Page 103 of Riot Reunion
Wren was madder at Pax than anyone else when he first left. If anyone would have told mehewould be the one to react so violently when Pax fled to Japan, I never would have believed it. Elodie’s boyfriend has been very quiet with regard to Pax since we all arrived in London, though. I haven’t thought anything of it. Until now. “How did you get it? Did he send it to you?” My voice wobbles. I’m trying to keep it together, but it’s verging on impossible.
“He gave it to me to give to you, yeah,” he says.
Oh my god. I’m crying in front of Wren Jacobi. “You saw him? When?”
He sighs. “Earlier. When Carrie sent us out to grab stuff for dinner.”
“So you weren’t at the pub?” My voice gets higher and higher every time I speak. Pretty soon, only dogs will be able to hear me.
“Oh, we were at the pub,believeme. I don’t think any of us could have gotten through that without alcohol.”
“So, then he was here. In London. Less than a mile away. And he stayed away.”
It hurts. Holy hell, it hurts. There will come a day when Pax and I have to be in the same room. Dash and Carrie will get married, or Wren and Elodie will. It’s only a matter of time. When that day arrives, Paxwillhave to face me. Until then, apparently, he intends to avoid me like the plague.
I refuse to ask Wren if he asked about me.
I refuse to ask how he looked.
I absolutely willnotask if he’s still in this city or where he’s staying.
“It’s good that he came to see you on Christmas day.” If I force enough enthusiasm into my voice, I might actually start feeling it. “I’m glad the three of you are friends again. It’s for the best. This will all be water under the bridge soon enough. I’ll meet someone new eventually. And Pax—”Fuck, just get the words out, Presley. Just say them out loud. It’s gonna be fine.“Pax will start seeing someone else, and—”
“Hah!” Wren shakes his head. He tries to keep another bark of laughter from exploding out of his mouth, but it sneaks by him all the same. “HAH! Sorry. Sorry, sorry. I don’t mean to laugh.”
“Was there something else, Wren? As I said, I’m glad he came to see you guys. He doesn’t have anyone else. You and Dash are his family, and it’s Christmas. But I don’t want that book, and—”
“You guys are both so stupid,” Wren says, thrusting the book out to me. “Pax isn’t gonna ‘start seeing someone else.’”He says this with so much attitude that he clearly thinks it’s the most idiotic thing he’s ever heard. “Neither are you.”
“Wren—”
“Just flick through the book properly, okay? I’ve been told that there’s some additional content in there. I think you might find it illuminating. Now, I’m gonna go explain all of this to my girlfriend before she kills me for keeping secrets from her. Night, Presley.”
I sit and stare at the book for a long time. So long that my eyes dry out and feel gritty when I remember to blink. Midnight rolls around. And then one. At one-fifteen, I snap the book open and begin to scan the pages, looking for something out of the ordinary. What did he change? Did he kill off my character or something? I wouldn’t put it past—
A folded piece of paper flutters out from between the pages, dropping into my lap.
Immediately, I see that Pax’s messy handwriting is scrawled all over it.
Panicked, I snatch up the letter, shove it back inside the book, and then slam the book closed.
Dum. Dum. Dum.
My pulse is everywhere, thumping in my hands, and my feet, and my temples, and my ears. So much pressure builds up inside my head that I feel like I’m about to pass out. I count to thirty, breathing in deep through my nose and out through my mouth, waiting for the anxiety to pass, but it doesn’t, so I open the book again and retrieve the note. Quaking a little, I unfold the paper and begin to read.
What I forgotto say in my graduation speech, Firebrand, is that the path of least resistance is sometimes an uphill battle. There are summits to climb on the path between here andthe place you call home. Climbing mountains is never easy. There are many points where the top feels so far away, the distance too great to overcome, and people want to give up. They forget how far they’ve already come, and they set their packs down and tell themselves that they can’t take another step. But that’s how mountains are conquered. Not in one impossible leap, but by taking one more step. And then another. And another.
The mountain that we stood beneath recently felt taller than Everest. We’d already passed Basecamp and gotten over the altitude sickness, but when we started the climb on that daunting rock face…both of us set down our packs. You figured out how to pick yours up again. You figured out how to take another step. I thought the only way to keep you from falling was to climb back down.
I was wrong.
I’ve been taking photos of volcanos for the past month with Callan. Last week, we climbed Mount Fuji from the base. We were documenting a group of eighty-year-old monks who climb to the caldera of the volcano every day, weather permitting, as a form of pilgrimage. The climb is a sacred duty to them. They wear nothing but thin robes and sandals, even in the middle of winter. The hike up the mountain wasn’t that tough, but I admit, I was struggling a little. Out of breath and sweating. The old men kept passing me by. They slapped me on the shoulder and waved and laughed as they left me in the dust. At the top, I asked them how they made it look so easy, and one of the oldest guys said to me, ‘It’s hard for you because you carry too much. It’s hard for you because you are desperate to get to the top. The mountain is an eternal journey. It never ends. We summit it today, but the job isn’t done. We climb again tomorrow. We seek joy in every step.”
Our mountain is eternal, Chase. I don’t think it will ever go away. There’s been so much hurt and pain for both of us as individuals. My entire childhood. What you went through at the hands of your brother. Then there’s our joint baggage. Fitzpatrick, and the baby, and your surgery. Stacked high on top of one another, those issues feel insurmountable from a distance. But they’re not. I’ve never regretted anything more than setting my pack down at your feet, Chase. More than anything, I want to pick it back up again. I want to carry yours for you, too, so you can navigate the climb unburdened. I can’t promise that I can do that for you, but I really want to try.
I’m staying down the street. My flight back to Tokyo is at eight-thirty. I’m going to wait on the bench opposite the blue café—the one overlooking the park. If you want to talk, come and meet me there before the sun comes up. Likewise, if you just want to come and kick me in the balls, then I’m fine with that, too.
I love you.
