Ten Below Zero(55)

I pulled back and nearly stumbled away. Where had that come from? I held a hand to my lips and avoided looking at Everett. I couldn’t think. I closed my eyes and willed myself to turn off, to close off from Everett.

I walked away, towards the restroom of the gas station. I nearly fell into the door, falling onto the cold, dirty concrete floor. I shut the door with both hands and shakily secured the lock. And then I walked to the sink below the mirror.

My reflection revealed what I feared. The feelings Everett inspired in me were becoming something more.

“Shit!” I yelled, alone in the bathroom. I slammed my hand onto the sink. I turned on the water and washed my arms up to my elbows before cupping it in my hands and splashing my face over and over.

With my face dripping wet, I looked back at the mirror again. “What am I supposed to do?” I said aloud. I didn’t want this. Didn’t want these feelings. But I wasn’t ready to go home. If anything, I was only more determined to stay on this road trip with Everett. I wanted him to change his mind. Despite my personal feelings – that I wasn’t ready to explore – I wanted him to want to live as much as he wanted me to live.

When I returned to the car, Everett was sitting in the passenger seat and had turned on the music. He’d grabbed a cold water bottle from the cooler and placed it on his knuckles.

When I had climbed in and was settling into my seat, he looked at me funny for a second. “What happened to your face?”

I flipped the visor down and slid open the mirror. Makeup was smeared around my eyes and down my cheeks. I looked like a total mess.

Using my thumbs, I rubbed away the worst of it and then pulled up the bottom of my tank top to wipe the rest away. “It’s your fault,” I said, my head buried in the tank top.

“Why is it my fault?”

“I only wore this makeup for you.”

“Why would you do that?”

“Because,” I said, pulling my face away from the tank top and checking my reflection for any missed spots. “You were so cold this morning. I wanted to get your attention.” It sounded pitiful to me and once again I regretted the words.

“You’d have to be dead to not grab my attention, Parker. And you were barely living when you first grabbed it, so that’s saying something. So imagine how I feel now.”

“How do you feel?”

“I don’t know, Parker.” I looked up at those words. “I honestly don’t.”

“Me neither,” I admitted.





We were in the middle of a fifteen vehicle convoy on a rugged road, a guided tour through Picketwire Canyonlands. The road was rocky, steep, and at some parts a bit scary, but having the Jeep made it easier. We descended down into the canyon and soon the convoy stopped and the tour guides pointed out a set of petroglyphs. Everett stood beside me and pointed out a few drawings on the walls, from many years before.

There was something moving, seeing drawings in rock that were hundreds, possibly thousands of years old. Standing in the same spot as someone else once did, leaving their mark on the world. I turned to look at Everett and saw him studying me, studying the images.

“Now, you can find petroglyphs in many national parks around the country. Take the Grand Canyon for instance, has anyone been there?”

Everett spoke up. “We were there a couple days ago.”

The tour guide nodded animatedly. “Did you explore it?”

Everett looked at me. “No. Parker,” he aimed a thumb at me, “called it just a big hole in the ground, so we didn’t stick around.”

My eyes flew to Everett. He was grinning at me. I glanced around the group and saw everyone looking at me with shock.

“You’re an *, Everett,” I said through gritted teeth, keeping my back at group and narrowing my eyes at Everett.

Everett slung an arm over my shoulder and pulled me close. “Do you love me yet?” he whispered.

I shoved him away. “Definitely not.”

After the awkward silence from the tour guides and other members of the tour group, we continued on the road to a rock formed in an arch. Everett grabbed something from the backseat and then followed behind me while everyone climbed up to the arch to check it out.

“Wait a second, Parker.” Everett put a hand on my shoulder. “Turn around.”

I turned around while everyone took photos up on the arch. He stood behind me. “That’s the Purgatoire River.”

I scrunched up my brow. “Picketwire. Purgatoire.”

“Yes. Spanish explorers called it their translation of “The River of Lost Souls in Purgatory” after having a tough go of it. French trappers later called it the Purgatoire River. The pronunciation was bastardized when American Explorers came through, and so this canyon was called Picketwire.” He leaned down, putting his mouth over my shoulder, next to my ear. “Everyone comes here to see the arch, but I think the arch is fortunate one, to have this view, a view that was named for purgatory.”

His voice tickled my ear but I tried to focus on the view of the canyon and the river that cut into it. “But isn’t purgatory a place of suffering, a place you have to atone for your sins before being admitted to Heaven?”

Everett’s arms wrapped around my waist from behind and he pulled me closer to him. “How very Parker of you to think of purgatory so negatively.” I felt his lips at my temple as he said his next words. “I prefer to think of it as a place to cleanse, to purify your soul before heaven.” He left a brief kiss on my temple. “And is there a better place to see while you’re waiting for your forever in the afterlife?”