Chapter 13
Esme
I’m no outdoorsman. Woman. Whatever. Wizard doused the fire thoroughly before we went to bed.
He used three big buckets of water and stirred the ashes around to make sure it was out.
There’s still a soggy mess in the firepit.
I ignore it and grab enough dry, split kindling so I can try and replicate what he did earlier.
I stack the split sticks in a circle with their points meeting in the middle. They hold each other up after I get a few standing. I grab a handful of bark and stuff it all under, then reach for the blowtorch.
It might not be the traditional way to start a fire, but Wizard made it look like fun.
I’ve never used one before, but all he did was twist the knob and press the little button.
Lining the torch end up with the bark, I give it a go.
I have to click the button a few times, but then blue flame shoots out in a steady stream.
The bark ignites immediately. I get the torch out of the way, shut it off, and add more bark so that the little wood curls on the sticks start to catch.
I really shouldn’t feel this great a surge of triumph, but fuck it.
The kindling catches and burns steadily, so after a few moments, I add a few larger pieces. Not sticks, but not full chunks either. I’ll give that a chance to get going before I break out the big boys.
The wicker patio furniture with the plush cushions seems even more inviting than it did earlier. It’s been more than thirty minutes since I left Wizard in the bathroom. I don’t know if I should go check on him or not. How much of his privacy can I intrude on? How much of his life?
It might be summer, but up in the mountains, the air has a chill. The breeze isn’t ice, but it’s cold enough to make me shiver in my thin shirt. I duck back into the cabin. It’s quiet. The door to Wizard’s room is shut tight, with no light seeping from underneath.
I didn’t even bring a coat with me. There are a few hanging on the pegs beside the door. Wizard opened up the cabin when we got here, airing it out, making sure all the beds were clean. He hung up his jackets near the door while I walked around, trying to find something to do that was useful.
I think I’ve done enough damage, all told, that borrowing one for a little bit won’t matter.
I pick the plaid flannel work looking jacket, well-worn and riddled with stains, and carry it outside with me.
It looks as though it could use a good wash, so smoking it up at the fire will probably be okay.
As soon as I shrug it on, I’m immediately inundated with Wizard’s scent. My eyes get hot again. I stubbornly blink fast, and then faster. My heart twists and wrenches, but it’s not nearly as bad as seeing a man who has always been so strong and solid, shatter into little pieces in the bathroom.
The cabin door squeaks open and shuts quietly. I quickly wipe away the tears with the side of my hand and use the jacket to mop up my face.
I surge up and grab a few thick pieces of wood. I set them on the fire. It’s a good excuse to give Wizard my back. I’m scared to turn around and face his lovely green eyes. I know they’re going to be full of ghosts, a haunted mirror to my own soul.
He’s standing by the loveseat when I get brave enough to turn.
I hope that I’ve closed myself off enough.
He hasn’t even tried to do that. His cheeks are salt stained, and his eyes are red rimmed.
I don’t know how or why they light up when they see me.
As if I’ve ever made one single thing better for him.
He’s still so painfully, ridiculous hopeful. It absolutely kills me.
He’s brought out two square metal clamps, a loaf of bread, a small plastic container, and a jar that he balances in his other hand.
“Mountain pies?” he asks, voice catching, torn around the edges.
“I’ve never had one.”
“Mm.”
He’s got to be starving. I don’t even want to think about how violently he was sick earlier. Him wanting to eat at all is a good sign.
I paste on a smile that doesn’t feel even halfway convincing. “Show me how to make them?”
He does. He’s quick to get out a slice of bread, spread cream cheese on it, and add a thick layer of jam. He rests the utensils on the lids so they don’t get the loveseat sticky. He completes the sandwich then fits flips open the metal square and fits it inside. Another flip and it’s clamped.
“Hold it over the fire. Rotate it every so often. Count to ten, rotate, count again.”
“How do I know when it’s done?”
“Look for the coals, not the flame. You’ll start to smell it. Even if it’s a little raw, it’s still delicious.”
Maybe it’s the protective layer around the bread, but I don’t end up burning the sandwich.
Wizard gets the clamp open for me and pops the perfectly browned bread out with the jam knife.
It’s scalding hot, so I grab it around the edges.
I sink my teeth into the crust because I can’t bring myself to wait.
The jam and cheese scent is mouthwatering and I’m suddenly starving.
Wizard makes his own. I’m good with one, but he eats three. When he’s finished, I take everything back into the cabin except the clamps.
I come back to find him adding a few more pieces of wood to the fire. He waits for them to catch.
I plop down on the loveseat automatically, thinking too late, when he starts to walk over, that I should have taken one of the chairs.
My heart is like a hummingbird as he sits down right beside me.
Even with my leg pressed into the wicker arm, I’m still basically pressed right up against Wizard’s hot, hard body.
Our legs touch from our hips down to our knees.
My breath catches as he leans in, brushing my shoulder with his.
He lifts his arm and settles it behind me, a silent invitation for me to draw close.
I’m frozen. I can’t move. My world is tilting, spinning out of control. “I hope it’s okay I got your jacket,” I blurt. And wince.
“Yeah. Of course.”
The silence feels dangerous. I don’t want to say the wrong thing, but all my words are wrong.
I think about what I saw in the bathroom again, Wizard coming completely undone, in pain, falling apart.
My hand finds his shoulder before I even know what I’m doing.
My fingers skim the hot skin at the back of his neck and all the breath bunches up in my lungs.
I find his other shoulder and apply pressure, drawing him into me.
I mean for him to rest his head against mine, or on my shoulder maybe, but he curls up and falls, letting gravity tumble him straight down into my lap.
His cheek hits my knee and glides along until it finds my other one and he’s fully draped over me.
Against me. I’m wearing him like I’m wearing his jacket.
I still haven’t taken a breath. I exhale loudly.
I’m too rigid. I know that Wizard feels it.
My nerves and thundering heart are forgotten when he shivers.
He’s in a black hoodie and jeans, and since I can feel the heat he’s throwing, I know that it’s not a cold shiver.
I tuck one of his curls behind his ear then smooth my hand up and down his arm.
His knees nearly meet his chin, he’s curled so tight, but he draws them in another inch and sighs.
I want to say it, but it wouldn’t be right. I’ve loved you as my best friend and like a brother. You’ve been in my heart for so long. I’m sorry that it’s all wrong. I’m so sorry that I hurt you. I’m sorry that all these years are gone.
I drag my hand over Wizard’s shoulder. “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he responds, but he sounds fragile.
“Look at me?”
He tilts his face up. His eyes are wide, a little wounded, a whole lot uncertain. The cold glimmer from the bathroom remains, a shard of ice locked in the warmest greens I know. The dream hasn’t left him. I wish I could fix this. I’m good at precious few things, and all of them the wrong ones.
“I read this quote a few days ago,” I start, voice reed thin.
I brush my hand over Wizard’s soft curls again and try not to let that touch stir something all the way down inside of me.
It’s comfort. Only. I have no right to offer more.
Me, who has ruined everything I have ever touched. “Do you know Keats?”
Wizard snorts. “No, I don’t know Keats.”
I knock his shoulder lightly with a closed fist. “You read and stuff. You might know some poetry.” Can Wizard feel how badly I’m trembling?
His head is in my lap. Why on earth did I think that was a good idea?
I might be bracketed by my leggings and his jacket, the plaid swimming down to my knees, but it’s not nearly enough.
“Whatever. I don’t know that much either. ”
He lets out a surprised huff of laughter. “You’re so weird sometimes.” His hot breath fans out over my knee where the jacket pulls away. “But I like that, you know.”
I blink hard against the army of tears. They’re a very unwelcome and unwanted invasion. “Do you want to hear the quote?”
“Yes! I do.”
“I don’t remember it exactly, but it was something about rather being a butterfly with the people who…” This is a terrible idea. I know the quote is about love. Why did I feel the need to do this? “Matter,” I continue lamely. “Than going a lifetime without them.”
Silence.
The fire flicks and cracks and then pops as tongues of flame discover hidden sap or moisture deep down in one of the logs.
“Fuck,” Wizard mutters. “That’s not helpful. That’s super sad.”
Yeah. Leave it up to me to say the wrong thing when it counts the most. My track record is so far unmarred.
This place was Wizard’s paradise. A sanctuary.
It’s one of those lovely, untouched refuges that cut off the rest of the world like it doesn’t exist. Look what I brought to it.
If he wanted to keep this place protected, he never should have let me intrude.
Except he did.
I’m the danger. I’m the enemy behind friendly walls.
It was always going to be me who could break us.
I didn’t know it then, but I do now, and I still can’t change the trajectory.
What story am I supposed to be writing? I don’t have the first idea, and that’s the real problem.
I know one thing. I don’t want to hurt this man.
I’m failing spectacularly at not doing it.
The past few years swirl around us, painting the air like the fire’s smoke, acrid and thick. They crawl up my throat, cloying. Bitter.
“Sorry,” I whisper.
“No.” Wizard’s shoulders heave with a sigh. “It’s sad, but it’s kind of perfect too. Life isn’t a fairytale for most people. Some are lucky to have a brief time with the ones they love. Some are extremely lucky to get any time at all.”
I’m so lucky to have him.
I’m so lucky to have had his grandpa.
He twists to look up at me. My jackrabbiting heart freeze-frames around this moment. Eyes gone from moss to hunter green, mirrors for the flames and the stars and the black velvet forest framed night. His face is so open and unguarded.
We can’t just forget and erase and start over, but there’s horrible hope in Wizard’s eyes.
I want to apologize to him over and over.
I know he’s not mad at me, but I’m in a rage at myself.
I’m ashamed. I was unreachable. Maybe I still am.
I might always be. He’s holding out this hope for me. For us. And I… can’t.
I’ll ruin it. Him. Me. Us. If anything’s true, I know that is.
Wizard makes a sound, a little wet, at the back of his throat.
I thread my fingers through his hair as soon as he turns back to the fire.
“Want to look at the stars? Like we used to do? I could get a blanket, and we could just stare at them. I could name them for you again. We—like on the roof, but proper this time.”
I know that the only thing waiting for us both in that cabin is separate beds and an ocean of thoughts, most of them things that we can’t change and can’t dream. Wizard wants this bubble, this world, our world, for just a little while longer.
I’d give him everything if I could, but I can’t.
My hands shake. I carefully lift them away from Wizard and put weight into my feet, like I want to get up. He lifts himself away, sitting up. We’re still connected. Shoulders. Hips. Thighs. Knees.
I retreat first. “I’ll get a blanket.”
Before I turn back for the cabin, our eyes lock.
I shouldn’t look, but I do. I can’t help it.
There it is, his heart laid bare. Offered up to me.
His hopes for me and for us, but also his hope that this time, I might see it.
That I might cup it tenderly in my palms and use grace and care.
I could light him up like a beacon. I could make him glow with happiness. I could crush him just as easily.
Tears sting the corners of my eyes. I whip around. “I’ll be right back, okay?” I rush off to the cabin without waiting for a response. Running away. Again.