CHAPTER EIGHTEEN VERA
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
VERA
Rain drizzled through the gaps in the trees. Mist cloaked the mountains and water dripped from the brim of my hat. My coat and clothes were soaked.
I’d been hiking around Sable Peak for hours, searching for any sign of my father. But there was nothing to find. No animal snares. No charred remains of a campfire. No footprints in the mud.
No Dad.
But I kept going, kept pushing. He had to be out here somewhere.
The steady rain drowned out any sound. If he was nearby, he’d find shelter.
A place to stay dry. That had always been one of his most important rules.
Stay dry. Stay warm. Stay hydrated. A person could go on an empty stomach for a day or two.
But as long as we were dry, warm and had water, we’d survive.
He’d survive.
He was alive.
This far up into the mountains, there had to be a cave or something. I doubted Dad would have built a shelter. The hut he’d built years ago had been more for me than himself, so I wouldn’t have to sleep on the dirt each night.
I pulled up the sleeve of my coat, checking my watch. “Damn it.”
If I was going to make it to my car with enough time to get to Mateo’s for our Friday study date, I had to start back now.
“Gah.” A surge of anger welled. I bent and picked up a pinecone, throwing it against a nearby tree.
He was out here. I knew it down deep in my bones. He was out here. Why couldn’t I find him? Why couldn’t he find me?
He had to know I was searching. That I’d want to see him again.
Every hike, I left traces behind. There was no reason for me to mask my presence, so I didn’t bother. Footprints. A circle of rocks. My name spelled out in sticks with the date. Every hike, for two years, I’d left a marker.
Yes, the mountains were vast. Our chances were so, so small. But if I was searching for him, and he was searching for me, it had to happen. Eventually, it had to happen, right?
Dad would be watching trailheads. It was the logical place for me to start. So for our paths to clash, it was just a matter of timing. And persistence.
I’d spent countless hours poring over maps of the area. I was working section by section, tackling the landscape in pieces. I’d been up and down each local trail at least three times.
If I just kept going, if I kept pushing, I’d find him.
I had to find him.
Unless . . .
What if he’d found me already? What if he’d watched me leave those messages? What if he’d kept his distance intentionally?
My breath caught.
Was he hiding from me?
No. I refused to believe it. He wouldn’t ignore me. Would he?
“Dad!” My voice bounced off the trees before it was swallowed up by the steady drizzle of rain.
I shouted for him on every hike. I yelled and yelled, willing my voice to carry. Maybe if I screamed loud enough, he’d come running.
“Cormac Gallagher!”
A crow cawed in the distance, but otherwise, there was no sound. No one yelled back.
“If you can see me, you’d better come out here.” I fought the urge to stomp my foot like a child. “Dad!”
Nothing but the sound of my sinking heart.
I turned, chin tucked to watch my steps, and hiked the miles to my car.
My arms and legs were shaking as I slid behind the wheel, exhaustion weighing heavy in every muscle.
I stripped out of my coat, tossing it in the backseat along with my hat.
My hair was soaking wet. So were my jeans.
My toes were almost numb as they squished in my socks and boots.
Was this search pointless? Was I wearing myself thin for nothing?
I’d been doing this with the assumption that Dad wanted to be found. What if I’d been wrong? What if he’d never intended to see me again?
My nose stung with the threat of tears as I turned on the car, cranking the heat. The windshield wipers flew across the glass, scattering and smearing drops.
I hated storms, but at least this was just rain.
It was already five thirty, and there wasn’t time to go home for a hot shower before I’d agreed to be at Mateo’s, so when I pulled out of the parking area, I drove straight for the cabin. The backpack with my ground school books was in the trunk.
Other than a few texts to confirm we were meeting tonight, I hadn’t spoken to Mateo this week. We leapt from Friday to Friday.
The days in between gave me time to think. After all this time, after all the waiting and crushing, it was surprisingly hard to believe he was interested.
Why had I kissed him last week? I should have waited. I should have let him kiss me. But I’d acted on impulse because . . .
I wasn’t sure why. Maybe it wasn’t all that complicated. I’d just wanted to kiss him, so I’d kissed him. Then sprinted out of his house.
Without a doubt, I was doing everything wrong. How did normal women pursue men? What would it even feel like to be normal?
Normal felt as impossible to find as my dad.
The drive to the cabin was on muddy roads. Even with the heater on full blast, my clothes were too soaked to dry.
The last thing I wanted was to study, yet the temptation of Mateo was too much to resist. So I parked my car beside his truck, retrieved my backpack and made my way to the door.
It opened before I could knock.
Mateo looked as gorgeous as ever in a long-sleeved black T-shirt.
He’d pushed the sleeves up his sinewed forearms. His jeans were faded and frayed, the denim soft from years of washes and wear.
And his feet were bare. That was becoming my favorite part about these visits.
Last week, he’d had bare feet too, and it added an intimacy to these visits.
I was coming into his home, where he walked around barefoot.
“Hey.” Mateo’s gaze narrowed as he looked me up and down, taking in my clothes.
“I was hiking.” I shrugged. “It’s wet outside.”
“You don’t say.” He studied my face for a moment too long. “What’s the weather like?”
“Uh, raining?”
“In here.” He reached out and tapped my temple. “What’s the weather like in here? You look upset.”
“Oh.” I’d hoped he wouldn’t notice. What were my options again? Overcast. Broken. Scattered. Clear and a million. Definitely not the latter. “I guess . . . a little overcast.”
He hummed. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing.” Everything. I couldn’t even articulate it right now.
“You can talk to me.”
Not about this. “It was just a long day. I lost track of time.”
“Where did you hike?”
Oh, he wasn’t going to like this. “Sable Peak.”
“Alone? You were supposed to call me.”
“I’m fine. Soaked but in one piece. There’s nothing to worry about.”
His expression hardened, but instead of delivering a lecture like Uncle Vance would have, he jerked his chin for me to come inside.
It smelled like wood polish and glass cleaner.
“Get those boots off.” Mateo closed the door. “Then come with me.”
I bent to untie my soggy laces. “Where’s Allie?”
Her toys were stowed in baskets and tubs instead of strewn across the floor.
“Sprout,” Mateo called. “Vera’s here.”
“Ve-wa!” That squeal was music to my ears. She came racing out of her bedroom wearing a pink superhero cape. Allie didn’t care that I was wet. She launched herself into my arms with a giggle.
“Hey, Jellybean.” I kissed her cheek, then set her down so she wouldn’t get rainwater on her clothes. “What are you doing?”
“Doss.”
“Doss?” I glanced up to Mateo for an interpretation.
“Dolls.”
“Ah. Dolls are fun.”
“Go.” She took my hand, pulling me through the house to her room.
When Mateo joined us, he brought along a pair of folded gray sweats and a white T-shirt. “You can wear these.”
“I’m sure I’ll dry soon.”
“You’re leaving puddles on the floor.”
“No, I’m—” Shit. There was a tiny puddle beside the hem of my pants. “Sorry.”
He chuckled. “Go change, Peach.”
Peach. That was the second time he’d called me by that nickname. I liked it. A lot.
I took the clothes and hurried to Allie’s bathroom, swapping wet for dry before pulling my hair into a messy topknot.
The pants dwarfed my legs, pooling at my ankles.
I rolled the waistband twice after cinching the drawstring tight.
The shirt might as well have been a tent, the sleeves draping past my elbows, but the cotton was warm, like it hadn’t been out of the dryer that long.
Maybe he’d done laundry today along with cleaning.
The scent of fabric softener and Mateo was a balm to my aching heart.
The clouds were clearing.
When I emerged into the living room, Allie had abandoned her dolls and tipped over a toy basket, spilling blocks and balls beside the coffee table.
“Better?” Mateo asked when I joined him in the kitchen.
“Yeah. Thanks.”
He stepped close, raising his hand to my face. His thumb glided across my chin. “Feel like studying?”
“Honestly? No.”
“Then how about we go flying tomorrow instead?”
“I have to work at noon.”
“We’ll meet at nine. Hopefully this weather will pass. And tonight, we’ll just have a normal Friday evening. Good?”
Normal. Yes, I really wanted normal. “Good.”
“Hungry?”
“Starved. I’d even eat a burnt grilled ham and cheese.”
“I bought a take-and-bake pizza. Most likely, it will survive the oven unscathed.”
“I love pizza.” It was the one food I’d always craved those years in the woods. I hadn’t missed cheeseburgers or tacos or spaghetti and meatballs. But pizza. I’d spent four years missing pizza.
“Pepperoni with olives. That’s your favorite, right?”
“How . . .” How did he know that?
“Whenever we have pizza at Mom and Dad’s, you take a slice of the works and pick off every topping but the pepperoni and olives.” Mateo opened the fridge and pulled out a pepperoni pizza. Then he took a can of sliced olives from the cupboard.
The urge to cry or scream was so overwhelming I had to look away. It was too much. Today had been too much. I was angry at my father. I was frustrated with myself. I was stupidly happy that Mateo knew my favorite pizza toppings.