Akara glares at Oscar. “She’s right there, Oscar.”
He tosses a chip in his mouth. “I thought we were all friends by now.”
Farrow’s pierced brows rise. “Says the guy who hates buddy-guards.”
Charlie smiles while he flips a page in a book, sitting on the steps of the left RV.
I have my fingers to my lips, my head fucking spinning. Jane’s blue eyes are rapidly shifting between everyone. Like she’s not missing a beat.
“Look, it was an honest question,” Oscar says to his boss.
“You need to shut it down,” Akara says in a tone both friendly and firm. “Sulli is just my client and friend—she knows that’s all she is to me.”
What?
I freeze.
I don’t breathe.
He’s just lying to them. He has to be lying. We agreed not to tell them the fucking truth—but after the night we shared in the tent, those words hurt.
Everyone—and again, I mean everyone—is looking at me. I must wear my utter fucking horror.
Akara’s face drops. “Sulli—”
“Oh no, I get it.” Does my voice sound choked? I nod a ton, my neck feels tight and collarbones jutted out like I swallowed a hundred donuts at once. Banks? I search for him.
He’s next to his brother. And his gaze is softened on me, almost pained. Like he wishes he could come closer and wrap his arms around me. I wish he could hug me too.
Jane squeezes my hand consolingly.
I breathe in and focus on Farrow’s gloves, on Akara’s wounds. “Is it infected?” I ask.
“It’s not,” Akara says more gently to me, an apology in his eyes.
I try to take it, but his other words are still a pit in my stomach.
That’s all she is to me.
I tell him, “I was actually talking to the guy with the MD.”
Oscar munches on a chip. “Redford, you better check Kitsuwon for the fourth-degree burn.”
Farrow rolls his eyes but continues inspecting Akara’s shoulder. “You all out of original material, Oliveira?”
That’s all she is to me. I frown more.
I look everywhere but at him.
“I’m saving all the good jokes for my husband,” Oscar says, tossing a potato chip in his mouth. Jack Highland-Oliveira should be here soon to film me free-soloing.
I’m supposed to be climbing. Right. Breathing in another deep breath, I focus on my goal.
I can still accomplish what I set out to do. The weather is good. Winter conditions haven’t arrived yet, and I didn’t break a bone.
Fucking silver linings—I love them a waffle-lot. I miss my sister. The sudden thought pangs my heart.
“It’s not infected,” Farrow tells me.
That’s good.
I take another breath.
Moffy says to me, “You could’ve called me last night too. I would’ve hiked up to you.”
“I know,” I say quietly. “But it was late and too dark.”
Farrow is studying the bite marks around Akara’s elbow. “I’m more concerned about torn muscle.”
“I have full range of movement,” Akara says, but his gaze hasn’t left me. I feel it.
“Okay, but as your doctor, I’m recommending a physical exam instead of just taking your word on it. Also, you really need stitches. So take a seat on the table, Kitsuwon.”
Akara climbs onto the picnic table next to Moffy. While Farrow rests a foot on the bench seat, he digs through his trauma bag.
“Papa!” Ripley calls out and drops his sippy-cup as he extends his arms towards Farrow.
Thatcher frowns. “Isn’t Moffy Papa and Farrow Dada?”
Farrow grimaces. “Please don’t ever say dada again.”
Thatcher almost rolls his eyes. “You know what I mean.”
I bend down and pick up the sippy-cup before Arkham slobbers all over it. Moffy and Farrow are kind of tense, and I know Thatcher isn’t wrong about their parent nicknames.
“Maybe he’s confusing you two?” Jane offers a rationale. “He’s only eight-months.”
“Papa!” Ripley is pulling out of Moffy’s arms to reach Farrow.
“That’s your dad, little guy,” Maximoff says as he stands up with his son. He brings Ripley over to Farrow.
Farrow kisses his son’s head, then points to Moffy. “That’s your papa.”
Ripley smiles up at Moffy. “Dada!” He hugs his tiny arms around his papa—well actually I guess Moffy is his dada.
We all laugh.
“Look who’s a little maverick,” Oscar grins. “Confirmed, that’s for sure Farrow’s son.”
I miss the look Farrow gives Oscar because I hand baby Ripley his green sippy-cup. Not just any normal sippy-cup. Gray mountains decorate the sides, and a carabineer is on the handle.
The sippy-cup used to be mine when I was a kid. And I gifted this one to Ripley as an adoption present.