Page 116 of PS: I Hate You
I focus on inhaling through my nose and exhaling with control like I’ve practiced with my Bane mask.
“Let’s take a pause.” Dom slips his backpack off his shoulders and settles on a flat rock, stretching out his long legs, looking like his limbs need the respite.
They don’t. He could go for miles more and barely be winded.
Meanwhile, I collapse next to him as if I’ve been heaving boulders up this mountainside for the past two hours we’ve been hiking.
“Need your inhaler?” he asks.
I almost shake my head no, but I remind myself not to be proud.
Be honest, and maybe I’ll get through this.
“Yes,” I wheeze. As far as I can tell, I’m not about to have an attack,but breathing isn’t comfortable at the moment. The inhaler can be preemptive instead of responsive.
Dom digs it out of the side pocket of the backpack I’m still wearing, so I don’t have to bend my arm at a weird angle. He also finds the spacer, which I brought with me. I attach the two pieces and take a puff.
After allowing the medication to ease my airways and resting for a stretch, I’m ready to go again. A few chipmunks scurry away when I heave off the rock. I stand tall, hands braced on the lightweight trekking poles Dom gifted me on our arrival at the trailhead.
“Let’s get back to it.”
To Dom’s credit, he doesn’t argue with me or push that we rest for longer. He trusts me to tell him my limits, and I appreciate that. Even when I wobble while trying to balance on a loose collection of logs laid over a stream, he doesn’t swoop in and scoop me up.
Though his face does look pale, jaw tense, when I reach the other side and turn back to check on him.
Dom makes the crossing with annoyingly perfect grace. The hiking pants stretch over his muscular thighs, and I’m suddenly thankful for the rising temperature, because he’s already stripped off his jacket. I chew on my lower lip as my eyes trace the way his sleeves strain over his biceps.
As if he can tell what has me distracted, Dom smirks.
“Come on, Maddie. You’re holding up the line.”
I snort but turn back to the trail. He’s notentirelywrong.
Josh might send us to remote places, but they aren’t without people. We’ve already crossed paths with a handful of other day hikers like us, and I bet if this were a weekend, we’d see a lot more. If my brother were here, he probably would have made friends with half the people we passed by now. Dom and I, introverts that we are, tend to offer nods and smiles and “Good day for a hike.” And leave it at that.
We’re loners.
Loners together.
Maybe Josh was worried aboutbothof us.
Finally, after more breaks than I’d like but the amount I needed, the sparkle of water flashes through the trees. Another minute and we come upon a lake plucked from a fairy tale.
Alpine Lake. The water is so clear I can see straight to the bottom, which is a cluttered tapestry of stones and logs. Mountains surround the crystal water, their rocky peaks still holding on to small swaths of snow even in the middle of summer.
“Good choice, Josh,” Dom murmurs as he stops by my side. The heat of his body so close to mine should bother me since I’m already sweaty and running hot from the exertion of the climb out here. But having Dom at my side is soothing and has been for a while.
Gone are the days where his presence brought discomfort and bad memories. Around him, the world feels better.
“Ready to read it?” He asks, voice low as if speaking too loudly might disturb the tranquil scene.
I nod and let my trekking pole dangle from my wrist as I open my hand to accept the envelope, hungry eyes on the familiar handwriting.
Idaho
44°03’53.6” N
115°01’21.7” W