Thayer nods and I switch the radio to a scratchy jazz station. Saxophone music filters through the car. I reach to change it, but Thayer stops me.
“Leave it,” he says. “It puts me in the mood.”
“In the mood for what?” I ask, giving him a sly sideways look. I put my index finger to my lips and tap them like I’m thinking hard. “I bet I can guess.”
“You wish, Sutton,” he says with a smirk.
I laugh and reach across the seat to punch his arm.
We’re quiet on the rest of the drive to Sabino Canyon.
I roll both windows down and wind rushes across our faces.
We pass a coffee shop called the Congress Club that advertises a book reading and open-mic night, a dog groomer’s named Mangy Mutts, and an ice cream shop with a neon sign for make-your-own sundaes. Thayer takes my free hand as we drive along a quiet stretch of the highway. Cacti appear in the distance. The scent of wildflowers wafts into the car.
Finally, we ascend the dirt road leading to the canyon and park in a secluded spot by a bunch of metal trash barrels. The night sky is black, the moon a shining orb floating high above our heads. The air is still warm and heavy as we climb from the car and find the entrance to the winding path that leads to the overlook. As we walk, Thayer’s hand brushes my shoulder, trails down my spine and lands on the small of my back. His touch feels hot on my skin. I bite my lip to keep from turning and kissing him
—even though I want to, it’s more delicious to resist for as long as possible.
We walk a few more yards in silence up the gravelly path. Technically, the park is closed at night, and there’s not a soul in sight. A slight breeze makes me shiver. The boulders stand out in sharp relief against the moonlight.
And then, after another minute, I hear it: a crackle of a branch followed by what sounds like a sigh. I freeze. “What was that?”
Thayer stops and squints in the darkness. “Probably an animal.”
I take another step, checking cautiously over my shoulder once more. There’s no one there. No one is following us. No one knows Thayer is here … or that I’m with him.
It’s not long before we reach the overlook. All of Tucson spills out below us, a sea of glittering lights.
“Whoa,” Thayer breathes. “How did you find this?”
“I used to come here with my dad years ago.” I point to the precarious ground below. “We used to put a little blanket there and camp out with a picnic lunch. Dad’s a big bird-watcher, and he got me into it, too.”
“Sounds fun,” Thayer says sarcastically.
I cuff him on the arm. “It was.” Sadness fills me, suddenly. I remember how my dad would perch me on top of one of the huge rocks up here and hand me my purple water canteen—the only one I’d use during grade school.
We’d clink our glasses and make up fake toasts. To Sutton, my dad would say, the most agile trailblazer to cross Sabino Canyon since 1962. I’d tap my purple canteen against his, and say, To Dad, your hair is getting kinda gray, but you’re still the fastest climber these parts have ever seen! We’d laugh and laugh as each toast became sillier than the one before.
It feels like ages have passed since my dad and I were close like that, and I know it’s my fault as much as his. I stare up at the stars that dot the dark sky and resolve to try a little harder with him. Maybe I can get our relationship back to the way it used to be.
I step carefully to the edge. “Dad had just one rule,” I go on. “I had to stay away from this ledge. There were all kinds of rumors that people fell right over the side. No one could rappel down to get their bodies—the drop is too steep—so there are a bunch of skeletons down there.”
“Don’t worry,” Thayer says, wrapping his arms around me. “I won’t let you fall.”
My heart suddenly melts. I lean forward and press my lips to his. His arms wrap around my waist, pulling my body into his. His hands are in my hair as he returns my kiss.
“Don’t leave me again,” I plead. I can’t help myself.
“Don’t go back to wherever it is you’re hiding.” He kisses my cheek and pulls away to look at me. “I can’t explain right now,” he says. “But I can’t be here—not now. I promise, though, that I won’t be gone forever.” His hands cup my chin. I want to understand. I want to be strong. But it’s so hard. Then I notice a white woven rope bracelet on his wrist. “Where’d you get that?” I ask, pinching the rough twine between my fingers.
Thayer shrugs and avoids my glance. “Maria made it for me.”
“Maria?” I stiffen. “Is she cute?”
“She’s just a friend,” Thayer says, his tone gruff and hard.
“What kind of friend?” I press. “Where did you meet her?”
I feel his muscles tense beneath his gray T-shirt. “It doesn’t matter. Anyway, how’s Garrett doing?” He says the name Garrett like it’s a flesh-eating disease.
I turn away, filled with guilt. I love Garrett—in a way.
He’s a good boyfriend. And he’s here, in Tucson, not God-knows-where like Thayer. But there’s something I can’t explain that pulls me to Thayer and makes me want to sneak around with him like this. It’s like every reason I give myself to stop doesn’t matter.
Thayer shifts closer to me. “When I come back, will things be different between us?” he asks in a low voice. He curls his palms around my hip bones, gripping me tight.
Our bodies are so close. I focus on his full bottom lip, wishing I knew how to answer him. When I’m with him, all I want is him. But I can’t deny that part of what makes our relationship work is that we’ve kept it a secret.