I watched as he moved the branches to the side, out of the way of the barely-there path. "If you thought you could distract me by climbing a tree, you've forgotten that my job used to be puppet master of distractions. I don't get distracted. I do the distracting. It's obnoxious and one of the reasons people cringe when they see me but I get the job done regardless of how awful I am in the process."
"All the more reason for you to find a different line of work, Peach."
"What do you want me to do, Linden?" I cried, my frustration suddenly boiling over. "Should I wait tables? Answer phones? Maybe I should sell pharmaceuticals. I already know all there is about bullshitting so now I can really help people. How about that?"
"Why not? There's nothing wrong with any of those options."
"There's not, but—"
"But you don't know what your life is without your job. I get it. I know. I'm just saying, maybe you should take a minute to look around and realize this is your life without that awful, obnoxious, codependent job, and it's not too bad."
"No, it's not bad except I'm gaming out how long I can paint inside walls with outside paint and go for walks in the woods before I have to sell Midge's house. Aside from that and the everyday anxiety of it, everything is great."
He shook his head like he was at his wits' end with me. For a minute, he stared off into the woods. Eventually, he said, "Then sell the house. You can stay with me as long as you want."
"You don't actually want that. You're offering because you don't like me using tools and doing things by myself."
"Would you stop it? Just for a second, Jasper, stop pretending I'm the one holding you back from anything. Stop acting as though you're unbearable to be around, that you're intolerable and impossible. You're not. Stop saying that shit, would you? It offends me because I don't like anyone talking about you that way." He shook his head again, now past his wits' end. "I'm offering you a place to live while you're figuring this out."
"And why would you do that?"
"Because I…I don't hate you. That's why."
My belly swooped. It would've been better if he'd said he loved me. It wouldn't have hit me nearly as hard because not hating me meant a great many things, none of which I could handle. None of which belonged in a conversation where I continually reminded him he was single.
But then I went ahead and made it so much worse by saying, "I don't hate you either."
Linden stared at me, blinking hard. His hand tightened around the belt he'd used to lever himself up the tree. His other hand opened, closed in a fist, and then opened and closed again. "Now that we've cleared that up, maybe you could put some real energy into deciding what you want to do next. Not just work but what comes next in your life. And, I don't know, you might want to explore things that don't make you sound like you'd rather be stabbed by a hundred rusty steak knives."
"When did I sound like that?"
"When you were talking about the commentating gig. And again with the pharmaceutical sales."
I stared at the leaves on the ground around me. "I'd rather not do either of those things, even if I can."
Linden swung an arm over my shoulders and steered me down another nonexistent path. "Then don't, Jas. Sell the house if you have to, stay with me as long as you need, but don't keep doing things you hate."
I nodded, agreeing although I couldn't really agree to moving in with him. Even if I was sorta-kinda-maybe already there.
We were quiet as we walked, the weight of not hating each other lifting and falling down around us. Saying those words snapped the cord of tension we'd been twisting and winding for weeks—but it also broke all the vows of only temporary, just for now, just a fling.
Not hating a fling was serious business, or so I assumed, seeing as I didn't have many flings to my name and none in recent memory. But I knew I wasn't supposed to have not-hating feelings. Not when this place was only a detour for me.
This was a detour, right? This wasn't my destination.
I stopped, looked up at the bare branches, blinked hard at the sun. This wasn't where I was meant to be. It just wasn't.
"Okay there?" Linden asked.
"Yeah. Fine. Just thought I saw an owl."
"Not in the middle of the afternoon but maybe a hawk. A lot of those guys around here."
"Wait." I pressed a hand to his chest. "You never finished telling me why you're single, or why you've been single, and how that has anything to do with being a triplet."
He covered my hand with his. "I thought we'd moved on to more important topics."
"Like I said earlier, I spend enough time fixated on my problems. Let's talk about yours instead."
He laughed. "I don't have any problems."
"You're a thirty-six-year-old bachelor. Society would beg to differ." We started walking again, our hands clasped. "At least tell me about the triplet thing. I want to hear more about that."
"We grew up together, as you know, and we did everything together. We really did have our own tiny world—but then we finished high school and split up. It was a huge shock to the system. For the first time ever, I wasn't within an arm's reach of Ash and Magnolia."
"That must've been tough."
"It was weird," he replied. "It made me realize how much I prefer being alone and having things that belong only to me. They were still my best friends and I'd spend more time with them than anyone else, but not sharing everything with my siblings turned out to be very good for me. I don't mean that in a secretive way. It's like I learned to hear myself think for the first time and I couldn't go back to the way things used to be. Also, I think that split was good for them too. Ash stopped trying to herd us like cats, Magnolia stopped inventing things for us to do. We found things that interested us separately instead of everything being collaborative."
Out of absolutely nowhere, I said, "I don't have any siblings. A lot of cousins, but I wouldn't call any of them friends."
"Why not?"
"Lots of reasons." I didn't want to add to that. "You're all about solitude but you still dragged yourself next door and introduced yourself the minute I pulled into the driveway. Explain that."
"We've been over this."
"The attempted burglary, yes, but why did you keep inviting yourself over to the hot-mess house?"
"First of all, you invited yourself to my house after we met," he said. "But after that, I knew I'd be a suspect if you turned up dead. I had to keep tabs on you unless I wanted to be hauled in for questioning."
"Seriously," I chided.
"Seriously?" He scratched the back of his neck. "I couldn't sleep. Knowing you were all alone over there."
"But you like being alone. It's your thing."
He jerked his chin up as a deer, about twenty feet ahead, crossed our path. "This was different."
Since I couldn't cope with any more not-hating sentiments but I still wanted to press this bruise, I said, "Okay, you like being alone. How far does that reach? Have you sworn off relationships too?"
"It's been a couple of years since I've thought much about relationships. The casual thing works well enough for me."
"What happened a couple of years ago?"
"Nothing," he replied with too much conviction to ignore.
"Something."
He blew out an irritable breath. "I don't usually talk about this."
"I don't usually walk through the woods and I never wear pants and sneakers. Do you understand that? I'm a dress girl but I'm wearing leggings and ugly flat shoes because you told me to, and that requires you to return the favor by telling me all your gross, mushy secrets."
"I don't have gross or mushy secrets," he replied with a laugh.
"Then tell me about the thing you don't usually talk about."
Linden shot me a sidelong glance. "You talk so much. Do you know that? Like, nonstop."
"I do know that. Along with being exceptionally distracting when I want to be, I can talk the proverbial dog off the meat wagon. I can talk to walls and
get them to respond to me. It's one of my many gifts and talents."
"Am I the dog or the wall?"
"Neither," I replied. "But you are the person who has heard all my gross, mushy secrets."
"Fair enough," he grumbled. "When I was in my twenties, there was someone. We were close through college and shared the same circle of friends so we were always hanging out once we were out of school too. Camping trips, snowboarding trips, beach trips. Always in the same group. I had feelings for him, some big feelings. Bigger than I'd had before then, and I'd dated more than my share of people during college."
I smothered a laugh at his bashful grin.
"There were a few times when we got close to—I don't know—something. But then he started seeing someone or I started seeing someone and it didn't happen."
He stopped, kneeled down to inspect some flowers alongside the path. I wasn't positive though it seemed like the flowers were not part of his overall inspection of these woods but an opportunity to stop speaking.
That was fair. I'd stared at a lot of flowers and rocks in these woods to avoid talking about my issues too.
"I spent a ton of time thinking about those feelings. Obsessing, really. I was always working up the nerve to tell him. It went on for years, even after we hooked up on a camping trip. I had a clear shot at asking for more and I didn't take it. Sometimes I think back on that and wonder what the fuck was wrong with me."
"I literally ask myself that every single day," I replied. "The other day, I relived an intern orientation meeting I led twelve or thirteen years ago. I don't understand how anyone put up with me. I was the absolute worst."
Linden squeezed my hip, saying, "It wasn't as bad as you remember. Promise. And neither were you."
"Back to your obsessing. I need to hear the rest of this. It's really helping to recalibrate the scales in terms of which of us is the disaster. I've been the hard favorite for much too long."
"There isn't a rest of the story. I didn't say anything. He moved to Idaho and I didn't tell him."
"Just because he moved doesn't mean you can't—"
"I know," he interrupted. "I know. After he left town, I decided I was ready to reach out because distance didn't matter. Why would it, you know? I'd made it through all these years of keeping those feelings to myself, I could make it through some distance too. But there was an accident."
"Oh, no."
"Yeah." Linden bobbed his head, his gaze fixed on the ground. "He was on life support for months. His family was convinced he'd pull out of it. He was young, he was healthy. All those things. And there was always a story about some other young, healthy guy coming out of a coma. Seemed like it was possible. Like we weren't hanging on to empty hope." He sighed, stayed silent a moment. Then, "They let him go about six months after the accident. They told everyone when they were doing it, in case people wanted to say goodbye before they took him off life support."
"Oh my god. Linden. I'm so sorry."
"I could've gone to the hospital. The whole group from school went out to Idaho. I should've, actually. But it just felt like I'd have to tell him I'd had all these feelings and that seemed like opening one door while closing another. At the time, it didn't seem right. It didn't seem fair—to me, to him, I don't know."
All I could say, again, was, "I'm so sorry."
He continued as if I hadn't spoken. "Altogether, it was five, six years of my life spent getting close and losing him over and over, each time worse than the one before. After he died"—he stopped, pushed his fingers through his hair—"I just didn't want to go through that ever again. I didn't want to invest all that energy into hoping and wanting. I didn't want to watch while someone slips out of my fingers and I didn't want to wish I'd figured out my shit sooner."
I took his hand in mine, squeezed. We walked without speaking. He stopped every so often to make notes in his book, other times to push fallen branches out of the trail.
After about ten minutes of heavy silence, I asked, "How long ago was this?"
Linden glanced to the side, almost as if he was surprised to find me there. "Right before I turned twenty-seven, so, nine years ago."
"That's more than a couple of years, you know."
"Yep."
"And the casual thing has been working for you since then?"
Again— "Yep."
He sounded as confident about that as I did about my career prospects, and that was why I let him get away without pushing on that response. He didn't have all the answers and neither did I.
21
Jasper
"You're sure you won't let me drive you?"
I glanced at Linden in the bathroom mirror before returning to my makeup. "Positive."
"I have visions of you calling me from Providence or Springfield because you missed an exit or something."
He dragged his gaze over my denim shirtdress, his eyes narrowed in a manner that suggested he either loved it or hated it. Even if he hated it, I wasn't changing. This dress was my casual weekend girls' lunch go-to. Denim was never appropriate at the Capitol so I didn't have much of it, and while this dress looked like a boring blue sack on the hanger, the right belt made it magical on me. In my last life, I very much resented that I couldn't wear it to work.
"That probably won't happen. Your sister gave me very explicit directions and told me exactly where to park too. I'll be fine."
"What about a car service? Uber or something like that."
I twisted open the mascara. "Your concern is unnecessary."
"My concern is founded upon you getting lost in a small town on multiple occasions."
"I've survived the traffic circles. I will be quite fine on my own, thank you."
"Rotaries." He peered at me as I fluttered my lashes against the wand. "How old is that car of yours?"
"I bought it used when I finished college but it runs like new."
"Do you even know what new runs like?"
I capped the mascara and went for the eyebrow pencil next. "It runs like it did when it was new to me, which is good enough. I've never had any trouble."
"Why would you buy a used station wagon when you were just out of college?"
"Because they were fresh out of cute little BMWs and white Jettas at my price point, okay?"
He crossed his thick forearms over his chest. "I still don't like the idea of you driving into the city. I'll take you."
"Really not necessary."
I dropped the pencil into my makeup bag and reached for my perfume. I ran the rollerball behind my ears and down the line of my decolletage. Linden watched closely, momentarily distracted from this little disagreement of ours. In truth, I had some hesitation about driving into Boston for lunch-and-shopping event but I wasn't admitting that to him.
"Okay. That's it," he said, stepping forward. He flipped my skirt up over my waist and pushed my panties down to my knees as I fumbled to close the perfume pen. He pressed his hand to my back, between my shoulder blades, forcing me to bend forward. "Hands on the sink. I've had enough of this."
"Enough of what?"
The hiss of his zipper sounded and then I felt the heavy heat of his shaft as he dropped it on the curve of my ass. "Enough watching you. Enough of this dress. Enough arguing with you. Just…enough."
Watching Linden snatch a condom from the cabinet and quickly sheathing himself had my blood whomping in my veins and my core aching. At the same time— "I just spent ten minutes on my face."
"It's not your face I plan on fucking."
He ran his hand between my legs in a rough, demanding pass before fisting his cock and pushing inside me. Any words I might've had gusted out of me as my hands scrabbled to grip the edges of the vanity countertop.
"I told you to hold on," he growled, his hips thrusting in a slow, relentless rhythm.
"I-I'm—trying," I stammered.
With one hand on my waist, he twisted my hair around his palm. "Try harder."
"Do not ruin my hair," I warned.
&nbs
p; "I couldn't if I tried," he rumbled. "Even when you're wrecked, you're perfect to me. You're always perfect the way you are."
I couldn't explain why those words hit me so hard but they knocked everything out of me. All I could do was watch Linden in the mirror, watch the wrinkle of concentration between his brows and the stiff set of his jaw as he drove into me.
"Get there, Peach. I'm not waiting for you."
He'd wait. He'd definitely wait. But it was fun to pretend he wouldn't. It was fun to hand over that power and let him demand something of me that we both knew he'd provide.
"Almost," I managed. I couldn't say anything else. I could barely breathe. He was always thick but in this position, he was impossibly, ridiculously thick. I was certain he was tearing me apart.
I felt him everywhere. That fullness, that pressure—it sent prickles racing across my shoulders, over my scalp, through my cheeks. I felt tiny electric vibrations down to the tips of my fingers and along the backs of my thighs. My entire body was wired to go off and all it really took to get me here was some coarse, selfish thrusting and a growled demand. I couldn't decide if that was a credit to me or Linden.
He shifted the hand stationed on my waist to my backside, saying, "I love your ass like this. It makes the sweetest heart shape."
He dug his fingers into my skin, holding me hard enough to sting, to leave marks. Honestly, it was rude how comfortable he was using my body in whichever way he wanted. Completely rude.
"I mean it. I'm not waiting for you. If you think I won't finish and then send you off to lunch all angry and needy and empty, you're wrong." He slammed into me, pinning my body tight to the vanity and holding me there as I writhed and wiggled to find some friction. "I'll do it, Jas. I'll leave you miserable."
"And what will that prove?"
He met my gaze in the mirror, his feral to my frantic. "I'm not proving anything. You are."
His hold on my hair tightened as he found an aggressive new pace. I knocked the hand soap from the countertop, the toothbrushes too. He twisted my nipples through the dress, pinched my clit, bit my shoulders, teased my asshole. There was no limit to the ways he used me. No limit to this rough, imperious treatment.
The Belle and the Beard Page 24
