“What’s going on?”
Easton stands. “Sit tight.”
In minutes, Easton’s stalking back towards me, arms loaded. A bag hangs from one of his wrists as he hauls a Styrofoam cooler covered with thick, folded blankets, a bound manuscript sitting atop them. Standing, I help him spread a blanket and wrap myself in another as he unloads a bag full of snacks and a thermos full of coffee. Popping the top off the cooler, I discover a mix of juices, water, and beer. “Seriously, Joel is a miracle worker,” I say, pulling out a water.
“Yeah, he is,” Easton agrees. “Is it weird that my best friend is twenty years older than me?”
“No. Not at all. Why? Did someone tell you that?”
“Yeah. But you know I don’t care about anyone else’s opinions.” He stares at me pointedly, and I read between the lines. But yours.
Refuting the new chill up my spine, I eye the script.
“Time to come clean, Easton.”
“When we split, I struggled with it so badly. It never felt right. Not once. I couldn’t understand why the most beautiful, intelligent creature to ever come into my life wasn’t for me…” he shakes his head and swallows.
Please, God, be merciful.
“I went a little rogue, and then I ignored it, but I decided I had to figure it out, or I wouldn’t be able to find any peace. LL’s incident kind of drove me over, and it was that night I realized the answer to everything plaguing me had been sitting in my messenger bag for months.”
He flips the cover of the manuscript.
“I’ve seen the movie.”
He shakes his head. “This is the book my mom wrote, the whole story.”
I pick it up and weigh its thickness. “With my father?”
“Yeah. It’s all in there. All of it.”
“Where did you get it?”
“Mom gave it to me when we were all at odds—before the night of the gala, before we broke up—but I was too pissed at them to bother opening it.”
For the first time since Easton pulled up, I feel real fear snake through me.
“Easton, I don’t know if I can go back there,” I shiver, tightening the blanket more firmly around me. “I don’t see the point.”
“Whatever trust you have left for me,” he whispers, “use it now, okay?”
Biting my lip, I stare back at him before my fear finally speaks for me. “I don’t see how this—”
“Beauty,” he murmurs, and in that second, our eyes connect, and all the space between us disappears.
We’re just raw hearts who completely recognize the other. It’s the best I’ve felt since before we separated on our honeymoon. Blowing out a breath, I slowly nod my head and turn the first page.
The Dance
Fist of Five
Natalie
On a plush blanket in the middle of nowhere, I pull on a dark beer as I continue to read. Morning became afternoon, and as the story progressed, I traded in coffee for something a little stronger to take the hard edge off Stella’s bared bones story about falling for two men—our fathers. Every so often, I glance up at Easton where he lays propped on his side. He’s dressed in jeans, solid red high tops, and a thick hoodie—a hoodie no doubt covered in his scent, which he’s offered more than once, and I’ve repeatedly declined. Earbuds in, he’s posted next to me like he has all the time in the world. More than once, I’ve found his eyes trailing down my exposed skin, denying myself the rush it brings as I became more immersed.
Flipping a page, I feel the heat rush to my cheeks as Stella sneaks over to Reid’s apartment for the first time. Throat drying, my pulse kicks up.
“She blushes.” I look up to see Easton smirking.
“You read this?”
“The whole thing,” he says softly, “but you might be skimming soon.”
“This feels…”
“Invasive? Yeah, I thought so too, at first, but it’s the story she wanted to share with the world. Keep going,” he urges, moving to lay on his back, his hoodie riding up to expose some of the tattoo on his side. Ignoring the urge to trace the skin with my gaze, I divert my focus back to the page, continue reading, and become lost.
Hours later, sitting with the script propped on my thighs, tears streaming down my cheeks, I read Stella’s tearful goodbye to my father as they locked eyes across the stage at the music festival. Swallowing repeatedly, Easton gently scrapes away a tear with the pad of his finger as I soak in the true ending of their relationship while marveling at what an incredible man my father was and is. Of how Stella truly loved him. The words blur until I manage to make it through the last few pages, understanding the context of their final emails more clearly.