by Amy Brent
I wanted to stomp my feet, though I knew I was being ridiculous. She was being completely rational, and it infuriated me even more. I didn’t know whether to scream at the injustice or cry at the loss of a child I never knew existed—even for a brief few weeks.
“Well, it’s all stupid. It pisses me off,” I grumbled.
“You’re pissed at me?” she asked, the look on her face should have been a clue I was heading down a dangerous path. I was too stupid to pick up on that clue.
“Yes, I am. A little,” I clarified.
Her eyes narrowed, and her chin jutted out. “Good. Be mad. You’re fucking ridiculous. Where’s the mop?”
I blinked. “What?”
“I asked where the fucking mop was!” she shouted.
I pointed to the small closet in the hallway where I kept my cleaning supplies, along with my coats. She spun on her heel, yanked open the door so hard I feared she would pull it off the hinges and rummaged around inside before bringing out the mop.
“Calla,” I started, wanting to fix what had suddenly broken between us.
“No! I don’t want to hear your shit.”
“Excuse me?” I asked, the anger that had been lessening fired up again.
“You heard me. I don’t want to hear it. I can’t believe you. The audacity!”
That was it. It was all I could take. The woman could make me feel such extreme emotions. I hated it, but loved it. I wanted to fuck her as much as I wanted to scream at her. I was a head case and needed to get away from her. I hated what she had gone through. I hated seeing that sadness in her eyes. I especially hated seeing how rational she could be about the whole damn thing.
With one last look at the woman holding the mop like it could easily become a weapon, I made the wise decision to get out of the small space. My small cabin wasn’t big enough for both of our tempers. I shoved my feet into my boots and threw on my coat, skipping my snow pants. I had to get away from her and wasn’t worried about the biting cold outside.
“What are you doing?” she asked, as I walked out the door.
I didn’t answer. I just slammed the door shut behind me and took in several, long deep breaths, doing my best to calm the rage burning inside me.
Chapter Twenty-Four
Calla
“Argh!!!” I yelled when the door slammed shut.
I couldn’t believe it. It was unfathomable. I had told the man one of my deepest, darkest secrets and he got mad. Who the hell did that? It made no sense. He was mad because I miscarried, nearly died and now I couldn’t have children. That was some narcissistic shit right there.
“How dare he,” I seethed, running the mop over the floor.
The snowy mess was a great way to distract myself. My mind was racing as I thought about his reaction. We had parted ways that morning without exchanging numbers. It had been terribly awkward and neither of us was doing much talking. I had been humiliated and knew I had acted like a wild woman. It had been completely out of character for me and although I had a great time, I had been a little ashamed of myself.
I thought back to that morning and remembered I had felt a little sore between my legs, which had been a constant reminder of my night of unbridled passion spent with a complete stranger. It had been a game. I had gone out that night to get laid and honestly, had been very satisfied with the way things worked out.
Smiling, I remembered hailing a taxi while anticipating telling my friends. As it turned out, I had been the only one to score that night. And, because I scored a military man, I felt like I had really outdone myself. As expected, the girls had all been crazy jealous. They asked me the dirty details and while I gave them plenty of information to drool over, I kept some parts to myself. Those were the memories I cherished and relied upon frequently over the years.
Obviously, finding out I was pregnant had put a bit of a damper on things, but I still treasured that night. The panic and terror I had felt when the third pregnancy test came up positive was not something I would ever forget. I had told my mother, expecting condemnation, but she had been very supportive. When the worst happened, she had been there, holding my hand, and praying for healing and recovery.
The moment I learned I was barren, I had been crushed.
“And he’s mad!” I scoffed again, putting my anger into the mopping. “How dare he! I lost a baby. I lost my fucking uterus, and he’s mad?”
After furiously cleaning the floor, I realized I was starving. It was midmorning, and I wasn’t the kind of girl who skipped breakfast. I remembered where I had seen him grab the oatmeal from and dug it out. I couldn’t wait to get back to civilization and eat a big breakfast with bacon, eggs, French toast and whatever else I could pile on my plate. The anger seemed to have fueled my hunger. Like so many people, when I was mad or sad, I found myself starving and it was always for breakfast foods.
I sat down and tried to enjoy the bland oatmeal. It was definitely not what I wanted, and did little to satisfy my craving for sweet and delicious.
“Gross,” I mumbled, taking another bite of the goop.
I hadn’t made it all that well, either. It was too thick, didn’t have enough water and I dared not use milk from the fridge. It was likely spoiled by now. I didn’t need that disaster on top of everything else that was going on. I should get dressed, like really dressed. I had picked up my bra and panties when I cleaned the floor, but now it was time to get them on and prepare for my real rescue.
Just then I heard the door open and gently close. Casper ambled over to see what I was doing.
“Hey, buddy. Did you have a good time in the snow?”
The dog wagged his tail a few times before heading for the couch to plop down. I ignored the dog’s owner. I had no idea what he had been doing out there and didn’t care. I was furious at him for being mad at me. It was ridiculous, I knew that, but I didn’t care.
“Roads are about clear. The ice is melting some. The search and rescue team should be able to make it soon,” his deep voice cut through the silence of the cabin.
Ignoring him seemed like the thing to do. I was both happy and disappointed about my impending rescue. He had ruined what had been a perfect morning.
“I radioed Gabe who was working directly with the coordinator. He should get back to me soon and let me know a time. I imagine within the next couple of hours. There is another storm coming in, but it shouldn’t be too bad,” he explained.
I focused my eyes on the bowl of disgusting, lumpy oatmeal. I didn’t even want to look at him. It was too risky. Despite my anger, when I looked at him, I just wanted to crawl on top of him and fuck him like a mad woman. That was off the table. Even being this close to him was dangerous.
“Fine,” I said, letting him know I was still pissed.
I ignored him as he hung up his coat and placed his boots by the fire. When he disappeared into his bedroom, I breathed a sigh of relief. The tension between us was palpable. I felt like we were circling each other. One of us would pounce if we didn’t keep our distance.
My relief was short-lived. He came back into the living area with a fresh pair of sweats on and a black t-shirt that stretched across his chest.
“What?” he said, looking at me strangely.
It was then that I realized I was looking at him as if he were behind the glass of my favorite bakery. He was too damn good looking.
“Nothing!” I spat out, returning my focus to my mushy oatmeal.
“Whatever,” he said, walking into the kitchen.
I watched him opening cupboards and pulling out cans.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
He held up a can. “Heating some chili.”
“Three cans?”
“Two cans. One is a salsa mixture. It adds a little flavor and kick,” he explained, actually smiling at me.
I glared back, earning a glare from him.
He loudly dug a pot out of the drawer beneath the oven before manually opening each of the cans. I watched him move aro
und the kitchen from my place at the table. I had to fight back the urge to wrap my arms around his waist and lay my face against that wide back of his. I watched the muscles work as he turned the can opener. I was pissed as hell, but I still wanted him.
“It won’t take long to heat,” he said, slapping the pot on the woodstove and removing the coffee pot. He carried it back and poured two cups before adding a shot of whiskey to each.
He delivered the cup to me and sat in the chair opposite the table.
“Thanks,” I grumbled, not able to be completely disrespectful.
I sipped the hot liquid and let it roll down my throat. The coffee was strong and masked the fiery liquor. We sat there in silence, the tension still there. I wanted to say so much, but it felt pointless. I would be leaving shortly, and we would never have to see or talk to one another again. It didn’t make sense to try and hash out something that would never be addressed again.
“It’s pretty cold out there. I doubt the lodge has power.”
I shrugged. “I’m sure they have generators they run constantly to keep their guests comfortable,” I quipped.
My remark had hit my target.
He raised an eyebrow. “Paying guests are usually treated well.”
Zing!
I smirked. “Point taken. Don’t worry, Jake. I’ll be out of your hair in no time. You can go right back to sitting here by yourself reading your books in your quaint little cabin with no one to bother you.”
“Good.”
“No one to fuck either, but I guess that won’t bother you.”
His nostrils flared, and I looked at him, daring him to say something. I could see the inner struggle on his face and knew he wanted to come back with a response, so I gave him plenty of time. But when he said nothing, I got up from the table, taking my bowl of shitty oatmeal with me. I quickly scraped the leftovers into the trash before adding some water to the bowl.
“I guess I better get dressed. I don’t want my rescuers suspecting I was up here banging the mountain man,” I said, purposely bending over in his line of sight to pick up my discarded bra and panties.
“Wouldn’t want anyone knowing you’re a wildcat and a sex fiend,” he murmured, just loud enough for me to hear.
I spun around and held up my undergarments and glared at him before stomping into the bathroom. With the door closed, I took several deep breaths before I stripped out of the clothes I had on. I would miss his t-shirt, but I needed to be ready to go as soon as those search guys pulled up. I ran my fingers through my hair, trying to make it appear somewhat tidy, but it was no use. It needed a good shampoo followed by several rounds of conditioner. I couldn’t get that here with the lack of water.
With nothing more I could do about my appearance, I went back to sit at the table. He was looking me over, making me feel a little self-conscious, but I refused to squirm.
“I guess that means you are ready to go?”
I gave him a look that said exactly what I felt. Duh. He nodded his head before jumping up from the table and checking the chili. I watched as he filled a couple of bowls and stuck a slice of bread in each.
“I think we both know it’s time for me to go. This was fun while it lasted. At least I had some fun,” I said with resignation.
“Calla,” he started, but I held up a hand. I didn’t want to hear an apology or more on why he should get to feel mad.
“It’s over. We both said our piece. I don’t want to talk about it another minute. We are never going to agree on the matter, so no point in making the last few hours I’m here completely miserable for both of us.”
He slapped a hand on the kitchen counter. “Fine. Whatever. You are the most stubborn woman I have ever met.”
“Good.”
He carried the bowls to the table and set one in front of me. “I know it isn’t gourmet, but it has to be better than the shit you were trying to choke down earlier.”
“Anything would be better than that,” I grumbled.
I heard him scoff, but didn’t look up from my bowl. The chili was actually really good or maybe it was because I was starving. It didn’t matter. It gave me something to focus on. We ate in silence, each of us taking occasional drinks from our spiked coffee. When I noticed my cup was empty, I got up, grabbed the pot and the bottle of whiskey and filled his cup then mine. I poured in generous amounts of alcohol, hoping the dull the tension in the room.
I wasn’t ready to not be mad at him. If I didn’t hold on to the anger, I knew I would feel sad. I was leaving soon. The last twenty-fours with the man hadn’t been all bad. The memories we made in his little cabin would comfort me on those cold, lonely nights in my future. I looked up from my bowl to see him looking at me. It was a soft, sorrowful look; one I knew well, because it was what I saw when I looked in the mirror earlier.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Jake
My mind is fucked. That’s all there is to it. I had managed to ruin something that had been very good. I knew it wasn’t meant to last, but I could have kept my mouth shut and allowed us to both walk away with no hard feelings. The last day had been closure. After that one night all those years ago, I had always felt as if we weren’t done. As if we had cut our time short when we both wanted just a little more. We got it. Now, that sweet goodbye would be forever tarnished.
“I’m a bad bet anyway,” I said standing from the table.
“What?” she asked, completely confused by my statement.
I shrugged. “It’s better you’re pissed at me. I’m no good for you. For anyone, really, which is why I live out here in the sticks. I would have made a horrible father and an even worse husband, boyfriend or baby daddy.”
She sighed. “I’m not pissed. Okay, I am, but I am pissed because you were pissed at me.”
I nodded, understanding exactly what she meant. I needed to explain myself. I had never really told anyone all of it, but I wanted to tell her. I wanted her to know me, the real me. I slid back into the chair, leaving the dishes on the counter.
“I had pretty shitty parents. My mom left when I was really young, maybe five or so. My dad was an abusive drunk and she left me with him. Thankfully, he died when I was fifteen. I managed to elude the system and stayed out of foster care, but that meant I was on my own. I never got lectured about my choices. I was on my own and went down a bad road. It wasn’t until I met a recruiter for the Army that I saw a way out of the life I had fallen into.”
I could see sadness in her eyes, but thankfully, there was no pity. I was tired of being pitied. I didn’t want pity.
“You joined the Army,” she nodded in understanding.
“Yes. I joined the Army and everything kind of cleared up for me. I could see a future for myself. One where I didn’t have to live on the streets or land in prison. There was a way out of the life I had been convinced I was destined to live.”
She seemed genuinely interested in what I had to say which encouraged me to keep talking.
“I thought the Army was the answer, and in many ways, it was, but it also made things worse. The war. The death. It was pretty bad. I try to block it out most of the time, but it always shows up in my dreams. Nightmares, I guess.”
“The nightmare last night,” she said in a low voice.
I nodded. “Yes. It’s been a while since I had one. The Army sent me to a therapist. I thought all of that was behind me, but I guess not. I know I’m damaged goods. It’s why I live out here. I don’t want to be around anybody. I don’t want to be one of those guys who snaps. I’m not fit to live in society and to be perfectly honest, I don’t want to. I don’t do commitments or long-term relationships. I can’t do that to anyone. I’m not good at it and I don’t know how to be a boyfriend or anything like that. Like I said, I’m a bad bet, and just not meant for the whole married with kids and the picket fence in the suburbs.”
There was a faint smile on her lips when I looked up to judge her reaction. It gave me some small comfort. It was as if she understood m
e and was completely okay with me and my fucked-up head.
“Okay,” she said.
The one word was enough. She didn’t need to explain herself. I got it. She had issues, I had issues, but none of it mattered. I looked at her and realized that despite everything, I wanted her more than I had thought possible. Maybe it was the baring of my soul. I didn’t know. I didn’t care. I needed her.
I stood, grabbed her hand and pulled her down the hall. She didn’t resist in the slightest. She followed behind me and when I walked into my bedroom, she willingly followed.
I turned to face her. “I want you.”
She stared into my eyes. “I want you.”
We stood, looking at each other for long, drawn-out seconds before I stepped closer to her. I wanted to take my time, to make our last time together meaningful. I reached out and cupped her face in my hand before I lowered my mouth to hers, gently kissing her lips. I kept the kiss light, no tongue, as I pressed my body against hers. I committed the feeling of her breasts pushed against my chest to memory. I could feel her thick thighs pressing into mine.
I ran a hand down each side of her, taking in all her curves before moving around to cup her butt.
“You’re beautiful,” I whispered close to her ear before I nuzzled her neck. “Every curve, every inch of your body makes me crazy. I can’t get enough of you.”
I heard her gasp as my mouth closed over her neck. I gently suckled before moving a fraction of an inch and repeating the process.
“All I can think about is getting you naked and burying myself deep inside you,” I whispered, hovering over her mouth.
She nodded, “Me too.”
I moved my mouth to the other side of her neck, covering her in sweet kisses. I could feel her shaking and knew she was ripe with need.
“I’m going to go slow, this time.”
