Series: Cobalt Empire Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 234
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 226965 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1135(@200wpm)___ 908(@250wpm)___ 757(@300wpm)
I suppose he did from all the years my dad talked about me. It could’ve felt unsettling, but it was the exact opposite. It felt like I was walking on a cloud. Like nothing sharp or poking or painful was around me. Like maybe I could speak without panicking.
Maybe this will work.
He asked if I planned to finish the fall semester. He didn’t say I shouldn’t. Didn’t suggest I drop out of college or return. These are paths I need to decide on my own. Of course I’m afraid of choosing the wrong thing, of making a mistake and hurting others around me, but I can’t push everyone away as a solution anymore. Or avoid the things that I think will cause harm.
Like driving. The thought of being behind a wheel with my foot on the gas freaks me the fuck out, but I know I’ll need to try at some point. Avoidance isn’t a long-term fix, and it’s obviously made my life worse.
I’m working on it.
I went back for finals week. So I could pass the semester and stay on course to graduate at the same time as Harriet. I know I at least want that.
Seeing Xander again in class, the guilt was an avalanche burying me. He’d done exactly what I did when we were thirteen. He told no one about how I was hurting and realized too late that maybe he should’ve, and I put him in that position.
I’d prepared for another Ice Age between us. I’d kicked up the snow. Winter was coming, to quote his love of Game of Thrones. We took our usual seats in the back row. Harriet between us, and we had our sheets of paper ready as Professor Wellington manned the podium for the final oral exam.
Before our professor said a word, Xander quietly stood up with his pen and paper, and he changed seats. He sat in the empty one right beside me.
It took sheer strength of will to not break down crying. I had to cover my face with my hand as I sat between Xander and Harriet. He rested a palm on my shoulder.
I’m not sure I expected kindness and understanding when I’m still barely making sense of myself. So to receive that from Xander when he had every right to ice me out—yeah, I’m surprised I was able to concentrate on the exam enough to pass.
I can’t predict the future. Just see the one I really want, and I think we’re going to be friends again.
It’s what I contemplate on an eight-mile hike. Same trail I trekked in the Catskills with my Uncle Ryke, which was the same night I boarded a greyhound bus. It didn’t take me to Alaska or all the way across the country. The bus got me to the Midwest, then to a private runway and to a pilot who I met through a series of acquaintances that no one would be able to follow.
I doubt they would’ve ever found me without Charlie. The past seven days, he’s crossed my mind a lot more. Though, he’s not on this hike.
It’s just me and our dad.
Backpacking on nature trails isn’t really my father’s forte, but he’s far from unathletic or clumsy. Honestly, I doubt he’s ever tripped in his life.
I’d call him a “social hiker” because when it becomes a group activity, he’ll join, no problem. He’s in incredible shape. I used to wake early just to workout with him when I was a teenager. He’d jog on a treadmill and have Bloomberg playing on TV, but when I was in the home gym, he’d let me put on Planet Earth.
As we journey across the soft earth in pursuit of the fire tower, I glance over at his clean-cut features that’s graced magazine covers. His perfectly styled wavy brown hair, his superhero-strong jawline, his calm deep-blue eyes. He has one earbud in, the other free to hear me if I talk.
I haven’t said much. All the leaves have fallen. A light layer of snow dusts the ground. It’s the first week of December, and the frigid air fills my lungs in a lively way.
“What are you listening to?” I ask him.
His lips curve upward as he passes me his loose earbud.
I fit it in my ear and laugh. His grin spreads. It’s Led Zeppelin. “Ramble On.” Not exactly the classical instrumentals that most expect Connor Cobalt to leisurely jam out to. It’s only now that I fully acknowledge my love of rock music is because of him.
That maybe I have more similarities with my dad than I’ve let myself comprehend.
When we reach the top of the fire tower, my dad isn’t admiring the expansive evergreen-lined view. He’s watching me like I watch him. The bluebird and the lion. I smile to myself, thinking of Harriet.