Page 96 of Jaded

And it feels so right.

Chapter 23

Nat

Ican’trememberthelast time I went hiking, or even out into the woods, into nature. Let myself just walk, breathe, be.

Don't know if I've ever bothered to smell pines, listen to birds, touch a tree . . .

I’ve been so caught up in life—chasing dreams when I was young, chasing fun and friends and girls, making a future for Syd.

I trail behind Olli and Avery, Syd at my side. They’re quiet, the only sound the crunch of our shoes against the snow-packed trail. Every once in a while, Olli pauses to point something out—“You see that little nest there, up in that tree?” or “Look, deer tracks!” or “Shh, you hear that?”

And we’ll all pause to take in the sound of a bird’s twitter or the crack of shifting underbrush or once another set of footsteps, so faint and faded, I’m not sure whether to believe Olli when he informs us it’s a fox.

It feels like magic.

Or maybe it’s him that feels magical, the way he moves through the world, the way he touches nothing and everything at once. The way I can imagine I smell strawberries and coffee alongside the crisp blend of pines and snow, the faded musk of deer. Or maybe it’s how he’s got Avery strung along like an eager puppy on a leash, shadowing his heels like the most loyal of best friends.

When Olli says listen, Avery fucking listens. When he says close your eyes, Avery’s lashes flutter shut. And when Olli says, stop, breathe, be, we all four fade into the moment, into the blissful peace of an existence here, now—not tomorrow, not one day.

I can’t look away.

I’ve never experienced anything like Olli James—so fascinating, so all-encompassing, like he’s so big and beautiful I can’t see past him. Can’t see anything but him.

It’s fucking terrifying, for so many reasons—none of which has anything to do with his gender. No, he’s terrifying because I’ve never felt like this. For anyone. Ever.

Not even Syd’s mom. Whom I dated, loved. For months. And I’ve no idea what that means. I feelvulnerablein a way I’ve never felt before, like some critical piece of me has been rendered armorless, laid bare.

Fucking terrifying.

The sudden buzz of my phone makes me jump. It’s so quiet here, even the faint tremor against my thigh bone feels jackhammer-loud. I wince as I dig the device out. “Sorry. It’s probably JB about work—shit.”

I freeze, staring at the name scrawled across the screen. He hasn’t called inmonths.

Syd stiffens beside me. “Dad?”

Besideher, Olli homes in on me like a beacon, his dark eyes unreadable as I lift the phone to my ear. “Jesse.”

“Oh,” Syd mouths, and she tugs Olli back. I turn away.

“Hey, little brother.” Jesse’s voice whites out everything else. I stop seeing the trees and the snow, stop smelling the fresh forest. Instead, his face fills my vision.

The irony is, we’ve always looked so much alike, despite our six-year age gap. Save, of course, for his perpetual grin of unwavering confidence.

But for some reason, I’m not seeing that grinning, confident Jesse.

Maybe it’s his use of the old pet name—little brother—but I see Jess the way he used to be, the wayweused to be. Soft eyes, softer smile. Soft, caring words. “Hey, Jesse.”

I see two little boys, sitting out on the back deck, his guitar on my lap—

And then he speaks. “I heard about some kind of scandal with the Dingoes.”

Ah, there it is. His reason for calling; he only pops back on my radar when he wants something.

“Some kind of hockey fight club . . . theIce Out?” Shit, he’s out of touch. He’s been away from Day River so long he doesn’t even know what the Ice Out is.

“Fuck.” I lean my forehead against a tree as reality crashes back in. This time, the face that swims before my eyes bears a cocky, careless grin. “It’s not really a scandal—”

---