by Loren, Celia
"I'm yours," I reply immediately and unthinkingly.
"Only mine."
"Only yours."
He comes with a cry in my ear just as my orgasm peaks. His grip tightens on my hands as my body attempts to absorb all the tantalizing sensations that are flowing through it. I gasp for air as he collapses on top of me, also breathing hard. I feel him shake his head behind me, like he's coming to, and he rolls to the side.
"Sorry, didn't mean to crush you," he says, cracking his neck from side to side.
"S'alright," I reply groggily. Suddenly, he jumps up.
"You take your time," he suggests. "I should probably get us moving back to the house." He walks into the bathroom and comes back a minute later with his bathing suit back on. "Just make sure you make the bed."
"Right," I reply, raising my head to watch him walk out and down the hall. I blink my eyes quickly, trying to clear my head. I think he wanted me to say something during sex, but my mind feels so clouded…
I'm yours. Only yours.
Suddenly I feel wide awake and alert. Shit. That means something, right? But then he left so abruptly afterward, almost like he wanted to get away.
Should I ask him about it? We've been having such a fun day, I don't really want to bring it down with a serious talk. I'll wait until tonight, when we're back at the house.
Chapter Twenty-Two
I stand in between Jack's arms as he guides the boat away from the reef and back toward the house. If he was acting oddly earlier, he isn't now. We fall into a comfortable silence as the wind blows against us. There's plenty of daylight left, and the sun glimmers off the tops of the small waves around us. We don't encounter any other boaters as we return, and it almost feels like we're the only people on the planet for a while. I feel myself storing the memory of the moment away in my brain to take out later and admire, like a treasured keepsake.
As we reach sight of land, I reluctantly step away from him and sit down in the cockpit. It certainly wouldn't do for any of his tony neighbors to see us snuggling together as we motor down to the dock. Jack hops onto the wooden boards to tie us on while I gather up our towels and the unused fishing rods. We deposit them back in the boat house and walk up past the pool together. Without thinking, I reach out and take his arm, but he shrugs me off.
"Someone's in the kitchen," he says, nodding at the open refrigerator door visible through the glass. I press my lips together as we walk the final distance to the French doors.
"Hey, hon!" my mom calls out, turning as she closes the fridge. "Oh! What were you two up to?" she asks, spotting Jack behind me.
"Jack took me fishing, and then we went for a swim," I explain. "You're home early."
"Silvio was doing such a good job as a manager that I felt like I could take off early," she says, taking a baby carrot out of a bag and munching thoughtfully on it. "Miles came by the house just now," she adds seriously as Jack crosses to the cabinet to get a water glass.
"Yeah?" I ask lightly, but inside, it feels like my heartbeat just stopped.
"Why didn't you tell me you guys had broken up? He said he had to apologize for something he said the last time he saw you." I wince. Jack continues to fill his water glass from the filter on the fridge, but I notice a slight tensing of his back muscles over my mom's shoulder.
"I guess I forgot," I reply lamely.
"You forgot you and your first boyfriend broke up?" my mom asks, putting her hand on her hip.
"No, I mean I forgot to tell you about it. It wasn't a big deal," I say, willing her to let it go. Jack turns around and stands next to my mom, taking a slow sip of water. My eyes flicker between them nervously.
"Well, OK, but you can always talk to me, you know that, right? I just don't want you to keep anything bottled up. It just makes it hurt more in the long run," my mom says.
I sigh. She's just speaking out of concern, but, man, does she have terrible timing, not knowing that I've been trying my damndest to keep this information from Jack. "I know, Mom. Thanks. Maybe later," I say, heading out of the kitchen and into the foyer. I listen for the sound of Jack's footsteps following me, but I don't hear anything. Good. Maybe he won't think it's a big deal.
I hurry up to my room and head into the bathroom to hang the slightly damp towel on a hook behind the door. When I return to the bedroom, Jack's standing in the middle of the room, the door shut behind him. From the frown on his face, I can tell this isn't going to be good.
"Why didn't you tell me he broke up with you?" he asks flatly.
"He didn't break up with me, actually. I broke up with him, thank you very much."
"That's worse."
"Not for me," I point out, trying to play it off jokingly.
"You know what I mean," he says, sounding more frustrated. "I guess I could understand you not telling me if he broke up with you…maybe you were embarrassed or something, but if you broke up with him, then—"
"I guess it's too late to change my answer to he broke up with me," I say, almost to myself.
"So?" he asks, crossing his thick arms over his chest, demanding an answer. I chew on the side of my lip nervously. I guess it's time to be honest.
"I could tell that the fact I was dating Miles made you worry less about me developing feelings for you, so when I broke up with him I didn't tell you because I wanted to keep seeing you." The words spill out of me in a single breath.
"That must have been important to you, if you decided to lie about it," he notes quietly.
"Well, yes. I do like…what we have," I admit.
"But now it has to stop," he says, turning around and heading for the door. I feel like the wind's been knocked out of me.
"Wait, what? Why?"
"You know why!" he retorts, swinging back around, his neck muscles tense.
"I'm sorry I lied, but I don't understand why you're so mad!"
"Because I told you," he says, struggling to keep his voice down. "I warned you that I don't do relationships, and now you tried to back me into one!"
"That's not what I was trying to do!" I protest, fighting back tears. "I tried not to love you, but I couldn't."
"Love?" he repeats, looking aghast. Shit. I didn't mean to say it. "No, you don't love me. You're confused. It's because we slept together, the chemicals in your brain are telling you—"
"No, that's not it," I argue. "It's not because of the physical stuff, it's because of you. It's because we have fun together, and we can tell each other things, and I feel my most alive when you're around. And I know you feel it, too."
"I don't know what—"
"What about when we were on the boat and you wanted me to tell you that I was 'yours, only yours'?" I say, trotting out my biggest piece of evidence.
"I—we were fucking!" he bursts out.
I recoil. "No, no it was more than that."
"Not for me."
"You're lying. Maybe it's hard for you to see, hard for you to be intimate because your mother—"
"No. No, spare me your dime store psychology bullshit," he spits out. "I've heard it all before, and trust me, that's not what's going on. I'm an NFL star, and I can get any woman I want, and that's what I like to do. Forget anything ever happened between us."
A chilling emptiness spreads through my body as he turns around and heads out my bedroom door, shutting it behind him. I drop to my knees and curl up into a small ball as tears begin to flow down my cheeks. The pain is physical and almost unbearable.
I didn't realize how out on a limb I had gone, and that I was out there alone.
I think the whole time I had allowed myself to harbor the idea that he felt the same way. I kept it deep down so I would never have to examine it. And now that it's out in the light, it's exposed as the lie it always was.
It was all in my head.
Chapter Twenty-Three
"Your mom told us about the breakup," Silvio says, resting a hand on my shoulder.
"What?" I reply, coming out of the fog I've been in for my
whole shift.
"With Miles. She says you've been in denial and it's only hitting you now." He nods with understanding.
"Oh, yeah," I reply. My mom's assumption has proved convenient recently, as it explains away my moroseness and lack of appetite.
"You want me to take some of your shifts?"
"No, no, it's alright. I'd rather keep busy."
"OK…" Silvio says, looking unsure. "I don't want to rush you, but could you take out table four's order?"
"Oh, crap! I'm so sorry," I murmur, looking at the window where the plates of food are sitting. I hope they're still hot; I have no idea how long they've been there. I grab them and hurry over to the table and drop them off, giving an apologetic thumbs up to Silvio as I walk back.
It's been two weeks since Jack broke things off between us, and I don't feel any less raw than I did the day after it happened. If anything, I recognize more every day how much I'd come to depend on seeing him, even just as a friend.
I keep wondering if I could have done things differently. Maybe there was some way to spin things where we could have at least retained a friendship. Or maybe being friends and nothing more would have been even more painful. I don't know. My mind feels like mush and there's not much use in my trying to think anything through.
"Table six," Silvio whispers to me as he passes behind the bar. My head snaps over and I see them waving at me. I recognize their expressions as that of neglected customers and hurry over.
By the end of my shift, my tips are measly and I leave apologizing to Silvio and promising I'll do better the next day. My body feels drained and heavy as I drive to the house. I don't want to go back there. Even if I'm not doing a good job at work, at least I don't have to worry about seeing him around.
Not that he's been home much lately. I had to sit through one family dinner with him, but besides that I've caught sight of him working out in the backyard and a fleeting glimpse of him headed up to the third floor. I think he's been sneaking out at night again, too. I woke up one night and thought I heard him coming in, and all I could do was hope that he wasn't bringing anyone with him.
I pull into the garage and shuffle up to my bedroom, vaguely hearing voices from somewhere else in the house. I pitch face forward onto my bed and lie there, my breath hot against the duvet. I'm pathetic. I lift my head up and start banging it down on the mattress.
Lots of people in the world have it worse than me. Just look at the place I call home now. I have to stop feeling sorry for myself, and start showering. But first, I launch myself out of bed with considerable effort, and change into my running clothes. At the last minute, I pull on a baseball hat and tuck my hair into it in case it rains. Outside of work, I've been huddled up in front of the TV, and that doesn't help anything. I tug on my sneakers and pray the endorphins might make me feel a little better.
Outside, the sun is just setting, casting an orange glow across the sky. The daytime heat hasn't subsided yet, though, and my face is quickly covered in sweat. I feel like I'm cutting through sodden air as I begin to jog, but feelings my lungs start to work does make me feel better.
After a slow warmup mile, I take it up a notch, imagining my pain behind me as I press the concrete away from it. I don't know what I'm running toward yet, but I feel focused and my mind clears for the first time in a long time. I forget the time, and when I look around to see where I am, it's dark. I turn and head for home, feeling my legs wobble beneath me.
When I'm a couple of miles from the house, I begin to curse myself for overdoing it. My legs are numb beneath me, and I slow to a walk. I hear a car behind me, and move over further. The engine sounds quite loud, so I glance back at it. A black sedan is racing toward me, and without conscious thought, I realize that it's headed right for me. I summon the last ounce of strength I have and leap as far as I can into the undergrowth next to the road.
I fling my arms out awkwardly as I go, but don't catch myself quite right. My head snaps back and my vision goes dark. My stomach sinks as I hear the car stop and a door open. I fight to sit up as I hear footsteps running toward me, but my body won't obey my brain.
"It's not her," I hear a man above me say. The last thing I hear before I blackout is the car starting back up and driving away.
* * *
I feel myself being jostled and blink my eyes open in confusion. All I see is darkness and I begin to panic before realizing that I'm staring up at the night sky. A bright light suddenly shines into my eyes and I try to pull away, but can't.
"Calm down, you're strapped onto a stretcher," I hear a strange woman say. "Load her in." The night sky disappears, replaced by a bright white ceiling. Sirens begin to wail and I realize I'm in the back of an ambulance.
"What happened?" I ask, but my voice doesn't sound quite right.
"Try again," the woman says, and a young African-American woman's head comes into view over me.
I pause, gathering myself. "What happened?" I say again. I still sound like I'm slurring my words, and I wonder if I'm drunk.
"We were hoping you could tell us," she says. "You don't remember?"
"No.
"You have a cut on your head on the back of your head and lost consciousness, so we're taking you to the hospital. Your brother's getting in touch with your parents."
"Carter?" He's home? I'm so confused…
"Who's Carter? My name's Valerie, and I'm just going to ask you to do a few simple things, OK? Can you wiggle your toes?"
"They're wiggling, right?" I ask, unable to look down.
She laughs softly. "Yes, they're wiggling. That's a very good sign. Can you squeeze my finger?" I feel her lay her finger in the palm of my hand and I squeeze it. "Great. Do you know what day it is?"
"Um…no," I realize, and hear a machine beeping alarmingly.
"Breathe, breathe," Valerie says. "That's your heartbeat. It's normal to be a little confused and forgetful after you hit your head. What's the last thing you remember?"
"I…I was running. The sun was setting," I recall.
"See? That's a good sign, because the sun hasn't been down for that long, and the less time you were unconscious the better."
"Valerie?"
"Yes, Bree?"
"Can I hold your hand?"
Chapter Twenty-Four
The interior of the ambulance seems like a quiet haven as I'm rushed through the ER. A curtain swishes behind me, and I'm flipped over, injected with a numbing liquid, and then given twelve stitches. Then I'm moved to a different floor for a CAT scan, and as I'm wheeled out of the room I hear a familiar, worried voice.
"Bree!" my mom says, rushing over to me. I turn my head to her as she walks alongside the bed, wincing as my head throbs anew.
"Hi, Mom," I say, trying to sound calm. "Don't worry, I'm alright."
"Is that true?" she asks the attendant who's pushing me along.
"Looks like a moderate concussion so far," he answers.
"You are not the child I thought I had to worry about," my mom murmurs as she cups my face in her hand. She looks up at the attendant again. "Um, I never do things like this, but my fiancé is Ray Stratton," she says, sounding embarrassed.
"Ah, I see," he replies, and I feel the bed change direction.
"What happened, honey? They said you were lying on the side of the road."
"I don't know," I reply. "I remember I went for a jog…maybe I tripped and hit my head?"
The attendant pushes open a swinging door and wheels me into a bright, quiet room. "Here we are. Bathroom's just over there, and here's some pain medication. You can take two now, and the doctor will be by soon," he says, and leaves.
"Why did you mention Ray?" I ask as I pick up the pills and the small paper cup of water.
"I wanted to get you a private room and maybe some more attention from the doctors," my mom says, alternating between looking chagrined and pleased. "There's a Stratton wing on this hospital," she explains.
"Oh, shit. Pardon my French."
"So you think you tripped while you were running?" she asks, pulling a chair in the corner over to the head of my bed and sitting down.
"I guess so. Hey, this is going to sound weird, but is Carter here?"
My mom's eyes open in alarm. "No…honey, he's in Afghanistan."
"No, I know, that's what I thought, but I thought someone in the ambulance said something about my brother. But actually the ambulance ride is feeling a little foggy, too, so maybe I'm wrong."
"I thought you were really losing it for a second there," my mom answers, looking relieved. "Jack called 911. Maybe he said step-brother, and it got lost in translation."
"Jack called?"
"Yeah, he's the one who found you," my mom explains. "Luckily, he went out for a jog around the same time."
"Oh," I reply, feeling sad. He found me, but didn't ride with me to the hospital, nor is he here now.
"Here you are," Ray says as he pushes open the door. I look at him in surprise. I'm so used to seeing him as a stern businessman that it's odd to see him show up in my hospital room. "I spoke to your doctor on my way in, and he said they're going to keep you overnight for observation and also do an MRI, but that you should be able to go home tomorrow morning."
"I have to stay overnight?"
"They're not sure how long you were unconscious for, so it's important. Do you remember what happened?" he asks, crossing behind my mom and putting a comforting hand on her shoulder.
"No," I say again. "I think I must have tripped."
"Jack said on the phone there was a rock on the ground behind you and it looked like you might have hit your head on it," Ray confirms, "but that it was sort of off the road, in some low bushes."
"Maybe I saw something shiny and went to look at it? I really have no idea," I reply, beginning to feel anxious.
