I told him not to call back last Sunday evening. That it was too late. That I had an early class.
All of that was true, but I also told him to call me “tomorrow.”
He didn’t.
A day went by. Then another.
Another.
Another.
Another.
I know he would have called if Angie told him what had happened at the bar, so I know she kept her word on that front.
And here I am. It’s Saturday. No class today.
I could call Eli, see if he wants to do something. But he’ll just want to practice more knots, more instrument handling. I’ve done enough of that for a lifetime at this point.
I have an appointment with a therapist next week. Angie told me to ask Dr. Carlos Engel, who’s on the medical school faculty, for a referral. He said he’d be happy to see me himself, free of charge, since Angie referred me.
Being friends with a Steel does have its perks.
The world looks different when you stop holding your breath.
Boulder is hot again, the kind of dry heat that makes the sky look bigger. I’m ready to leave Angie and Jason’s to walk to Starbucks and read through my notes when my phone buzzes.
I jolt.
It’s from Henry.
The message is simple.
Outside.
My pulse trips.
No, he can’t be. Not here. How does he even know I’m at Angie and Jason’s?
I race out into the sunlight.
And there he is.
Leaning against his truck parked in front of the townhome, sleeves rolled to his forearms, sunglasses hooked on his shirt. Zach sits obediently at his side, tail thumping against the pavement.
For a moment, I just stand there. There’s something surreal about seeing him here, this man who belongs to the wide quiet of the Western Slope, standing in front of a Boulder townhome like he’s part of the ordinary world.
“Hey,” I manage.
“Hey yourself.” His mouth curves.
“Why didn’t you call me Monday?” I start. “I was?—”
He silences me by yanking me to him and crushing his lips to mine.
The kiss is the kind that erases time.
It’s desperate. It’s a week of silence, of wanting, colliding in a single breath.
