Trailblazing
Easton
Icatch her as she goes down. She crumples into my arms. “Whoa, whoa.” I’m holding her by her waist; her head dangles between her legs.
Her words burst out between hiccups. “I’m . . . stopping . . . myself from . . . hyperventilating.”
“Haley,” I say softly, rubbing her back with my bad arm while my good one is anchored around her waist. She’s still gasping for breath, her hair dangling over the box of chickens. “You’re good. It’s okay. Let it out if that’s what you need to do.”
The rhythmic rasping slows enough for me to pull her upright into my chest. Her tears run down my back. And fuck it—stupid bad arm be damned. I sweep her feet off the ground and hug her the rest of the way to my chest. Pain ratchets through my bicep and down my spine. I grit my molars and move to the ladder for the sleeping platform. Fuck me, after last night she should sleep for a week. Not be worrying about our stupid asses.
“What the hell?” Calvin storms through camp and Haley is ripped from my arms. “What are you doing?” Punching himwhile he’s holding Haley isn’t a good idea. But it doesn’t stop me from thinking about it. His blue eyes are unreadable, and I shake it off in favor of smoothing Haley’s hair away from her face.
“He didn’t do”—she hiccups—“any”—hiccup—“thing.”
“Other than almost drop you. His arm’s still fucking useless.” Calvin glares at me over Haley’s head. “Why are you crying?” It’s less of a question and more of a demand.
“I . . . Put me down, Calvin, I’m fine.”
He lets her feet slowly sink to the ground. Which frankly shocks me.
“What’s going on?” Sam growls.
Dante, Sam, and Zane bound around the corner, with Penny behind them. When I turn around, who said it doesn’t matter—they all have the same look on their faces. They’re pissed. At me or Calvin—it doesn’t matter.
Zane’s the first to move. “What is it, Little Bird?”
“Nothing. It’s all good.” She blinks. “Shit, I hate crying. Really, it’s nothing. I’m good.” With the back of her hand, she wipes away an errant tear.
We’re not idiots—well, at least I’m not. There’s more going on. But I don’t blame her for not wanting to go into it with all of us staring at her. Shit, I spent two years in therapy as a kid, just staring at the therapist. Some nice older lady in Maine with cool puzzles in her office. The only other thing I remember about the whole experience was wondering if she’d like my mother’s old shoes. Because hers were so dirty and my mother, well, she was dead. So yeah, cheery.
“You want to go to sleep, Firefly?” I take her hand.
She nods.
I spent most of the night staring at the rafters of our roof––worrying about Haley. We’re a silent bunch eating on our coconut. We need to push through this. I cock my head at Zane, but damn, I can comfort her, too, without looking for support from the shiny-smiley guy. “We should have a party,” I say softly into the wind.
“Party, Rockwell?” Calvin asks, like I’ve grown a third head.
“Yeah, a fucking party. I overheard Haley talking about Thanksgiving and Halloween while we were unloading the tender.” I clear my throat, and the words come with more authority now.
Dante’s stacking fruit in a tub. “A party, though?”
And I figured he’d be the one I could count on to back me up on a party.
“Thanksgiving and Halloween are over.” The red ring around her blue eyes makes them pop even more.
“Christmas is weeks away,” Sam says.
“We don’t need a holiday for a party, but we could make one. Thanks-o-weenie.” It just pops out of me.
I scan the group. They’re all stunned, I suppose. No one says a word.
Until Haley laughs. “Thanks-o-weenie? That sounds like something Dante would come up with.”
“It does, doesn’t it, Sassy? Guess I’m improving all of you. It sounds like a fucking great idea for a holiday.”
“And what exactly does one do on Thanks-o-wee?—”
