Chapter 6
Chapter Six
GRüSH
A couple of slow dances and walking her home weren’t enough. Saying good night without kissing or touching her took every ounce of willpower I possess.
This is why I planned to breeze in and out of town without seeing her.
If I’d known she’s close with Ogram’s mate, that she’d be impossible to avoid, would I have manufactured a reason I couldn’t be here for the wedding? Or would that unshakable sensation of unfinished business have nagged at my gut enough to come anyway. I’ll never know.
There’s no going back now that I’m here. Everything I’ve made a conscious effort to forget, or at least avoid, is front and center.
I could pack the car and take off tonight. Now. Before I do something more than ask her to dance. Hell, I almost dropped to my knees and groveled in that barn tonight.
“Fuck.” I throw the sheet off, stomp across the small cabin and get dressed. Dark jeans, t-shirt, boots. Same thing I wear every day.
I never wore boots or footwear of any kind when I lived in the woods outside of Harmony Glen. Didn’t need them, just like my brother still doesn’t.
When I got back to town, I looked at Ogram mooning over his mate and silently judged him for going soft.
But he hasn’t. He’s as strong and steady and solid as ever.
Maybe more than ever. Not because he continues to live as trolls naturally do, including going barefoot everywhere, even to his own wedding.
He’s strong because he’s remained true to himself all this time. His roots run deep.
Mine are a memory.
I pull off the boots and let them drop to the floor with a thud that echoes in the silent space.
Tossing my phone and keys onto the table with one hand while grabbing my acoustic with the other, I head out, closing the cabin door carefully behind me out of courtesy for the other guests.
It’s nobody’s fault but mine that I’m in a shitty mood tonight.
And every other night, says the annoying voice in my head.
But it’s wrong. My mood hasn’t been shitty every night. There’ve been plenty of good times.
Then put your boots on, get in the car, and go make more “good times” instead of walking barefoot toward a memory.
Condescending fucking voice.
The first few barefoot steps outside feel like a mistake, like I’ve forgotten something. But the more I walk, the feeling shifts to remembering.
It’s nearly an hour at a steady march before I reach the spot where I used to sit and play my guitar. Before integration allowed me to perform in public, this was my imaginary stage. The air carried my songs, even though nobody was within earshot to hear them.
The town has grown since back then, but it hasn’t expanded this far. The rock I spent hours sitting on looks the same as the last time I was here.
Cate was with me then. Many of the times before, too.
I’d been coming here for years before the first time she happened upon me while out for a hike. Monsters hadn’t joined human society yet. The Great Revelation was years away, not even a rumbling of it in the news. Nobody knew what was to come.
No human had ever slipped past my radar. I was always on alert. Always careful.
I found out later that she’d never seen a troll, yet in that moment, she didn’t startle or scream. And when I called out that she didn’t need to be afraid of me and I wouldn’t hurt her, her reaction was to smile and laugh before calling back, “Of course you wouldn’t.”
Extreme open-mindedness? Blind trust? Maybe on her end.
On mine, her presence sparked a visceral response. Internally. Externally. Every part of me instantly at maximum awareness. Not some kind of survival instinct because a human discovered my existence. Because I became aware of her.
If she’d been a troll, I would’ve got up from that rock and claimed her as my true mate right then and there, because every thought and sensation rushing through me were exactly as my parents had described the knowing when you meet the one meant for you.
But it couldn’t be that. Not with a human.
I told myself that for years. Made myself believe it.
She didn’t sit on this rock with me that first day, but she did hang around and talk from a short distance. And before carrying on with her hike, she asked if I’d be coming back, and if it’d be okay to meet me again.
After that, what had been my place became our place. Every conversation brought us closer, in distance and connection. Wasn’t long before she was beside me, her leg touching mine, her head on my shoulder while I played. I stopped imagining a stage and a crowd. Every note, every lyric, were for her.
Now, sitting on the weather-smoothed surface and looking out across the unchanged landscape, I can almost picture her cresting the hill, walking toward me with a beautiful smile on her face, the way she used to.
I caught glimpses of that smile tonight. And when she relaxed and rested her head against my chest, it was easy to imagine a life where holding her close was the norm instead of a “one last dance for old times’ sake” moment.
My fingers go still on the strings, the notes I’ve been absentmindedly strumming fading into the night air. Even if I sit here all night, eventually the sun will rise on a new day that requires choosing a path from this rock.
A couple of days ago, I wouldn’t have considered any path other than the fastest one back to Los Angeles to prep for another tour. That’s the life I wanted.
Now I’m not sure. But I don’t need a lecture from my annoying inner voice to know that wherever I go from here, literally and otherwise, there’s no coming back from it.