The familiar ads for Wizard of Oz and dinosaur-themed attractions sped by, but luckily, Alden seemed more focused on getting to Denver by noon than on stopping and exploring. We mainly talked the game—a nice, safe topic that got us through Kansas. My shoulders unkinked a little at the border even as my chest stayed fluttery, but as the terrain started to shift in Colorado, I relaxed a little more. By the time we needed to stop outside Denver, at a sleepy little truck stop, I was able to appreciate the pristine blue skies and arid, high-desert air. Not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy. I took a big breath of memory-free air, still trying to shake the cobwebs or whatever from my chest.
Alden wanted a picture of me goofing off with a funny sign decorated with mountains and hearts at the edge of the parking lot, behind the main buildings, so I obliged him before pointing out the mountains in the distance. From our vantage point, countryside extending to the start of the hazy, gray range, it felt as if we were two pioneers on a great trek, us against the world. I smiled at my fancifulness.
“See? You can tell we’re out of Kansas. Finally.” My chest felt tight and crackly, but I couldn’t tell whether it was altitude or pent-up emotion.
“You know, on the way back, we could—”
“No more talk about my family.” I tried to get a deep breath and failed. “I just meant that we’ll make Las Vegas in time. Promise.”
“Are you okay?” Studying my face, Alden touched my arm.
I tried again to breathe, but a cough came out instead.
“Damn it. Altitude. Forgot how that always affects me,” I explained between coughs, lungs tightening further. Hell. All the weird chest feels suddenly made more sense, and familiar dread filled my stomach. “Took morning med. But…”
“Where’s your inhaler?” Alden sprang into action, pushing me to sit on a flat rock, concern evident in his dark eyes, but as with Jasper’s emergency, he was firm and decisive, not freaking out. Funny how it was often the little things that seemed to make him more anxious. Right then, however, I was more grateful for not being alone than for his cool head in a crisis.
“Car. Backpack. Front pocket.” More coughing as Alden sprinted away. The asthma attack that had threatened the night before was nothing compared to this full-on constriction, each breath a shallow cough. It hadn’t been this bad since…
Wait. This place was not memory-free after all. My last trip west, right after high school graduation. The never-ending dust and high elevations had turned what was supposed to be a fun family camping trip into an exercise in frustration—me battling the asthma and Dad not understanding. But there had been good moments too, like him telling me he was proud of me for graduating, and family pictures with the mountains as a backdrop. Hell. Asthma and all, I wished I could go back to my past self, tell him to slow down and enjoy it, to not be so eager to race ahead to Gracehaven.
Alden returned far faster than I expected, running back, barely winded. And I wasn’t so far gone that I couldn’t appreciate how fine he looked jogging—long strides, confident motions, striking features.
“Thanks,” I wheezed as he sat next to me, holding out the inhaler. His eyes were still tight with concern, but his hand was soft and soothing as he rubbed circles on my back. A little self-conscious, I used the inhaler as he kept a hand on me. Him taking care of me felt a little too good, like icy lemonade on a hot day. And it brought back memories I didn’t want—my mom wrapping me in a winter scarf, my grandma’s towering cakes, my grandfather’s booming welcome. Alden’s gentle touch and concern felt like everything I’d been missing and hadn’t even realized, but it also felt like something I had no right to enjoy.
Oh, he’d said it wasn’t my fault, and part of me wanted to believe him, but guilt still clouded my thinking. And behind the guilt was frustration too. I’d handled my business all damn year. I didn’t suddenly need a caretaker, and letting myself get too used to his quiet sympathy was dangerous. Didn’t want to have to miss him along with everything else.
“Better now.” My voice came out defensive as I shrugged away from his touch.
His exhale was shaky, as if he needed to steady himself, and even more guilt flooded me. I hadn’t meant to hurt him. But before I could apologize, he spoke, voice deliberate, as though he was having to will himself to stay even. “Good. Let’s sit another minute, though, before walking back. Take our time.”
“You don’t have to baby me.” Snapping was far easier than giving voice to the part of me that wanted to beg for the return of his touch, that wanted to wallow in how nice it was to not be alone right then.