by Wood, Vivian
Chapter Twenty
Rachel
Grayson comes back from his abrupt middle of the night hike very quiet. He’s in the camp when I get back from bathing in the stream. But for some reason he isn’t making eye contact with me, much less conversation.
As he cooks a little breakfast for us, the silence stretches, growing awkward.
I’m sitting here on a knife’s edge, wondering just exactly what he will do next. His personality has really begun to shift over the last couple of days, bringing the old Grayson back. Well, like him, but with a heaping pile of angst.
It makes me feel uncertain of everything, this entire trip included.
I’m not sure if that’s intentional or if everything in him is focused inward. Watching Grayson as he portions out the food, he seems fixated on something inside himself. Eating quickly, I help him wash the dishes in a bucket of water he already has set out. Then I prepare for the day ahead.
As the sun rises higher in the sky, it threatens to bake everything under it into a solid slab of heat and greenery. After breakfast, I take ten minutes to stretch out my body. Everything hurts, especially my feet. I carefully apply moleskin to each one of my blisters and then slip my feet back into my hiking boots.
Once I am dressed and wearing plenty of suntan lotion, I return to the fire pit with my day pack. It holds a metal case full of equipment, several different snacks, a quick dry towel, and little else. It still feels pretty heavy, though. I feel sort of naked without wearing the whole face full of makeup I normally do, but it also feels kind of exciting. Wearing only a little blush and a little mascara is a bold statement for me.
Grayson rains on my parade a little by being such a wet blanket. He huffs into camp looking aggrieved. “I hope you’re ready to paddle a lot. It would be wise if we got started by doing the lake first.”
I lift my eyebrows. “The lake?”
He nods, brooding. “Yeah. Well, lakes. Lake Southerland and Lake Crescent are on the list of water sources.”
That gives me pause. “There is a list?”
He gives me a dark look. “Of course there is a list. It’s like… two hundred water sources long, maybe more.”
Now that I think about it, what he’s saying makes total sense. I just haven’t seen the list. That doesn’t stop my cheeks from going pink though.
“Right,” I mumble. Before I can say anything else, he sighs.
“You’ll need to bring overnight things. Sleeping bag, food, canteen… all of that jazz.”
I scrunch my face up. “Okay. I’ll need about ten minutes to get that together.”
He just shrugs, wandering off toward the stream with our breakfast dishes. He gives me space to pack, waiting until it’s been about twenty minutes before he knocks on the door of my cabin.
I’m standing in the cramped space, trying not to convince myself not to feel bad about not wearing makeup. My mascara and blush sit on my bed, cast aside when I packed for this mini-trip. I bite my lower lip.
I tell myself that I don't have to wear makeup to be pretty. Especially not out here.
Grayson makes an entrance.
“Are you ready to go or what?” he says. He doesn’t even bother with waiting for me to open the door. I make a note that the walls of these cabins are very thin.
“Uhh…” I pick up my pack. “I think…”
“Oh my god. Just hurry up,” he snaps.
His tone makes me want to curl in on myself. Taking a deep breath and raising my chin, I nod.
“I am.”
He turns away and starts walking out of camp, but not before I hear his final comment. “Fantastic.”
I follow after him, my mood quickly going south. I would guess that he’s on very little sleep, but his attitude is shitty. And that shitty attitude makes my morning harder.
As we take off, I shade my eyes against the sun. The trees thin out as we slope downward. Tall grass rises in their stead. It’s beautiful just here, the even divide of the restless blue skies and the fresh greenery springing up underfoot.
After a quick hike down to the lake, Grayson makes a beeline for a weathered white shed. Looking around at the lake, I wrinkle my nose. It’s pretty enough here but it has nothing on the majesty of the mountains we just passed.
I wait while he rummages around inside, waving a hand in front of my face to fend off the mosquitoes that hang around the lake. Slapping my bare skin a couple of times, I wish that I’d thought to bring a tube of insect repellent along.
Unfortunately, like everything else, it’s back at Whiskey Bend.
He pulls a couple of sleek kayaks and their paddles out of the shed. Lighting up, I walk carefully over the rocky shore to get to them. But as soon as I get close, I see Grayson frowning down at one of the kayaks.
He sticks his face in the opening and then puts it down so fast that he practically throws it on the ground. “Fuck. There are fucking bees in there.”
Sure enough, several angry bees swarm out of the kayak, looking for a fight. I step away automatically. Bees freak me out. Their little weird bodies are strange and their aggressive behavior just layers right on top.
“What do we do now? I… I don't want to get stung,” I say, staring apprehensively at one of the angry bees. It does loop de loops in the air, spiraling away from me.
Grayson huffs and looks back at the shed.
“I don’t know. I mean…” He walks back over and looks inside. “There is a canoe…”
My eyebrows rise. “Paddling everywhere together? That sounds hard.”
He turns back to level a look at me. “The other options involve either figuring out how to remove the bees from the kayak or walking twice as much as we did yesterday.”
I hesitate at that. My feet are still throbbing from yesterday. And I don't want anything to do with those bees, not even a little bit. I look at the lake, whose bottom I cannot see, and I swallow nervously.
It’s a lot for me to take in at once.
Grayson sighs. “Alright. Give me a hand with the canoe, will you?”
I clear my throat and walk over to the shed, careful again of the uneven rocks beneath my feet. He rolls his eyes at how I walk over the shoreline but doesn’t say anything. Inside the shed there is in fact a beat-up silver canoe with two long paddles beside it.
He grabs one end, motioning to me to grab the other. I hurry over and lift my end, grappling with it for a second. The canoe is surprisingly light. It could be carried by one person if it weren’t so bulky and awkward.
We carry the canoe down to the shore. I wait there while Grayson lifts the kayaks back into the shed. I try not to notice the muscles rippling in his back as he works, or to ponder what kind of exercise has gotten him so damn ripped.
Then he comes back to the canoe, a scowl on his face.
“Get in,” he commands. I bristle at his tone but he’s already pushing the end of the canoe further into the water. “Put your pack in the waterproof bag by your feet.”
Stepping in, I sit down on the careworn wooden seat. I set my backpack down in the black waterproof bag and then seal it. Grayson pushes the canoe again, hopping into his seat at the last possible second. He is pretty practiced at this, taking his backpack off and setting it down in a single movement.
There is a weird moment where I clutch at the sides as we bump onto the water. Grayson’s bulk makes the canoe teeter unpredictably. But soon we balance out, the canoe plowing smoothly through the water. I let out a breath that I didn’t know I was holding.
Grayson puts his backpack in the same black bag, sealing it. Then he just grunts and picks up a paddle from between us, thrusting it at me. I take it, narrowing my eyes at him.
What is with his attitude right now?
I dip my paddle into the lake, testing out how it works.
“No, no,” he says. “You are doing it wrong. You want to go with the water. Look…”
He picks up his own paddle and dips it in the lake, moving it smoothly. I try to c
opy his movement, but he just sighs loudly.
“No.” He demonstrates again. “You are going against the water. If you expect to get anywhere—”
“Alright!” I say through gritted teeth. “It’s my first time. Just let me—”
I stroke my paddle in the water. Grayson explodes.
“You still aren’t doing it right! How hard can it possibly be to follow instructions?” He grabs the end of my paddle, exasperated. “Just—”
“Let go!” He’s pushing me close to the edge. I can feel my temper starting to balloon up. Gripping my paddle, I rip it from his hands.
Anger flares in his eyes. “You are so—”
His words hurt. But there has been a kind of tension brewing between us, an unspoken strain, and now it’s bubbling to the surface. I can’t help the warm weakness that he makes me feel, but this… this is a good enough excuse to lash out.
“What is your problem, Grayson?!”
He’s already got a response loaded. “You are my problem! What in the fuck are you even doing here, Rachel?”
“I could ask you the same thing, but you would probably not have an answer,” I grind out. “Again. I generally don’t like to repeat my mistakes.”
He bristles. “Are you saying that I was a mistake, then?”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s not what I meant, but… yes. My mother’s right about you.”
As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I wish I could take them back. My mother said a lot of hideous things about him while we were together. How is he supposed to know that I’m referencing something she said when he was already gone?
Grayson gets this wounded look in his eyes for the barest second. Watching it is like being slapped in the face.
“I didn’t mean—”
“Enough.” He glares at me. “Just use your fucking paddle like a normal person, okay?”
He stands up and carefully turns around, so that he’s facing away from me. He dips his paddle in the water and starts rowing wordlessly. I mimic him and he switches to the other side of the canoe with a heavy sigh.
We actually move pretty quickly then, especially since we are not communicating. I realize that I probably should have stopped back on the shore for a sample of water, but I guess we can stop on the return journey.
I try to breathe and paddle in time with Grayson’s mighty strokes. As we leave the shore behind us, I look up at the calm blue sky overhead. Except the sky isn’t blue exactly; it’s light gray now, thunderclouds gathering overhead.
Struggling to keep up with Grayson, I watch the sky darken. It’s definitely about to rain. As soon as I can see the shore on the other side, I see raindrops begin to hit the lake’s smooth surface.
“Shit,” I hear Grayson grumble.
Digging my paddle into the water deeper doesn’t help as much as I want it to. The skies open up and dump rain onto us. There is suddenly water everywhere, each raindrop seeming to bounce back up from where it falls on the lake.
When we are almost there, Grayson actually gets out of the canoe, soaking himself up though to the waist. Unsure what to do, I try to stand up. I see Grayson glance back at me and do a double take.
“Rachel—”
But it’s too late. I tip the canoe over and fall out, flailing awkwardly. The only thing that breaks my fall is the water, which is shockingly cold. Then I am submerged for several breathless seconds, underneath the lake’s muddy waters.
I feel something move in the water beside me. My heart starts to pound.
Grayson materializes right there, grabbing me and pulling me to the surface of the lake. I gasp for breath. My arms automatically go around his neck as he pulls me toward the shore, dripping wet.
Even though I’m half drowned, I’m also intimately aware of how warm the hard muscle of his chest is. He holds me tight, almost uncomfortably so. It feels wonderful to be held and cared for, even if the man who’s holding me also makes me feel irritated and angry and lustful.
If everything wasn’t happening all at once, I might make some noise about it.
I try to clear my face of my own water-dampened hair. He runs up onto the shore with me in his arms, not stopping for a second. He keeps going until he trots into a little lean-to.
Only when there is something over both of our heads does he stop and breathe. His eyes dart to and fro, scanning the downpour outside. He leans forward and pulls the door closed just a little.
Something about his behavior is… off, somehow.
“Grayson,” I say, gently putting my hands on his chest. “Gray?”
He looks at me as if he’s seeing me for the first time. When he speaks, his voice is oddly quiet. “Hey.”
I squirm a little but he doesn’t get the picture. Pushing against his chest makes me realize that he is really the one in control here. “Can you put me down, please?”
He scans my face, breathing hard. Raindrops trickle down his face, onto those perfectly kissable lips. Grayson’s hair is slicked back in a way that makes me want to bury my hands in it.
This is such a bad idea.
There is a moment of hesitation there. I can see in his eyes that he wants to say no. But he lets me down.
And for just the briefest moment, soaking wet and pressed against his warm body, that I don’t want him to let me go. I peer up into his eyes and wonder if he ever thinks about kissing me. And he looks right back at me, his eyes glinting blue.
Nothing is between us but our wet clothes and an aeon of history. For just the barest second, I lean in and begin to close my eyes.
Then he pushes me away. It’s so silly to feel this way, but it’s like being rejected by him all over again. My eyes mist over and I curse myself for being so weak.
Grayson heads out into the pouring rain and I watch him go, determined not to cry.
Chapter Twenty-One
Grayson
It continues to rain heavily all the rest of the day. After rescuing the canoe, I fish our backpacks out of the waterproof bags. Fantastically, everything inside the bags is dry.
I spend a lot of time setting up a makeshift tent out of plastic tarps that I carry for just such an occasion. Though I’m completely soaked through and starting to feel cold, I would rather shiver and set up a tent than cuddle up to Rachel.
I can’t look at her right now. I can’t need her the way that I do.
I just can’t.
The way she looked at me back there in the shed… her white tank top almost see-through, her brown eyes dark with need…
It makes me feel like I’m a man without skin, vulnerable to every damn thing in the world. I’m afraid that if Rachel sees me like that, sees my complete need for her, she will be repulsed.
Yeah, I can’t do that. Or maybe I can’t look at her and not be tempted to press my lips against hers, which is why I need a cooling off period.
When I finish building the tent and duck back inside the tiny shed, I find Rachel has changed into some dryer clothes. She also has her raincoat on, but I see her shivering.
I almost panic, seeing her suffering like that. It goes against the very grain of who I am to not gather her in my arms and warm her against my own body. But I don’t. I am so terrified to let my mask slip, to let her bear witness to how much of a fucking wreck I am right now.
So I just wave her over.
“Come on,” I beckon. “The tent is ready. I can’t make a fire right now but you can warm up in your sleeping bag.”
Rachel bites her lip and doesn’t say anything, but she does hurry toward the tarps I’ve strung up. There is a tarp on the ground too, to give us somewhere dry to sit.
I unfasten her sleeping bag and unfurl it. She grabs it and places her wet hiking boots aside. Then she zips herself into the sleeping bag, burrowing down and trembling. I have a flash of guilt for the whole situation, looking at her mascara-ringed eyes and her chattering teeth. If I had only thought to say something to her before I jumped out of the canoe…
I keep mysel
f busy, which is the only way I know to deal with guilt. Freeing our campsite of branches and debris, stacking a little bit of dry kindling, and otherwise rushing around fills a couple of hours. Rachel gets out her paperback book and reads.
All in all, it’s an okay way to spend an afternoon with someone you don’t really want to talk to. It is still raining really hard when the sun starts to slip from the sky. I finally come to rest with my book of personally annotated maps to keep me company.
Watching the sky, I sigh. “I don’t think that we’re going to be able to start a fire tonight.”
Glancing up from her book, she looks at the sky. “Probably not.”
“I’m sorry to say that I think that means crackers, cheese, and tuna for dinner. Or…” I scrounge around my pack. “One of these pre-made meals. This one is chicken marsala…”
“Crackers and tuna sound fine,” she cuts in. She pulls a face. “I don’t want to even try the chicken marsala. It sounds super gross.”
Shrugging, I lay out the stuff for dinner. Tuna in the can, cheddar slices, and a package of Ritz crackers. It’s a little sad when I am presenting it to another person. To my surprise though Rachel doesn’t complain. She just grabs a cracker and some cheese, munching on it.
“Needs some wine,” she jokes. “What goes well with this? A chablis, maybe?”
My mouth curves upwards. “Oh, man. I left all the chablis back at the campsite. How stupid of me.”
She smiles at me, her mouth still full of crackers. I dig in, glad that the tension between us seems to have temporarily dissipated. She crawls out of her sleeping bag and puts her book down on top of it.
“What are you reading?” I ask.
Her cheeks immediately stain with color. “It’s… a romance novel.”
I chuckle. “One of those ones with Fabio on the cover?”
Her blush grows deeper.
“No. It’s a highlander and his foreign bride. It’s silly, but…” She shrugs and takes another cracker. “I just needed an escape from reality. These are great for that.”
“I can understand that.” I feel a weird need to put her at ease. “Maybe not Scottish brides, but… the other part, I get. That’s one of the reasons that I live out here in the woods.”
