Page 92 of The Temptation of Truth
AURORA
Be light.
Be light and push through the cracks.
I watch the clouds through the window of the jet and repeat the words over and over in my head like a mantra. I can do that. I can be light. I can get myself out of this mess. I just need to have courage, even if I have to fake it.
I can do it. I can be light.
I run my palm over the smooth cover of my new notebook. Hand-bound, brown vegan leather, and deckled edges. I bought it from a small stationery boutique in Adelaide, and the purchase felt like a promise. A promise that maybe the dreams I’d once had could be revived. Like there was still hope in who I used to be. Who I could maybe become, if I just tried. But then later that afternoon, I stared at the blank page for an hour before sliding it back into my bag without writing a thing. My new pen never graced the page.
The words are there. I can hear them at the edge of my consciousness, but I can’t grasp them. Not yet. It’s frustrating, but it’s also exciting. It’s been a long time since poetry was even a whisper in my mind, and right now, it’s humming. Buzzing.Out of reach, but louder and more present than it’s been in four years. It’s not much, but it’s something.
I lean back against the headrest and close my eyes. My breathing is calm and steady. I focus on that. On how much better I’ve gotten at flying. Every flight has been a little easier. I’m adjusting, and it’s proof that I can grow. I’m proud of myself for that. I pull confidence from it, as much as possible, and I hold on as tightly as I can.
Again, it’s not much, but it’s better than nothing, and I’m going to need all the help I can get.
“Fuckin’ ace, innit?”
Crue’s arm lands heavily around my shoulders as we stand on the stone-paved path, staring up at the three-story beachfront villa Sav rented for our stay in Sydney. It’s gorgeous and huge, and just like with the lodge in Adelaide, it almost doesn’t feel real.
“Yeah,” I breathe out. “Ace.”
“Think we can get surfboards?”
I look toward the voice beside me and find the lead guitarist for Caveat Lover peering at us through aviator sunglasses.
“You can surf?”
He grins. “I could surf before I could walk.”
I narrow my eyes in question and tilt my head to the side. “I don’t think that’s physically possible.”
“It is if you’re surfing Santa Monica beaches.”
Beckett Walker, Caveat Lover’s bassist, steps in front of us, smirking at Rocky.
“Fuck you.” Rocky sings the words, then lifts his hand and brandishes his middle finger inches from Beckett’s face. “You don’t get an opinion, Walker. You spend all your beach time worrying about tan lines.”
Beckett puckers his lips and kisses Rocky’s finger. “You like my tan lines.”
I have half a second to analyze their interaction before Ezra pushes his way between them and wraps his arms around their necks.
“You guys can’t surf here. Don’t you know about the sharks? Shark attacks are disproportionately high in Australia compared to other countries. You want to lose a leg?”
“I could still play without a leg,” Rocky says, and Ezra groans.
“You want to lose an arm?”
“You’re more likely to be killed by a kangaroo than a shark, dummy,” Brynn says from behind us, and we all turn to face her. She’s scowling at Ezra before turning a kinder expression on Rocky. “Don’t listen to him. Odds of a shark attack are low, and Dad already said I could go if you went with me.”
Rocky laughs, shrugs out of Ezra’s hold, and walks to Brynn. He reaches out and ruffles her hair. She pretends to gag, but she doesn’t push him away.
“C’mon, kid. Let’s go find some boards.”
“Yes!”
As they leave, she turns and sticks her tongue out at Ezra, and I watch him do the same in return.
