First There Was You

Chapter 38: Greyson

July 28

Loon Call Island, Lake Rosseau, Muskoka

Walking through the woods at night might give some people the chills, but I love walking through the dark forest. I love listening to the owls hoot, the nocturnal animals come out to forage. I love the shadows shifting in the dark.

It's a fifteen-minute walk down the backside of the cliff, across the field, and through the woods to Elle's cabin from mine. Normally, I'd walk the shoreline, but I'd rather not be noticed by her parents. It's late enough that they should be asleep, but I don't take any chances.

After this summer, I could do the hike blindfolded.

Elle's lights are dimmed, but still on, so I know she's awake. My knuckles and lip are screaming, raw, bloody from the cuts I'd tried to clean.

I'd had a bag of frozen vegetables on my face for a couple of hours listening to the lecture Mom had to dish out on fighting. Even after I explained, although she had cooled down a bit, she still dished out the lecture. I guess I deserved it. All I got from Dad was a small nod before he turned away, retreating to his study for the night. Think he has a different opinion to Mom but knew better than to say it.

I was surprised by even the small acknowledgment he gave me, though. Somehow that nod felt like an approval of sorts. It's the closest thing I've gotten to interest from him all summer.

Sliding the screen door closed behind me, I leave the glass door mostly open, letting the breeze roll through, even though she already has the ceiling fans going. I lock the small screen latch and head to her bedroom. When I find it empty, I frown.

Her king-size bed is turned partially down. For the hundredth time, I idly wonder why she has such a large bed, considering she uses like one-fifth of it when she sleeps. Even when I'm curled up with her, she's pressed as close as she can get.

The fluffy duvet is peeled back at the corner in a crisp triangle, and I know already that her neatly folded sheets will last all of five minutes.

Elle likes to pull the blankets around her from every direction, curling into a little ball while she sleeps, yet she's a compulsive bed maker, unlike me. I just don't see the point, but then again, Elle's bed always looks so welcoming, so clean and comfortable with her mountain of pillows and knit blankets she's forever tangled up in.

Turning back, I wander out onto her porch, still no Elle. Grabbing a cold can out of the fridge, I sit on the sofa, tipping my head back and pressing it to my cheek.

A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens, and she walks out, gasping in surprise, one hand flying up to her heart. She's wearing a small one-piece silk coverup or something. Her hair is damp, brushed back from her face. She looks so much younger, so much sweeter, so innocent.

"I didn't hear you come in." She drops a kiss onto my forehead, pulling the can away to check my cheek herself, frowning. "Ouch."

She walks away from me, back to the bathroom, pulling out a first aid kit from under the sink. She cracks another temporary ice pack to chill it down, handing it to me with a small face cloth. I press it to my lip and jaw. "I might have to stock up on these if you're going to make this a habit."

"Sit with me." I am desperate for her touch, the comfort it brings, and the soothing presence of her body close to mine.

"Let me just look at your hand first, then I will." Her soft voice is soothing, a balm to my raw nerves.

I let her take my right hand in hers, and she turns it over, examining my knuckles. She wipes my one cracked knuckle quickly with an alcohol swab, and I bite back a curse. Once she's done this torturous process, she cleans her own hands again, then takes the antiseptic, applying it gently to my broken skin.