One Step Too Far (Frankie Elkin #2)(86)

“Ouch. My kingdom for a nice, sturdy oak.”

“I see a bunch of lodgepole pines over there. Softer needles, stickier sap. But in this area, hardwood trees are few and far between.”

Evergreens it is. I decide to start with the spruce, crawling beneath the ring of low-hanging branches on my hands and knees. I unsheathe my blade, give it a hard stare.

“You be good to me, I’ll be good to you.” I think it gets the message.

The first branch snaps off easily, turning out to be half dead. But that also means the moment Neil tugs it out, half the needles shed onto the forest floor. I pay more attention after that, trying to stick to branches around an inch in diameter, and moving around so there aren’t a bunch of fresh nicks all in one place.

I saw, heave, saw some more. Neil tugs, sits down to rest, tugs some more.

We’re both a sweaty mess in a matter of minutes, my arms stinging from a thousand needle jabs. I think wrestling a porcupine might be easier. I have to take a break to put on my gloves, wishing I’d done so sooner, as my palms are already red with fresh-forming blisters, while my fingers have become sticky with sap.

I give up on the spruce sooner versus later. Just too difficult. We cross to a more open area where there is a spread of picturesque soft-needled pine trees adorned with pine cones.

I hope they are friendlier than the spruce as I hunker down and crawl forward. My hands hurt, my arms are tired. The knife and I are no longer such great friends as I resume sawing through a sticky mess of branches. I learn the hard way that placing a knee on a fallen pine cone really smarts.

I finally sit back on my haunches, breathing heavily.

I find myself gazing fretfully all around us. Is the hunter close? Watching, laughing? Or preparing his ambush of someone else? Maybe stalking Daisy herself?

I can’t have that thought; I start feeling ill.

“Tell me about yourself,” I say abruptly, returning to a particularly stubborn limb lined with forked tongues of green needles.

“Me? Like what?”

“Do you miss Latisha? And how exactly does one woman ensnare an entire group of guys, anyway? Is she like some millennial version of Helen of Troy?”

“Was Helen of Troy a six-foot-tall Black goddess with an intoxicating laugh, a great sense of adventure, and a wiseass wit?”

“I never read the book.”

“I have a girlfriend,” Neil says abruptly.

This is more interesting. None of the guys have talked about other girlfriends or wives.

“Her name is Anna Hajlasz. I’d just started dating her before . . . I was going to bring her to the wedding as my plus one.”

“You haven’t brought her up before.”

“I, um, I haven’t told the others about her.”

I stop sawing long enough to glance at Neil. “Hang on a sec. You’ve been dating this Anna for over five years, and you haven’t even mentioned her to your friends?”

“It’s a sore subject between her and me,” Neil admits.

“You think?”

“My family has all met her. And my other friends, coworkers. It’s not that I keep her hidden away. I just . . . I don’t talk about her with Scott, Miguel, and Josh.”

“Because of Latisha?” I’m honestly confused.

“No. I don’t even think of Latisha anymore. Yeah, I had a crush on her. But seriously, three dates? I understood what Scott was saying. There’s a difference between infatuation and love. Once, I was infatuated with Latisha. Five years later, I’m in love with Anna.”

“So why don’t you tell them?”

“I don’t know.”

“Sure you do.”

Neil is quiet. I return to sawing, calling over my shoulder. “You know, we’re probably gonna die soon. Might as well get it off your chest.”

“I don’t want to share her,” he blurts out.

“You’re afraid one of them might steal her? Like Tim did with Latisha and then Scott did with Latisha?”

“Not that. I don’t want to share. I want her to be just mine, to belong to only me. Afterwards . . . The five of us, we basically spent a decade all mixed up with one another. College pranks, first loves, job opportunities. There’s nothing that doesn’t lead back to all of us and who said what and who did what. After Tim. Losing him. Losing us. I wanted something that was just mine.”

“Not property of Dudeville?”

“Not part of the fucked-up twenty-something I’d been. The kid who failed his best friend.”

“Awfully hard on yourself.”

“Don’t worry, I think Scott, Miggy, and Josh suck, too.” But there’s no heat in his voice.

“After this, do you think you might introduce her to them?”

“She wants to get married.”

“And you?”

“Actually, I can’t think of anything I’d like more. She’s the one. I knew it almost as soon as I met her.”

“But you haven’t proposed?”

“I couldn’t. I can’t imagine getting married because I can’t imagine . . .” There’s a hitch in Neil’s voice. “I can’t imagine standing at an altar and not having Tim there. I can’t stomach attending the wedding he never got. It’s the real reason Miggy, Josh, and I didn’t go to Scott’s wedding. Jesus, just the sight of a tux. One of the last things we did was the final fitting. Five us, laughing so damn hard and sticking each other with those pins . . .” Neil’s voice trails off. “I always thought PTSD was triggered by big things like the clap of thunder. But for me, it’s the sight of grown men dressed like penguins.”