Page 47 of Powerless
I find myself up and walking out the sliding door, needing fresh air, wanting to touch this view somehow. Commit it to memory. Like running my fingers over the mounds of oil paint. It almost doesn’t seem real. I need to prove to myself that it is.
My socked feet grow cold as I walk over grass that is just a little too firm. It has a slight crunch when my weight presses into it, evening frost already descending over the picturesque mountain valley.
When I get to the water’s edge, I feel the finest grains of sand slipping through the fabric, lending a gritty texture to the bottoms of my feet. But I don’t care. I’m still entirely focused on Sloane.
MyfriendSloane, who is still treading in place gracefully like this is just another dance for her. I wonder what she’s thinking about. I wonder if she feels as shredded as I do—as tattered and torn.
Almost in slow motion, she glances over her shoulder, the tip of her nose wiggling just once as she turns to face me. “Hi.”
It’s one simple word, and somehow it still tugs at my chest. I’m so at peace in her presence. I always have been.
“Hi.” I shove my hands in my pockets, pressing my thumbs against each fingertip in turn to calm my nerves. Trying not to think about my friend’s bare ass and all the things I’d do to it.
And then I give in. But only for four seconds. I give myself four seconds of chaos before I rein it in and pack it down—before I force myself back into control.
Sloane’s head quirks. “What are you doing?”
“Counting to four.”
“Is that a dumb jock joke?”
I huff out a laugh. “Really nice, Sunny.”
She gives me a perfectly innocent look, all doe-eyed. “Ya’ll aren’t famous for your brains.” She’s teasing me but I don’t bite.
“It’s a thing I do to help with feeling out of control. So when an opposing player scores a goal or something I give myself four seconds of frustration before I get my head back in the game.”
Our eyes shift and then lock in the wake of my explanation.
“Are you feeling out of control right now?”
“No.” My reply comes a little too quickly.
She nods, teeth pressing into her bottom lip. Her eyes spark with a challenge. And then she says, “Come in.”
“No, thank you. I bet it’s freezing.”
“Didn’t know they grew ’em so soft out at Wishing Well Ranch,” she taunts, sliding her arms away and pushing herself further back.
“Don’t go too far,” leaps from my mouth before I can stop it.
“What are you gonna do?” Her legs kick under the water, pushing her further away. “You’re too scared to come in here.”
I press my thumbs into the pads of my fingers and count to four again.
“What would Beau do?”
I stop and stare at her blankly. Only she would have the balls to throw that in my face right now. Everyone else has been walking on eggshells, but her constant stream of consciousness won’t allow it.
It’s refreshing.
I reach my right hand over my shoulders and pull my T-shirt off from the back of my neck. It falls to the sand, and I catch Sloane’s eyes tracing my torso before she forces herself to look away quickly at the peaks surrounding us.
The silence is almost deafening. All I can hear is the soft swish of water lapping at the sandy shore and the quiet hum of highway traffic in the distance. I make quick work of my jeans and socks before pulling one arm across my chest into a stretch, hoping she doesn’t watch me too closely.
“What would Beau do?” Her head flips in my direction at the sound of my voice, and I grin at her, feeling instantly lighter somehow. “He’d run in there and dunk your snarky little ass.”
And that’s exactly what I do. I charge into the glacier lake and dive in, going straight for her, ignoring the way the icy water sucks the air from my lungs.
