Page 54 of The Fall Before Flight

“Jesus, Mia,” mutters Callum, then tells Declan, “Don’t listen to her. She just had a huge breakthrough with the doc and is a little shell-shocked. Think of it like this: we spent years building these protective cocoons around ourselves with lies and denial, and here, we work to break free of the shell. What’s inside, though, is?—”

Declan and I share a glance, then dissolve into laughter.

Callum glares at us. “You guys suck.”

Declan claps him on the back. “Good on you, bro. You’re a beautiful butterfly now.”

Callum snorts. “Fuck you.”

Behind us, the door to the Fish Tank opens. Kinsey, Tiffany, and Preston walk through, followed by Frank.

Shooting us a frown, Frank yells, “Did I say enjoy a social hour, or pack your damned bags?”

“On it!” shouts Callum.

I glance at Declan. “Welcome to Crazy Town.”

Our excitement at being beyond the fence is short-lived. Hiking three miles across relatively flat ground should—theoretically—be a piece of cake. Callum and I could probably make it to the campsite in less than an hour, even toting backpacks and duffels with supplies. Unfortunately, we’re not alone, and at the rate we’re going, we’ll be setting up tents in the dark.

I actually feel bad for Kinsey and Tiffany. After a mere mile, they already look ragged, their hair limp, faces bright red, and their steps faltering. Even Frank with his extra cushioning and Preston with his stick limbs are having no problem keeping pace. Declan isn’t doing too bad for a detoxing alcoholic, either. And naturally, Leo looks unfairly perfect in running pants, sneakers, and a white tee.

Despite my physical fitness, I’m still feeling the additional pounds I’m hauling. Loose strands of hair stick to my neck and face, and my calves and shoulders burn. Leo, on the other hand, might as well be walking on a treadmill in an air-conditioned gym. He’s barely sweating, carrying just as many supplies as Callum, and looks like any other hot-as-fuck guy taking a leisurely stroll. The cherry on top of my sexual frustration is his stupid hair. Completely windblown, dark strands everywhere and no part in sight, it’s a visceral reminder of what it felt like to drag my fingers through it.

I spend most of the hike wishing my attraction to him were based solely on physical allure. My libido has never been the boss of me. But sadly, when I look at him—too often, too long—all I see is the calm point in a storm. I want to tackle him, crawl inside his skin, and stay safe and warm until everything isn’t so frightening anymore.

I’m so fucked.

21

MOON-LIGHT

DAY 18

We make it to the campsite before dark. Barely. The spot shows clear signs of use—a central fire pit boasting a blackened tripod for hanging pots, a few makeshift benches of sun-bleached wood atop rocks, and a generous area of mostly flat, shrub-free ground for the tents.

The sky is a hazy watercolor of purples and reds, and the distant mountains reflect the last fire of sunset. The sight is a breathtaking reminder of how vast the universe is, how small we are. As I unload my pack and stretch sore muscles, I feel the rare blessing of contentedness. For the moment, at least, there’s nowhere else I need or want to be.

While Kinsey and Tiffany nurse their sore feet, the rest of us put up the tents in the last light of day. Three tents total, spaced about ten feet apart in a semicircle. Frank is bunking with Callum and Preston, Leo will share with Declan, and the three women have the last. When I see the tight fit of sleeping bags in our tent, however, I consider the appeal of sleeping beneath the sky.

That idea fades fast as the sun dips below the horizon and the temperature drops. As the rest of us pull on sweatshirts and pants, Frank starts a fire in the rock-bordered pit. Leo appears with dinner—a campfire pot and freeze-dried packages that he mixes with water. There are good-natured grumbles around camp about the rustic fare; that is, until the stew begins to heat, sending up a mouthwatering scent.

Darkness settles like a heavy blanket, the moon not yet risen. Despite its inherent stillness, the desert sings at night. Gentle gusts of wind carry to our ears the chorus of crickets, the muted flap of wings overheard, the hoots of owls, and the occasional patter of small critter feet. When it blows just right, we can even hear a trickle of water from the nearby hot springs.

Two high-powered halogen lamps illuminate the entirety of the camp as we gather for a meal of stew, fresh sourdough bread, and apples. Whether in reverence for nature or outright fatigue, when we speak, our voices are near-whispers.

I focus on my food, listening to the mellow chatter around me. A few times, I glance up to find Leo’s eyes on me from across the fire. My crazy is in hibernation, though, because I can’t hold his gaze for more than a second before looking away. It’s too hard with him looking so unprofessional and… normal. The emotional distance between us feels blurred on my end, though I doubt he’s experiencing the same confusion.

I’m his patient and he’s my therapist. That’s it. But right here, right now, as he smiles at something Callum is saying and the firelight flickers over relaxed, happy faces, I’m having trouble convincing myself we’re not simply a group of friends on a weekend camping trip. Even focusing on Kinsey and Tiffany doesn’t help—the exercise, fresh air, and full bellies have given both women blissful countenances.

I’m relieved when Frank asks me to help clean up dinner. I throw myself into the task of scrubbing the dishes and utensils with biodegradable soap and packing them away in a duffel behind one of the tents. I hide in the dark as long as possible, until Callum’s voice finds me.

“Mia! Take off the apron. It’s time for s’mores and Truth or Dare!”

Dragging my feet, I head back to the fire. One of the halogen lights has been turned off; the other is far enough away, set between two tents, that the night presses close. The campfire presses back, flickering brightly against the seven faces turned in my direction.

“I’m tired,” I say artlessly.

Frank speaks first. “By all means, you can?—”

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