by Vivian Wood
Sitting up and shaking my head, I shove a hand through my sweat-soaked hair, trying to get it out of my face.
“I’m fine,” I mumble. “I just had a bad dream.”
She screws up her face. “Is there anything I can do?”
“No.” I stand up and grab my hiking boots. “Just go back to sleep. I’m going to go for a walk.”
She casts a look around. “It’s dark out.”
Fuuuuuuuck. I’m still a little disoriented and the last thing on earth I need right now is a bunch of questions.
But I don't say anything in response to her observation. Cramming my feet into my boots, I realize I am bare-chested. I grab a long-sleeved plaid shirt out of my backpack and pull it on. “Go back to sleep. I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I stalk off into the trees, acutely embarrassed and extremely agitated. I’m not sure where I will even go but anywhere is better than standing there looking frazzled. Dragging a hand over my face, I sigh.
Rachel being here is tempting. Too tempting.
Her soft lips, her sweet breath. Those little sighs she makes, furrowing her brows…
I’m always worried about her when I’m not fantasizing about what kissing her would be like. How do I know that I won’t sleepwalk into her bunk at night and try to pick up where I left off with her?
God, I wish I was a different person. A stronger one. A person who didn’t have these years of guilt and PTSD stacked on top of him. They threaten to smother me if I even think about slowing down for a fucking second.
I start to repeat my mantra to myself without even realizing that I needed to hear it.
“It is the fifth month, the month of May. It is the tenth day of the month, a Thursday. I’m currently in the Olympic National Park. My name is Grayson James Sellwood and I am okay.” I suck in a deep breath. “I am going to be okay.”
Above me, the stars watch and wait, silently judging me.
Chapter Nineteen
Grayson
In the pre-dawn hours, I end up hiking a lot further than I meant to. By the time I make it back to camp the sun is fully out, coating the camp site in warmth. The fire pit is suspiciously cool; then again, I’m not even sure that Rachel knows how to start a fire, so I’m not entirely surprised.
“Hello?” I call out. “Rachel?”
I stalk over to her cabin and knock on the door. There is no response.
Where would she go? Glancing around, I have literally no idea.
My stomach rumbles faintly. It’s definitely time I ate something, whether or not Rachel is around. The cabin beside Rachel’s is empty except for our stock of food. I snag a bag of trail mix out of there and practically inhale it.
Although I’ve been back at camp for almost twenty minutes, there is still no sign of Rachel. Where could she be? What if something happened to her?
I imagine her lost in the woods, running scared. Pushing that down, I have to talk myself out of feeling like I need to hunt her down.
Shrugging to myself, I decide to change clothes and make myself smell a little better by bathing. Grabbing a bundle of clothes and the eco-friendly soap I use, I set out for the stream. I know it’s just a few minutes away from the camp site.
As I walk, I try to picture what the next few days will look like. Ideally, we will paddle kayaks out across Lake Sutherland and Lake Crescent today or tomorrow. If we do that, we could stay overnight somewhere west of Lake Crescent and get all the way to the coast of the Pacific Ocean the next day. Then we should come back to base camp and…
I glance up from my thoughts.
I come up behind a large tree. Just beyond me is the stream, trickling broadly over a bed of gravel. It gathers and pools a little in a copse just on the other side of this tree. Upon looking a second time, the stream is more substantial than I remembered. Where it pools, water is almost knee deep.
I spy a flash of bare skin moving and my mouth drops open. My lungs seize up.
Rachel is right there, mostly naked. She has a pair of white lacy panties on but she’s completely topless, splashing around in the depths. Her tits are amazing, high and firm. Her perfectly shaped pale pink nipples are hard as rocks, doubtless from being splashed with what is likely very cold water.
Fuck. I can feel myself growing hard. I know that I should turn away, but I can’t. I’m trapped, gaping at Rachel’s incredible body.
I stare at the water as it pebbles and falls away, tracing down her breasts. It keeps rolling down her smooth sides to the flare of her petite hips. The scrap of white lace that is pressed between her thighs there might as well not exist.
I know from memory that Rachel has a little thatch of amber-colored hair there. I also remember the look on her face the very first time I parted those creamy thighs and tasted her dripping wet pussy. I couldn’t get enough of her earthy-sweet flavor, licking her folds until she buried her hands in my hair and called out my name.
I’m so hard now that it’s a little uncomfortable. Reaching down to adjust myself is an agony. It’s been so long since I’ve touched a woman, so long since any woman has touched me. I jerk off from time to time as a way to release serotonin but…
I’d all but forgotten the way that I could feel, looking at Rachel bathing herself. I’d forgotten what it means to be around a woman I’m attracted to.
That’s the gist of it, I realize. Rachel’s body still calls to me like a siren’s song.
I want to fucking touch her so badly that I’m trembling just a bit. I want to hold her. I want to fuck her, to hear my name ripped from her lips as I make her come. I want to bury myself inside her so deep that neither of us will ever recover.
Forget the past. Stop fearing the future. Just be with her, within her, as free as a bird.
Fuck. Am I really hiding behind a giant tree, spying on Rachel and thinking about how she’s attractive? I’m essentially a bridge troll come to life. Turning, I try to slink away quietly.
“Hello?” Rachel calls. “If that’s you, Grayson, don’t come over here!”
I hesitate, then keep going back to camp. The whole walk back, I’m scrambling, trying to plan out how me seeing her naked isn’t going to mess anything up in our working relationship. It’s not that I regret having seen her. I couldn’t exactly help that.
But things are already so fucking strange between us. All this does is add another layer of complexity onto a situation that is already rife with tension.
I decide to keep it as simple as I can.
Don’t stare at her tits. Don’t stare at her ass. And for the love of god, don’t stare longingly at her pussy.
All I need is to last long enough for Rachel to realize of her own accord that being out here in nature is a terrible idea. Then I will be free of this, of obsessively thinking about her.
Reaching my hammock, I rub my hand over my face. A couple of women back at Whiskey Bend were flirty. Maybe I should’ve flirted back, let them warm my bed for a night or two. Then I wouldn’t be so sexually frustrated right now.
Then again, those women didn’t look like Rachel.
“Stop it,” I reprimand myself. “You knew her a long time ago. You don’t know anything about her life now. She could be married for all you know about it.”
It’s true. I know next to nothing about Rachel’s life now, aside from what little I’ve gleaned. She went to school and got her graduate degree. Other than that, I don’t know anything about her life. Nothing personal, at least.
Pressing my mouth into a line, I start stripping off my clothing. If I can’t bathe, I can at least change. It’s better to think about my clothes than it is to wonder about Rachel’s life.
All the things I don’t know about. Like whether she replaced me with another serious boyfriend. I mean, she’s fucking gorgeous. And that’s not even considering how rich her snooty family is. It wouldn’t be a stretch to imagine her having a boyfriend or fiancé back in Manhattan.
That fact puts me firmly in a bad mood. Grimacing to myself, I r
ush to finish changing.
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 copy 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.
