The Rules of Regret

by Megan Squires

His lips pushed in and his leg wrapped over mine, so we were scissored together within the sleeping bag. I knew I shouldn’t want this, but everything in me did. Maybe because it had been so long since I’d seen Lance. That had to be the reason. But as Torin continued to kiss me, his lips sliding over my own, I knew it wasn’t Lance I craved. It never was. It was Torin. I didn’t just want a kiss; I wanted this kiss.

  Though I had been frustrated with Torin from the moment I met him—how he made me do that terrifying high ropes course, how he had to come to my rescue when I fell into the river, how he even challenged the color of my hair—nothing about kissing him frustrated me.

  I felt his chest rising against mine, and our body heat stole away any of those earlier chills I’d had. I melted into him, wrapping my arms under his, feeling the damp sheen of sweat from his palms across my neck as he swept my hair back to trail light kisses there. A warm shudder drew up my shoulders, and when Torin’s lips returned to mine and coaxed them open and his tongue slid in, the ache in my gut intensified.

  I didn’t know how he did it, how he stayed controlled and collected, because I was bordering on ravenous and wanted to tear and claw at him. Maybe it was because he was still asleep—still in that dream-like limbo—so his movements were light and airy just as they should be. I clenched my fingers, curled my toes, and regained my bearings.

  Drawing back slightly, Torin pushed his full lips to mine again, and whispered, “G’night, Darby,” softly against my cheek, his light breath caressing my skin.

  With what I hoped to be my most convincing act yet, I muttered, “Goodnight, Lance,” and rolled to my side of the bag.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  “I have something to confess, Darby.”

  It was early—like butt-crack of dawn early—but Torin had obviously been up for a while. The fresh fillet skewered over the fire kind of hinted at that. He must be a morning person, and a cook at that.

  I, on the other hand, had just emerged from the sleep sack, my hair ratted and tangled around my shoulders like a lion’s untamed mane. I finger combed it wildly, ripping my hands through the frizzy stands. But the fact that I was going on day two without a shower, good teeth brushing, or deodorant application kind of defeated any attempt at making myself presentable. I was an utter mess that could probably be smelled from a mile away.

  “Sleep well?” Torin glanced up at me from the fire as he rotated the fish like a rotisserie. His hair was tousled and unkempt, strands jutting every which way, but it looked good on him. In fact, the more time we spent out here, the better looking he got. Maybe that’s what happened when you were in your element. If that was the case, I probably looked about as good as Medusa and her snaky mess of twisted hair.

  “I slept okay.” I dropped down onto a log across from him and swiped the back of my hand across my eyes. Sunlight filtered through the hedge of evergreen around us, creating star-like bursts that twinkled into the morning atmosphere. It was a gorgeous dawn, but one I would probably have appreciated more if I wasn’t so tired, disoriented, and completely confused.

  “You have a confession?” I asked, hoping with all my being it didn’t have anything to do with last night’s sleep-kiss. There were people who talked in their sleep, people who walked in their sleep, and even people who snored. Making out was not something I’d heard before. We just might have made up an entirely separate category of embarrassing sleep issues.

  “Yes,” he replied, stoking the fire with a pointed stick he had probably whittled by hand. The embers glowed against the charcoal-colored logs that hissed and popped as he poked at it. “I lied to you yesterday.” His green eyes lifted to mine, hovering once they met. “When I said you had to wear your swimsuit.”

  I stared at him blankly through the screen of smoke between us.

  “Your clothes probably would have dried just as well on you as off of you.”

  “You perverted little creep,” I teased, folding my arms across my chest in false disgust, because I really wasn’t disgusted at all. In fact, it made everything that happened last night start to make sense. “So you just wanted to get my clothes off?”

  Torin smirked, then averted his eyes. “Um, yeah,” he defended. I’d think he was blushing if I didn’t already know that his cheeks were typically that rosy. “Of course. I mean seriously, a girl in hiking boots and a bikini? That’s like teenage dream material right there. I think I may even have had a poster like that pinned to my wall when I was younger.”

  “But I thought I wasn’t your type.” I drug my fingers across my scalp again, loosening the knots that tangled at my hairline. “I thought I was... what did you say? Crazy and off limits?”

  “You are,” Torin said, nodding his head swiftly. “But I mentioned before that I kinda dig crazy.”

  “Just to be clear, what about me is crazy? Not that I don’t feel that way sometimes,” (always), “I just didn’t know it was so blatantly obvious to the casual outsider.” I played with my cuticles, pushing them back nervously because, for some reason, talking to Torin made me nervous today. Yesterday was fine, but things changed. Like somehow even talking was dangerous because it also involved that dangerous mouth of his. I got myself into quite a lot of trouble with that mouth last night. I really needed to watch myself today.

  “First off,” Torin started, raising his index finger. “I’m not a casual outsider. I slept with you last night, Darby.” I knew what he meant by his statement, but the innuendo was all too clear and made me giggle like I was in junior high and wasn’t mature enough for a conversation like this. Maybe I wasn’t. I covered my mouth to trap the laughter in. “Second, it wasn’t entirely obvious.”

  “I assume an answer detailing my craziness is forthcoming,” I interrupted.

  “You’re an impatient one, aren’t you?”

  “All of us crazies are. It adds to the crazy—the nervous impatience. Foot tapping, nail biting, pacing. I’m well practiced in all of those. Bolsters the whole shtick.”

  Torin laughed and dropped his head in a way that I found incredibly adorable, which made me mad because I didn’t want to find him adorable. I was still holding out hope for the whole jerk thing to come to fruition.

  “There are three reasons why I think you are a touch crazy. In the past, I’ve found that if you have three facts of supporting evidence, your theory usually holds true.”

  “Your first piece of evidence.” I waved a hand toward him, motioning him to begin laying out his body of proof.

  “You have been with the same guy since you were thirteen. Thirteen, Darby. That is insane on multiple counts. I mean, seriously, I cannot name one thing I liked when I was thirteen that I still like now.”

  “Posters of hot girls in bikinis,” I interjected. He blushed.

  “I had that when I was fifteen. And I don’t like the posters anymore. I prefer the real thing.”

  “Gotcha.” Was it weird that I sort of hoped he considered me the “real thing”?

  “So the fact that you’re still in love with someone that you fell in love with when you were a mere adolescent makes you a tad bit crazy, sorry to say.”

  “Noted. And your other evidence?”

  “You don’t act like a college chick, let alone a chick that goes to one of the most prestigious schools in the nation. In all honestly, you talk and act like you’re still thirteen. Like you’re stuck in some immature space of time when Lance—or someone—took over your life.”

  I wanted to be mad at him for making such an all-encompassing, flippant observation of me. But he was kind of right in his assumption—at least half-right—so being mad felt like an unfair expression, just like calling him a jerk was an unfair label. And he didn’t know the whole story. It felt wrong to be mad at him when he didn’t have all the facts.

  “To be honest,” I began, playing defense, “I don’t always act that way. Around Lance it’s all keeping up appearances and playing the supportive girlfriend part. I’ve been primed to be the perfect politician’s arm c
andy.” And it was true; my soon-to-be sister in law had already given me several extensive lessons on this. “I’ve never been on my own adventure without him. The last time I was by myself was when I was thirteen. Thirteen wasn’t a good year for me.” I toed at the dirt with my shoe, drawing lines and circles in the dust underneath it.

  “Don’t get me wrong. I really like Darby, WL.”

  My curiosity was plain on my face as my eyes lifted to his.

  “Without Lance,” he clarified, smiling. His green eyes were playful and looked way too alert and awake for as early as it was. “She’s a bit crazy and immature—”

  “And stubborn.”

  He smiled again. “Yes, and stubborn. But I like her. But I think I’d like the nineteen-year-old version of her, too.”

  “I think this is the nineteen-year-old version. Believe me, the thirteen-year-old prototype was incredibly flat chested with bad teeth and knobby knees. They’ve made some major improvements to the body and frame of the 2013 model.”

  Torin chuckled while shaking his head. “You’re only adding to my case, Darby.” Which I was, however unintentionally. “Talking about yourself like you’re a car.”

  “Is that your third piece of evidence?”

  “No. There’s more.” Of course there was. “You said being one of eight kids was like having eight television shows playing all at once.”

  “Right, and I’m still proud of that analogy. It’s a pretty darn good one.”

  “As you should be,” he agreed, “but it’s weird to describe your life as something that’s scripted. Life isn’t scripted, Darby. Life is fluid. It’s changing. It fluctuates.”

  “Maybe your life, Torin.” Because I was sure his was. I bet every day at Quarry Summit was a new adventure waiting to be written. “But mine isn’t anymore and that’s how I want it.” That’s how I needed it. “I can tell you with certainty exactly how my life will play out. I’ve got a plan.”

  “And that is crazy point number three: if you really do think life is scripted, you’ve given someone else the pen to write your own story.” He was still crouched down by the fire like a catcher waiting for the pitch. He balanced on his toes and tipped his head toward his right shoulder. “How can you give up authorship to something so important? Don’t you regret doing that?”

  I fidgeted on the log, not out of physical discomfort, but because the words he spoke felt like fingernails scratching up my back and made it impossible for me to sit still. “Do I regret letting Lance become part of my story—”

  “Not part of your story, the whole story.”

  “I’m not sure I think he is the whole story. I’m here, aren’t I?”

  “You’re here so you can go there.” Torin replayed my lines from yesterday, that word thief that he was.

  “I think it’s inertia, Torin. Like you said. I think when you’re with someone, something gets set into motion and your lives move forward together. There’s really no way to stop it, even if you wanted it to.” And more often than not, I did want it to, I just didn’t know how.

  “Of course there is. You take the pen back. You say, ‘Thank you for the chapters you’ve written, but I’ve got it from here.’”

  “I think Lance is a decent enough author,” I admitted, staring down at my nails. I had pushed all of my cuticles back as far as they could go, and then I moved on to picking at hangnails.

  “I think Lance writes mediocre, predictable jargon. I’d much rather read something penned by the brilliantly peculiar Darby Duncan. Now that could be a New York Times best seller.”

  “She’s retired.”

  “Yeah,” Torin chuckled, “I heard. Ran out of ink at the ripe old age of thirteen.”

  I pulled at a piece of skin a little too forcefully and blood pooled at the base of my nail. I thrust it into my mouth to suck it off and to buy some time before answering, “Why do you care who writes my story? In six weeks I’ll be out of here and done with this chapter.”

  Torin pushed his hands to his knees and rose to stand. The smoke from the fire danced between us, curling around him as he looked down at me. His eyes lost that playful gleam and embodied an intensity that drew the hairs on my arm to stand up on end. “I care because I’d like to be more than just a few pages in your book, Darby.”

  I didn’t say anything for a few minutes. Neither did Torin. He rotated the fish more times than necessary. I figured he was banking on the fact that I didn’t know anything about cooking food over an open flame, but I was pretty sure you didn’t have to spin it quite that vigorously. I didn’t say anything, though.

  “I told you I had a confession.”

  I looked up at him, startled by his words because it had been quiet long enough that I’d almost forgotten what his voice sounded like. “Another one?”

  “Yeah. I’m on a roll, huh?”

  “You should totally title your own biography Confessions of a Mountain Man.”

  “Funny, Darby.” Torin shot me a contrived smile. “I wanted to apologize for thinking the things I did about you.”

  “About how I’m a crazy, stubborn, failed author?” Among other things.

  “No, how you’re hot and intriguing and how I totally wanted you.” My stomach dropped out of me completely. Good thing I never felt like eating because it was completely gone. “Seriously, like I even dreamt about you last night.” I could see him faintly pull his bottom lip into his mouth, and I knew exactly what that dream involved. It had been a reality for at least one of us. “You said you wanted to hang onto your modesty yesterday, and I basically made it so you couldn’t. And then I totally thought things about you that I would never want some guy thinking about my girlfriend. That’s completely wrong and I’m sorry. I probably owe Lance an apology, too.”

  I tucked my chin into my neck and tightened my brow to the point where it started to impede my vision. “That’s not necessary,” I said quickly, knowing that his confession to Lance would likely result in Torin’s broken jaw. And he had a pretty nice jaw. It should stay intact. “Just so you know, Lance has thought those things about other girls, and acted on them, too.”

  “And you’ve stayed with him?”

  “Yeah.” I’d never been insecure about that fact, but the way Torin looked at me with such questioning eyes made me second-guess myself and my decisions.

  “Why would you stay with someone that could do that to you? And please don’t say 'because I love him,’ or 'he said he was sorry,’ something equally as self demoralizing.”

  “You lost your brother, right?”

  “Yeah.” Torin’s eyes slivered.

  “So you know what it’s like to lose someone you love, not by choice.”

  “I suppose.”

  “I chose to forgive Lance because I’m not ready to lose him. He’s become family, and family makes mistakes. The ones you’re closest to are the ones that have the ability to hurt you the most, right?” Wasn’t that how the saying went?

  “I can’t decide if you have a really big heart, or just a really small brain.” Torin rotated his face and looked directly at me. “But since you go to Stanford and I have to assume the admissions department that reviewed your application wasn’t a bunch of mindless monkeys, I’m going with the former.”

  “Lance isn’t the kind of guy you break up with.” The edge of the butterfly bandage fluttered from my forehead and I lifted my hand to secure it back into place. Unfortunately, all of the stickiness was completely gone and it peeled away almost completely. Fantastic. I had Medusa hair and bandages falling off of my scabby body. Not to mention I didn’t get any sleep last night. Unless Torin had a thing for zombies, I didn’t think I’d run the risk of him ever “wanting” me again.

  “What does that mean? That he’s exempt from being dumped because it’s not kosher to break up with a guy like him?” Torin sounded frustrated. “I’d like to learn how to achieve that elite status because it sounds pretty nice to get a free pass to do whatever you want, and still have an amazing
girl at your side.”

  I didn’t know what to think about that because it was an insult and a backhanded compliment all wrapped up in one punch.

  “Listen,” Torin continued. “I get that relationships are complicated. Life is complicated. I just want to make sure you’re not selling yourself short, Darby. Because I don’t know Lance, but the fact that he’s cheated on you pretty much makes him an ass in my book.”

  Torin noticed me fiddling with the bandage and walked over, lowered his stance, and pulled his hand up to my face. His eyebrows lifted to ask permission and I nodded slightly. He tugged the remaining portion of the Band-Aid from my forehead and ran his finger over the scab, the fresh ridge of it under the pad of his index finger. We were inches from one another, and his eyes secured onto mine in a way that made my entire body buzz just under the surface of my skin.

  “This looks good,” he said, his gaze lifting to the injury above my brow. “I think you should leave the bandage off and let it get some air today.” I nodded again, still fixated on him. His gaze briefly trailed down my face to my lips, and they held there long enough that it made me uncomfortable, lightheaded, and slightly giddy. “I'm sorry if I overstepped my bounds, I just want you to know that you’re worth more than being someone’s backup, Darby.”

  “I don’t feel like his backup. I feel like his constant. And in truth, I’m too afraid to be anything else.”

  “We need to work on your fear of the unknown.”

  “I’ve had the unknown happen, Torin. And it was more terrifying than anything I could have ever imagined.”

  “I know.” His voice trailed off and so did his eyes. “Me too.”

  Still kneeling in front of me, he took hold of both my hands, pulling them close to his chest, the beat of it vibrating against them. “And I think that’s something we should work on together.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  “When we get to the end of this trail... “ Torin called out over his shoulder, motioning with a stick toward the base of the trampled path, “...we’ll need to stop.”