Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 83039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
I was going to regret this later, of that I was certain, but nevertheless, I climbed through the window, praying the roof ledge could hold us both. I couldn’t ignore the pain in his voice, the tension in his body, the way his fists were balled and his heels dug into the roof. He needed a friend, the one thing I absolutely couldn’t be for him, and still, I clambered onto the balcony.
“Wanna talk about it?”
Chapter Twelve
Knox
“Not sure there’s much to talk about.” I wasn’t about to send Monroe back inside, but I also wasn’t sure I wanted to unload the messy toolbox that was my brain right then, a random collection of screws and bolts and competing wants and wishes.
“Stars sure are pretty.” Monroe stretched his arms overhead as he settled next to me on the narrow balcony. “The sky always seems so much more vibrant in Safe Harbor than elsewhere.”
“If you think this is good, I need to take you camping.” I didn’t have to work to make my voice warm. Monroe earned major points by not forcing me to talk about what was actually bothering me. “Middle of nowhere, like out in central Oregon. The stars make this glittery canopy. It’s pretty awesome. I could look at the sky for hours, soaking in the quiet and stillness.”
“Yeah.” He shifted his legs, voice sounding vaguely aroused like he was picturing us on said camping trip. “The navy sent me to some pretty remote locations. The night sky was one of the few bonuses.”
“What’s your north star?” I rolled slightly toward him so we were face-to-face. “The thing that never fails to make you feel at home?”
“Not sure I’ve ever had that.” The wistfulness in Monroe’s tone made my chest tighten. Not sure what it was, but Monroe plus emotion, like when he talked about his mom, was going to be my utter downfall.
“That’s a shame. Mine is this town. I pass the Welcome to Safe Harbor sign, and I know I’m home.” I had to stop and swallow hard, emotions rising. A muscle worked in my jaw, the same as whenever I tried to put into words what Safe Harbor meant to me. “And when I’m away, the sky always seems to point me back here.”
“Is that what you’re worried about?” Monroe asked gently. “Being too far away on the East Coast?”
“That’s part of it, yeah.” Because he hadn’t pushed, instead easing into the topic, I rewarded him with a piece of my truth. “With Dad and Jessica’s new baby coming, the kid might be walking or at least crawling before I make it back to visit. The town itself changes more slowly, but things are still different every time I go away and come back.”
“Why not go to an architecture program closer?” His tone was the type of reasonable that had me groaning.
“It’s not that easy. Ever since high school, I’ve heard how talented I am, how I deserve a shot at the best programs, almost all of which are out east. Want to work for one of the best firms? Design the biggest, best buildings? Better go to one of the best schools.”
“You are super talented. I’ve only seen a couple of your sketches and listened to you talk art, and I can already tell that much. But I also know a little something about expectations.” Monroe’s mouth twisted, light from my room behind us giving him an otherworldly glow.
“Oh?”
“I come from a military family. My dad, my uncles, my grandfather, a couple of great-uncles too. A long history of naval service. And because I got good grades, the whole family started talking about if I could get into the academy, go in as an officer rather than enlisted.”
“No one asked your opinion.” I didn’t bother making it a question because I knew the answer all too well.
“Nah. It was simply assumed. Rebelling would have been going to West Point instead of Annapolis. And at the time, way back in the dark ages, I wasn’t out to my dad, and I was reluctant to use my sexuality as a reason not to go.”
“Makes sense. Sometimes it’s just easier to go along with others’ plans.” I sighed heavily, both out of personal experience and empathy for Monroe’s younger self, trapped by so many competing forces. “But what would you have done after high school if you could have done anything?”
“Not sure. English seemed intriguing, the idea of reading literature all day. I always liked to write, but everyone said there was no security in being an author. Well, everyone other than Aunt Henri. She’d tell me I’d be a great thriller writer because I always solved the TV murders faster than her. But everyone else was down on the idea. Even so, I had a couple of brochures from these liberal arts colleges…” Monroe’s voice drifted off, a fondness there that made me wish I had a time machine to pack him off to some ivy-covered campus. “Anyway, that life wasn’t for me.”