No Attachments

by Tiffany King

Page 15

 

  "There's a mountain bike trail not far from here. According to Pam at the library, it's a relatively easy incline, but the view is amazing. "

  "Are you on a first-name basis with everyone in town?" I inquired, wondering how someone who'd only been here for six days had become friendly with half the town. Of course, that was the same amount of time I'd known him, and the fact that we'd already been intimate wasn't lost on me. Only one word came to mind to describe him: charming. He'd managed to charm the town much like he'd charmed me. His sexy radio voice didn't hurt of course. It had the knack of putting a person at ease.

  "Pretty much," he answered as the last of the tension left him. "They all seem to think quite fondly of you. "

  "That's just because I'm new. I'm a novelty right now," I said. I shouldn't be surprised. This is what a small town gets you. It's what I said I wanted. "I'm sure they're already eyeing you to take my place as the new toy. "

  "I'm only interested in being your toy. " He winked at me.

  "That could end badly for you. I loved playing with my toys," I chirped before the full implication of my words had fully run through my head. "I meant to say you'd get sick of me playing with you so much," I added, burying myself further in innuendo hell.

  "Honey, you can play with me as much as you want. " He smirked.

  "I bet. " I blushed, making a point of not looking at his lap.

  "It's pretty cute how you blush," he said, stroking a finger down my cheek.

  "You seem to have that power over me," I admitted.

  "Really? So, this is just for me?"

  "Don't look so happy about it. I'm not thrilled that my feelings seem to be on display for you to see," I retorted.

  "I like it. I'm not sure I remember the last time I was with a woman who allowed herself to be so open. It makes you unique, not to mention, it appeals to me in a very unexpected way," he reassured me, turning the vehicle down a road with a carved wooden sign that had the words "National Park" burned in it.

  The road leading to the national park was compromised of dirt and gravel and pocketed with multiple ruts. We bumped along for almost a mile before it opened up to a small parking lot where an orange rusted-out Ford truck and small yellow VW Bug were parked. Large oak trees shaded the small parking lot with the last of their burnt orange-colored leaves. Judging by the amount of leaves that crunched underfoot as we unloaded the bikes, it wouldn't be long before the majestic trees were completely bare.

  Chapter 18: A day on the trails

  Nathan

  Ashton was silent as I finished unloading the bikes, which had me second-guessing the whole trip. I knew once again she was keeping something from me, and yet, I felt powerless on how to get her to open up. Maybe if we'd been dating for several months, I'd have the right to be more demanding, but the tentative relationship we had did not allow for that. My goal of charming her into my arms had worked according to plan, but what had been acceptable two days ago was no longer what I wanted. I knew I was scaling a precarious slope that could crash down on me at any moment. The smart thing would be to abide by the rules we had set and enjoy the moment. Unfortunately, I wasn't smart where she was concerned. I wanted more.

  "You sure you're okay with this?" I asked, handing her one of the helmets.

  "Only if you swear you won't laugh if I land on my ass, which seems likely since it always seems to happen when you're around. "

  "I solemnly swear I won't laugh if you fall on your ass," I proclaimed, raising my right hand for emphasis.

  "Smart ass," she complained, wheeling her bike toward the trail. "You go first until I get the hang of it," she added, straddling her bike.

  "You'll be fine. Supposedly, you never forget how to ride a bike," I said, peddling away. I rode for a hundred yards or so before venturing a look behind me to make sure she was okay. She looked like a natural, so obviously all her fears were for naught. It wasn't until I took in the clouded expression on her face that I guessed she wasn't enjoying the ride at all. Slowing to a stop, I straddled the bike, waiting for her to catch up.

  "What's wrong?" she asked, looking somewhat distracted.

  "Honey, I wanted to do something that you'd enjoy. I didn't mean for this to be some kind of torture chamber. Why don't we head back and we can do something else. "

  "No," she said in an unexpectedly stern manor. "I mean, I don't want to turn around. Really, I'm enjoying it. "

  "Sweets, you have a weird way of showing enjoyment. You look like you're in physical pain. Really, it won't be any skin off my nose if we head back. "

  "It's not that," she sighed heavily before looking up at me. I was shocked to see her in tears. "It's just, the last time I rode a bike, it was with my mom right before she died. We had this tradition where we would bike to the beach every week and ride along the shoreline. The last time we went, she was too exhausted to make it home, so my dad came to get us. A week later, she was too sick to ride at all and three days after that, she went to the hospital and never came home—stage four cancer. We never knew it. That last bike ride we took has always stuck with me. She was in a weird mood that day. In hindsight, I can't help wondering if at the time she suspected something was off," she answered as a lone tear streaked down her cheek.

  "Oh, god, babe, I didn't realize," I said, using the pad of my thumb to wipe away her tear. "Let's go back. We'll do something else," I added, unprepared for the reaction her tears had on me. Usually, I viewed tears as a weapon that women readily used in their arsenal to keep men in line. Normally, I would have fled the scene at the first hint of tears, but Ashton's had the opposite effect on me.

  "No, I don't want to leave," she insisted. "It's almost therapeutic. I've kept memories of her at bay for so long. It's nice. "

  "Right, so nice you're crying?" I asked skeptically.

  "Bittersweet tears," she said, swiping the moisture off her cheeks and flashing me a tentative smile.

  "And there's a difference?"

  "A big difference, especially for me since I never cry the other kind," she admitted.

  "Never?"

  "Not since my mom died. I saw what a toll my tears had on my father and I vowed never to cry again. "

  I studied her for a moment, wishing I could figure her out. It amazed me the way she kept surprising me. When I had first been hired to find her, I'd studied the packet of pictures my client had sent me and saw nothing but a spoiled princess. At the time, I didn't care why she had run. I pretty much just assumed she'd skipped out to be with another man because I'd seen it so many times before. Every preconceived notion I had made before I found her was wrong. It was supposed to be me charming her, but somehow, she'd turned the tables and was the one charming me.

  "So stop being a wuss and trying to weasel out of the bike ride," she said impishly, placing her feet on her peddles and taking off.

  I took off after her, chuckling along the way. The tears were done now, which was a relief. Ashton continued to taunt and joke her way up the slow inclining trail. I allowed her to take the lead for purely selfish reasons since her ass looked incredible on a bike seat. By the time we reached the top, Ashton was breathing heavily and looked exhausted. I couldn't help ribbing her that if she exercised she'd have more stamina.

  "My stamina was good enough last night," she answered.

  Even though she gave as good as she got, I could tell she was more tired than she was willing to admit. At least the ride back down the trail was much easier.

  "I blame the late-night canoe ride you took me on last night," she said, sinking into the passenger seat gratefully.

  "You're probably right," I admitted, feeling guilty despite my joking. I handed her the keys before I closed her door so she could warm up the Range Rover while I loaded the bikes.

  The ride back to Ashton's was quiet. She rested her head back against the seat with her eyes shut practically the entire way. I smiled briefly a
t how whipped she looked. She wasn't lying when she said she was worn out.

  "I have a few things to do this afternoon, but thought I'd come over later if that was okay with you?" I asked, finally breaking the silence as I pulled into her driveway.

  "Sure," she answered, wearily pushing the vehicle door open.

  "I'm thinking we'll stay in," I added, laughing as she staggered slightly. "You better take a nap. You look like you were dragged down the mountain.

  "Your flattery is staggering. I could outride you any day," she bragged as she stifled another yawn.

  I laughed again. "Go take a nap and I'll be back later with some dinner. Then we can discuss your bike-riding skills," I suggested, wagging my eyebrows at her.

  "Great, now that we've gone on an actual bike ride, I can't tell if you mean 'bike ride,'" she said, pointing to the back of the vehicle, "or 'bike ride,'" she said again, moving her hips back and forth.

  "We—" She shut the vehicle door before giving me the chance to confirm what she already knew.

  I was still chuckling as I pulled out of her driveway, heading toward my motel room. Then the reality of the situation set in. It was obvious by the way that she opened up to me on the mountain that Ashton was starting to trust me. Two days ago I would've been happy about it, but now I couldn't help feeling like a fraud. I'd charmed my way into her bed on so many bogus pretenses that I no longer knew which ones were true and which were untrue. One startling fact that sat at the forefront of all my thoughts was that I no longer cared why she had run. I wasn't about to turn over her whereabouts to anyone. I also planned on telling her why I really came to Woodfalls. Not tonight, though. I wanted at least one more night with her before she made her choice. She'd most likely run once she knew, and I would let her go. I at least owed her that.

  Chapter 19: Taking a sick day

  Ashton

  By the time I woke from my nap several hours later, I felt like I'd been hit by a truck or something. Every move I made was answered with an ache or pain in muscles I didn't even know I had. Sore muscles weren't my only issue either. My skin felt warm and dry like I had a sunburn. I actually felt pretty crummy. As icing on the cake, a headache also made itself known when I sat up to check the clock.

  I was pretty sure I needed to get up and get ready since Nathan was coming over, but my body refused to cooperate. Anytime I felt sick like this I always panicked. I witnessed the symptoms firsthand with my mom. I watched them consume her until she was taken from me. Then I suffered from the same symptoms myself. Four years, three hundred and fifty days ago. I was a different person then. Four years ago, I believed I could beat it. I accepted the news when they told me I would need a complete hysterectomy, even though I was only seventeen at the time. I pretended the hair loss didn't bother me as the chemo ravaged through my body making me sicker than I could have ever imagined. I tolerated the looks of pity from my classmates and the snubs I received when I had to repeat my senior year since I missed half the year clutching the toilet, trying to rid my body of the toxins they were pumping in me. I accepted it all because I believed I could beat it. I had statistics on my side. We had caught it early. The doctors were confident that I wouldn't wind up like my mom, that we had an early diagnosis on our side, so I fought. I never gave up, and when I went into remission, I believed everything they had told me. I would be considered cured when I stayed in remission for five years. Time began a countdown as I kept the five-year mark in my head.

  I finished my senior year of high school a loner; no longer the person I was before I found out I had cancer. My so-called friends had graduated the year before and moved on with their own lives, all glad they no longer had to face me. The rest of the students avoided me like the plague, like they were afraid they would catch what I had. High school became nothing more than torture as I avoided school functions. I just couldn't take the looks of pity. I would have avoided prom completely if my father wouldn't have bullied Shawn's father into making Shawn take me. Giving Shawn my virginity that night was my rebellious way of trying to finally feel normal, not that it worked.

  With high school finally behind me, I immersed myself in college, hoping to make up for lost time. Fighting cancer made me realize how fragile life was and I was anxious to start feeling alive. The moment happened the day they handed me my diploma. I was two hundred days shy of reaching the five-year mark, and I was confident I would make it. Ten days later, my body began to ache and I became fatigued. I didn't need a doctor to tell me the cancer had returned. I recognized the symptoms. I had been there before. That was the day I wrote my bucket list and began to make the necessary arrangements to leave. One thing I knew without a shadow of a doubt was that I couldn't put my father through another cancer crisis. He had watched my mother die and then had to watch me battle it seven years later. I would never forget the pain in his eyes as he worried himself sick that my fate would be the same as hers. He wept when the doctors told him I was in remission, confessing that he'd been so afraid he'd lose me also. I could not face telling him I was sick again. I knew it would destroy him, just like I knew I no longer had the will to fight it. The cancer would not be happy until it took me. So I left.

  My father received a letter from me filled with lies once I was gone. I claimed I was sick of his hovering, that I was done been treated like a child, and I needed time to discover the person I was supposed to be, without his meddling. I told him he was suffocating me, and I could no longer live in the same town with him. I knew my words would hurt him, but that was my intent. I wanted him to hate me, to think I was ungrateful so he could move on. Hate was easier to overcome than grief.

  I shivered slightly in my bed, probably from a fever, but also from the memories. I missed my father. I missed his words of wisdom, his goofy laugh and the way he loved to drag me to see old sci-fi movies. He was serious at times and needy other times, but terrific the rest of the time. It broke my heart that I would never see him again.

  I was still lying in bed when Nathan arrived a half an hour later with pizza and a bottle of wine in hand.

  "You're sick," he said, taking one look at me as I pulled the front door open to let him in.

  "Probably from the outside shower we took last night," I joked.

  "Crap. I'm sorry, honey," he said, setting the pizza and wine on my coffee table.