A Wednesday in August, 5:59 PM
Sometimes I wonder if I'd notice water if I was born in the ocean. Maybe I'd have fins and scales, and I'd never know about air. I could dive and follow currents in the coolness, live in the freedom of it, the transparent blue and soft ripples.
But here I am, just a girl with a blue lollipop stuck between my lips, humming a tune that flits in and out of my head like the shy birds in the trees above.
The Bell River Trail is quiet today, as it is most days, but it's the kind of quiet that feels full of rustling leaves and distant thunder.
I step from stone to stone in the shallow stream, the water cool against my bare feet and ankles, sweet relief from the sticky August humidity. My disposable camera dangles from a makeshift strap around my neck, swinging slightly with each hop.
Every few steps, I stop, crouch, and focus on the tiny life bustling below the surface—tadpoles darting through the water, their little dark bodies a flurry of frantic energy. Click goes the camera.
A fat drop of rain lands on my nose, making me blink.
Greyson's on the bank, laying back against an oak tree, eyes closed. Well, this time they're closed; I've caught him staring at me more than once.
The sky above grows darker, clouds clumping together in gnarly grays and blues. Thunder rolls again, closer this time, a low rumble that makes my heart beat a little faster. The air tastes like rain, metallic and sharp. I'm not sure how much longer we have.
Today, and really, the week, has been... beautifully normal. Uncle Pat started his new job yesterday, all dressed up in black slacks and a crisp white button-up—not blue for a change. Raveena was around, teasing him, combing his hair like he was a little boy on picture day.
I've been strumming my guitar a lot, playing with minor keys, and taking long, aimless walks. There's something about minor chords that feels more than the others. They don't need to be bright to be felt.
Most nights, I've waited up for Grey to get home from the shop, happy to see his skin almost all unblemished now, no more pain or cuts or bruises. We'd sit on the porch, or in the treehouse, or walk around a bit under the dim glow of the streetlight, talking about nothing really.
I suppose I need to find another job since I'll be around another year. But that can wait a few more days, I think.
Tonight's different. It's the last slice of bliss because Steven's set to return tonight. Actually, he might already be back. That's why Grey and I are here at the river, drawing out the night, trying to stop time.
We're doing pretty good so far.
"Hey," Grey says, his voice a bit strained as he watches me balance on a particularly wobbly stone. He's trying to smile, but it's not really working.
"Hey," I say around the sucker, steadying myself with a laugh before stepping off to the more flat, deeper part of the river. "Wanna go look at apartments tomorrow?" I ask absently, squealing as something hits my leg.
Oh. Just a stick.
"Hm?" Grey's half here, half not, staring at me. My legs, actually.
"Maybe we can go around and scout some places we you get back from the shop. So you can move out."
"Yeah, maybe," he murmurs, but it's like the wind caught the words.
I brush a wet leaf from my knee. "It will be good, you know? A fresh start. We can get fries and slushies and drive around as the sun sets."
His fingers pluck at the grass beside him, pulling up a blade and twirling it between his fingers.
The thunder rolls again, louder this time, as if it's right overhead, and I shiver.
"You don't have to pull the trigger on anything now," I add, watching him closely.
Grey finally looks up, his eyes meeting mine. "I've been thinking. A lot. I know Pat and Raveena don't like me anymore. That they think I'm bad news, a deviant, midnight lurker, whatever."
My hands go tight on my camera, my heart doing the same. "Grey, that's—"
"It's true, though, isn't it?" He cuts me off, looking back to the water. "I know what they think of me. I'm not good enough for you."
"Stop," I say, ripping the sucker out of my mouth. "That's all stupid, Grey. You're the most important person in my life. You're my best friend, always have been. Always will be."
He tries to smile, but again, it falters. "I wish I could believe that as easily as you do." He's picking at the grass, his eyes distant. "Remember when we built that raft out of old pallets behind your uncle's shed?"
My lips twitch up. "Yeah, and it sank two feet from the shore right here in this river."
His eyes finally meet mine, a flicker of the old Grey, the one who laughed more. "Your uncle was so pissed, but my dad just laughed. He helped us fix it, remember? Taught us how to waterproof the bottom with tar."
He's right. Steven was there, with us, always.
Grey sighs. "I miss those days so much it hurts. Things were simpler. We were kids. We didn't have to worry about all the grown-up stuff."
"Grown-up stuff sucks," I mutter, trying to lighten us both.
The sky opens up then, a downpour that has me scrambling through the river for cover with him by the tree.
I sit down in my shorts next to him, sticking the lollipop back in my mouth. "Knew that was coming," I mumble, pressing my shoulder into his warm one.
As we sit close, watching the rain turn the river into a sheet of white noise,
I set the camera down beside me on the damp earth, freeing my hands to tug my socks, then shoes, onto my damp feet, scowling at the feeling.
Raindrops sneak through the gaps in the tree's canopy, dotting us with cool, quick kisses.
Grey takes the lollipop stick and tugs. I open my mouth. "What—hey!" I exclaim as he tosses it into the grass. "My sucker!"
Then Greyson's hand finds my knee, a slow, almost tentative slide up my thigh.
I freeze. That's...interesting.
"Uh, Grey?"
He pauses, that hand resting under my shorts, warm and heavy. "I've been thinking a lot... about everything."
"That's a lot of thinking." I laugh with the sound of the river swelling around us. "You okay?"
"It scares me," he says. "How much I rely on you. How much I need you."
I reach down, taking his hand with mine, feeling the calluses and the strength in his fingers. "Hey, I need you too, dummy. It's mutual."
He laughs, but there's no humour in it, just a raw, ragged edge. "No. It's never been mutual. You're not just my friend. You're... you're everything."
The word hangs. "I don't, uh...Everything?"
Greyson turns to face me fully now, rain making his hair stick to his forehead, droplets on his lashes. He looks young and vulnerable and everything like I've known him to be.
"I know it's a lot." He swallows hard, his eyes never leaving mine. "Hiding it feels like lying to you, and I can't lie to you anymore."
I swallow roughly, moving my eyes from the shaking trees to the muddy ground at my feet to the way his hand engulfs mine. "You're kinda freaking me out, Grey."
He cradles my face gently with his good hand, his thumb tracing the line of my jaw as he stares at my parted lips, which must look as startled as I feel.
"I'm in love with you, Ember," he says. "I have been for so long. Forever, really. Please don't say you didn't know. You did. You had to have known."
"What?" I laugh. The sound makes me appear insane. There's no way. He's messing with me. "Greyson, man, buddy—"
"Ember. Please don't call me that."
My throat closes, my body locking up. Okay, so I clearly say that when I'm nervous. It's not conscious.
"I love you, Ember."
"I know," I say slowly, my voice quivering. "I love you too. You're my best friend. My very best friend." That's all I can manage.
He searches my face so intently, looking for something, but god, I'm just scared. What the hell is happening?
"I'm in love you," he murmurs again, his hand weaving into my damp hair, pulling me closer. "You're perfect, you know that?" His voice drops, a whisper almost lost to the sound of the rain. "So, so perfect."
I swallow hard, my eyes stinging. "Grey, can we go home, now?"
His fingers tighten in my hair. "You don't understand how much it killed me, seeing you with Brandon, with Lucas before that, hearing what you did, watching every other guy look at you the way I do, but shouldn't. Every smile you share with someone else, it's like a punch in the gut." His voice cracks, raw and strained. "Not because I don't want you to be happy. I just want to be the reason for that happiness."
My heart aches. Physically aches, not beating right. What's he doing to me? Why does this hurt so badly? I'm frozen, caught in the storm, racing to find something to say. I can't figure it out.
"I'll die if you don't... if you can't—" He stops, swallows hard. "I love you, okay? I love you."
He leans in to kiss me and I panic.
"Wait. Grey, wait—"
"Shh," he soothes, his voice a rough whisper against my mouth as he holds me close. "If you don't kiss me back, I'll fucking break." His voice shudders through the damp air, his hands grasping me, feeling, touching with a desperation that turns my stomach into knots.
Greyson leans in, easing me down onto the damp, cold ground beneath the tree that barely shelters us from the storm. His eyes hold a desperate sort of intensity as he hovers over me, trees above him, a darkening sky framing him.
"It's always been us, Ember. It will always be us," he whispers.
I shiver from the cold, and from him. Raw emotion—I can't tell which one, how many—pulses off him in waves, exhaling from his lips into my mouth, inhaled by my lungs. A flush spreads under my freckles all over my skin.
I can't bear the pain in his eyes, the raw, unshielded hurt. Turns out I don't have to.
As soon as his mouth is on mine, my eyes flutter shut, closing off all light, all dark, and everything in between.
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Thanks for reading We Sleep at Sunset.
Laurel's Fun Facts #23: bees can't see the colour red.
—Laurel Montaze—
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