocks. One. Two. Three. Four five sixseveneight—
It splashed and sunk below the surface.
“Wow,” Art said, sounding suitably impressed.
“That was a good one.”
And it was. Nate remembered standing in almost that exact same spot, doing that exact same thing with his brother. They’d do it until their arms were sore, making a game of it, trying to outdo the other for hours. His brother always won. Always. Oh sure, Nate would get a few good skips in, but Ricky had been better at it. He’d never been mean about it, not really, but he’d gloat, sure. They were kids. That’s what kids did.
After—when they’d found him, when his parents had walked into the cabin and found Nate and his boyfriend in flagrante, Nate had returned home to DC, tail between his legs, the sting of his father’s words and his mother’s silence still piercing his skin again and again. He’d heard the anger in his father’s vitriol. He’d seen the look of shock and horror on his mother’s face.
He’d thought about telling them before. He had. He really had. But he’d been living on the other side of the country, and it’d just… gotten away from him. But when he had thought about it, it’d made him feel itchy. A little queasy. He didn’t know how they’d take it. They weren’t religious. Oh god no. They’d only been to church once, some midnight mass at Christmas that they’d never done again because it was late and boring. Even his father had said so.
And, if he really thought about it, had he ever heard his parents say anything about gay people? He didn’t know if he had. Of course, that hadn’t meant a damn thing. Not in the long run.
They’d caught him, though, and at the worst possible time. He’d felt that nauseous slick twist in his stomach when they’d first walked in the door, and they had just stared at each other for a long minute. He’d found his voice first, telling them it wasn’t what they were thinking (it was), and if they would just let him explain (they didn’t), everything would be fine.
His father had started yelling.
His mother hadn’t said a word.
He’d fled.
Three days after he’d flown back to DC, his brother had called.
“Is it true?” he’d asked.
“Yes,” Nate had said, because there was no way around it. And he was tired. He was so goddamn tired, and he just couldn’t find a reason to lie.
“Why?”
“Why didn’t I tell you?”
“No,” his brother had spat.
“Why are you like this?”
Nate had closed his eyes.
He’d hung up on his brother a few minutes later, cutting him off mid-shout.
Nate had spoken to him twice more. The first was to tell him their parents were dead and that there were services that could come in and clean crime scenes, all while Nate struggled to not hyperventilate. The second time, of course, had been a couple months later.
“The cabin,” he’d said, the same brother who had laughed when he’d skipped a rock six times once, telling him he was getting better at it.
“The truck. That’s yours. Nothing else.”
“Oh,” he’d said. “Oh.”
“You’re not getting anything else. Don’t try and fight me on it.”
“I won’t.”
Rick had given Nate the attorney’s information and then hung up without saying goodbye. He didn’t scold Nate for not coming to the funeral. Nate hadn’t expected that. He’d been waiting for it, for some sign that things could be different now that they were gone, that maybe Rick could think for himself, could—
But there’d only been the dial tone in his ear.
He watched as Alex repositioned Art’s arm, pushing her elbow down just a little bit. She nodded, eyes narrowed slightly in concentration. She listened to every word he said. Nate couldn’t take his eyes off them.
“Okay,” Alex said.
“You’re good to go.”
He stepped back.
And she hurled the rock.
One. Two. Threefourfive—
“Whoa,” she breathed as the rock disappeared into the lake.
“That. Was. Awesome.” She threw her hands up in the air, pigtails bouncing as she jumped around.
“Did you see that? Alex! Did you—Nate! Nate, did you see what I just did?” She looked up at him still standing on the deck. She was smiling.
Alex looked at him too. He wasn’t smiling, but he wasn’t scowling either. It was… different. For just a moment.
“Yeah,” Nate said, voice hoarse.
“Yeah. I saw it. You did… It was good.”
She immediately demanded they do it again.
And they did. For two more hours.
Nate watched them the entire time.