by P. Dangelico
“It won’t. It just looks that way,” I tell her, and begin the long trek up the mountainside.
* * *
We’ve been walking for an hour when the trail parts to reveal the horizon. I turn to see if Maren sees it. A soft smile lifts her lips and amusement flickers in her eyes.
“Wanna jump?”
She walks up to the ledge and looks down. I follow right behind her. And while she’s inspecting the drop into the water, I’m watching the way her throat rises and falls as she swallows, the baby-blonde hair near her ear, the way her ponytail falls over her shoulder and I’m suddenly breathless. I can’t get relief from the empty feeling in my chest…I miss her already and she isn’t even gone yet.
There are some things that will never be explained and whatever it is Maren and I share is one of those things. It’s a connection greater than friendship and attraction, a force stronger than our collective will.
After this trip is done. After we spread Rowdy’s ashes and she completes the tasks set in the will, she’ll leave and I may never see her again and I don’t know how to deal with it. I want everything with her but right now, right this very minute, all I want to do is throw her over my shoulder, carry her somewhere safe, and lock her up.
So she can’t leave me. So she’ll stay forever.
“Is it just me, or did this ledge get lower by few feet.” Her nose wrinkles and I get the sudden, powerful urge to kiss it. “Remember how scary it used to look?” She smiles up at me and I get lost in it. That smile that forced me to fall in love with her. Not the one that sells sneakers and pasta and yogurt. The smile a ten-year-old girl gave me, and a sixteen-year-old, and the woman that girl eventually became.
“You were ten, Mare.”
“Oh please, you were thirteen and you almost peed yourself.”
“Yeah, thanks for the reminder,” I tell her, chuckling as the memory comes flooding back. “Come on. Let’s do it for old time’s sake.”
She bites her bottom lip and a surge of lust makes me painfully hard, my dick straining against my running tights. Jesus, I gotta get in the water before she notices.
“Okay. Let me put my cast sleeve on.” While she goes through her backpack and puts on her waterproof sleeve, I kick off my hiking boots and take off my running tights and put my shorts back on with my back to her. Then I strip off my shirt knowing what she’ll see, knowing how exposed I am.
Maren gets down to her sports bra and shorts and the moment of truth arrives. It’s been so hard hiding this from her I’m almost relieved to show her. She stands straight and faces me. That’s when I hear her breath catch.
“What’s that?” She points at my chest. Her eyes, wide and filled with wonder, trace the tattoo of her name above my heart while I stay quiet.
She steps closer, her attention never straying from the cursive writing, and slowly lifts a finger. She places it on the M, following it until she spells every letter in her name. Each curve and straight line, her claim on my heart. I shiver under her touch, my skin burning, my body as hard as fuck. That touch, that connection––I want it to last forever.
“Is this new?” Her eyes lift to meet mine. Warm. Curious. I don’t know how much to tell her. We’ve been getting along so well on this trip and I don’t want to ruin it.
Just a little longer. A little more time. I’m not a man that often prays but I’m praying now. I’m praying my goddamn heart out.
“No.” It’s been there a while. I don’t tell her. I don’t because that would be admitting more than I want to, more than she’s ready to hear.
“Why?” she breathes out, voice low and sexy. The anticipation in her eyes makes me want to give her anything and everything I have to give.
Looking down, I lace my fingers with the ones of her left hand. “On jump?”
She studies my face for a beat and nods. She doesn’t push. She doesn’t insist. No one has ever understood me as implicitly as Maren has.
Just a little more time, I beg. Because once she knows, this thing, this new beginning or time-out or whatever it is will be over, maybe for good, and I’m not ready to give her up yet.
Together we step up to the ledge and look down, then at each other, smiling like two maniacs. “I count to three and we go on jump.”
“On jump,” she echoes.
I count backward and on jump we leap off the rocky ledge together. Maren squeals and my grip on her hand tightens. A second later the cold water practically knocks the wind out of me, the shock seizing up my lungs. We break the surface, come up at the same time sucking in oxygen. Laughing, screaming.
“Ahhhh!! It’s freezing!” She laughs and laughs. A full throaty laugh that has me smiling so hard my face hurts.
She plasters her body to mine and the cold doesn’t feel so cold anymore. Her arms circle around my neck and the empty ache in my chest that’s been there since she left me fades away.
I pull her even closer, close enough that I can feel her from hip bone to breast bone. Close enough that she can feel the growing interest in my shorts. Her nipples are hard enough to cut glass. They press against my chest and a surge of lust hits me as fast and hard as a runaway train. Her eyebrows quirk, a smirk decorating her lips. Which are now pale from the cold.
Man, does it feel good to have her in my arms again.
Her lashes flutter as she stares at my mouth and my heart begins to race, pumping what’s left of my blood straight to my dick. She licks the moisture off her lips and my control starts to unravel. I tip my chin down, lower my mouth over hers. My hand brushes back the wet hair sticking to her forehead.
“Mare…”
Her legs wrap around my waist and what little restraint I have snaps in two.
Don’t stop me. I don’t think she will, but I pray anyway.
* * *
Maren
There isn’t anything sexier on this planet than Noah watching me with total focus. He could burn my clothes off with that look, freezing water notwithstanding. I shiver and press closer. Our faces a hair’s breadth apart. Our bodies touching from chest to pelvis. His dick is so hard I almost look down to make sure a piece of driftwood isn’t stuck between us.
I want him. I want him as badly as I want my next breath of air, to win the Open, and world peace. Absolutely. Unequivocally.
On instinct, his hips roll. His erection rubs against the inside of my thigh and his eyelids drop, dragged down by desire. I stare at his wet, full lips, his spiky black lashes, beaded with water and get the most messed-up impulse to lick them. God, I want to lick them––and the rest of him too. All over.
His lips hover over mine, and for a suspended moment, I remember what it was like to have the right to kiss him and hold him and take the longing that fills his eyes away. When the timber of his voice would drop and I knew it meant he wanted me.
“I’m your Rosetta Stone.”
His expression gets quizzical. He’s trying not to laugh. “My what?”
“Your Rosetta Stone. I could always read your expressions so easily…your mind. Like I know you’re trying not to laugh.”
“Yeah? What am I saying now?” Although his face is still, eyes say everything.
“You’re saying…shut up so I can kiss you.”
Reaching up, I place my lips on his in answer and he lets go, gives in, unleashes everything he’s been holding back. His mouth angles. Soft lips brush over mine, taste and test and nibble. Our tongues dance and play tag. He kisses me like he means it. Like he may never get a second chance.
It’s never been as hot as it is with him.
His big hands grip and knead my ass. He flexes his hips and the head if his erection strokes over my clit and heat blazes a path from my toes to my face. So much of it and so fast that I feel feverish.
I’m lost in the moment, in desire, in the visceral reaction that happens only with this man. The one who was made for me. I knew it at ten and I know it now.
“Fuck, I missed you…that’s what my face is sayin’,” he mutters betwee
n kisses. I know exactly what he means. Because kissing Noah is like waking up from a long, dark, empty dream.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Noah
It was either continue making out and suffer hypothermia or get out of the water. Maren’s lips were turning blue so getting out was the only choice. We hiked back up and grabbed our stuff, dried off, smiling the entire way. Partners in crime for life if I have something to say about it.
It took us another hour to reach the spot Rowdy wanted his ashes spread. Once there, we found a log along the shore of the lake and sat. I handed her a beer and we made a toast while watching the sun make it’s trip down to the horizon.
“I don’t know what to say.” Maren looks over at me, eyes glassy, the urn cradled on her lap. Sundown has arrived and so has the time to say goodbye.
“Say whatever’s on your mind, baby. He knows everything already.” I reach out and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, holding my breath. Her expression gets thoughtful. I wait for her to tell me not to call her that, to push me away, and exhale when she lets it slide. Habit. She’s mine, always has been.
Her face crumples and she fights like hell to push the tears back. I wrap an arm around her shoulders and she lets me pull her close and hold her. Her face settles against my neck and I kiss her forehead.
“Don’t cry. He’s not in pain anymore.”
“I’m not crying,” she sniffs. I nearly split my bottom lip I’m biting down so hard to school the laughter. This is the girl I met all those years ago. Sweet and kind with a spine of steel.
“What’s so funny?”
I wrap my other arm around her in a bear hug and kiss the top of her head, my chest shaking from trying to contain it. “Okay,” I start. “I’m gonna say something before I piss myself laughing. Rowdy, wherever you are, you son of a bitch––where the fuck did you put the key for the safety deposit box?”
Maren straightens and slaps my chest. I double over in laughter, tears streaming down my cheeks. Damn, I haven’t laughed like this in ages.
“Be serious.”
“Alright, I’m serious.” I take a deep breath and rub my face with both palms. “Rowdy…I know you already know this but I love you. I’m gonna miss you––already do. I don’t know what I would’ve done if you hadn’t kicked my ass into shape, if you hadn’t been there for me, but I’ll be grateful for the rest of my life…and don’t worry, I’ll take good care of her. As if she were yours.”
I’m no longer laughing. I turn and Maren is staring a hole through my head.
“The club?”
“Yeah.” Not really. But she’s not ready for the truth yet. “Ready?”
She nods, expression solemn. “Grandpa, thank you for being my support, my cheerleader, my friend and confidant. Thank you for buying my first tennis racket. Thank you for always believing in me. But most of all, thank you for loving me. I’m sorry…” Tears stream down her face and her chin trembles. She bears down. My beautiful, tough Nordic goddess. “I’m sorry for not being there when you left this place…hope you forgive me. Say hi to Grandma and I’ll miss you forever.”
Maren stands and walks over to the shoreline. And as the sun finally disappears, she opens the urn and lets Rowdy ride the wind.
* * *
Maren
After we said goodbye to my grandfather, we set up camp. Noah started a fire while I opened the pop-up tent and set out the folding chairs, the mood subdued, both of us quiet.
“Crystal cornered me at the library,” I throw out. It sits like a stinky dead fish between us, fouling up the air. I glance sideways and watch him rummaging in his bag. “She wanted to apologize.”
Glancing up from the food he’s taking out of the bag, the careful look Noah casts at me is almost comically. “Yeah?” he says noncommittally and hands me a sandwich and a cold bottle of water. “Did she?”
“If you want to call it that,” I grumble and bite into the sandwich. “Holy crap, this is delicious. Did you make this?”
He nods, one side of his sexy mouth kicking up. Then it drops and caution takes over. “What did she say to you?”
“A lot. She loved reminding me that I used to follow you around like a pathetic puppy––her words.”
Now he looks mad. He blinks and goes back to staring at his food. The vein in the middle of his forehead makes an appearance. “I’ll talk to her.”
Panic stirs in my gut. I don’t want him anywhere near her.
In the silence he glances up again and reads my expression. “Maren, don’t. I should’ve said I’ll tell her to stay the fuck away from you. She should never have said that.”
“I saw you guys talking at the fair.”
“No––what you saw was her trying to talk to me while I was doing a piss-poor job of avoiding her.”
I want to believe that, I really do, but can I?
“She said you…cried after.”
As if he didn’t hear me, he places his trash in a garbage bag, then mine. He won’t look at me.
“Did you hear me?”
“I heard you.”
He still won’t look at me. “And?”
“And I think some things are best left in the past.”
“I want to talk about it.” I watch the dying embers of the fire, crackling as it peters out for good. My gaze lifts and runs right into his, smoldering like the dying fire.
“No.”
“Well, I do.”
“Well, I don’t.”
“Why not?!”
“Because nothing good will come of it!” He stands abruptly, rubs his face. “Fuuck!” He storms into the tent. Then he storms back out. “You can’t stay out here by yourself. Come inside.”
“Why won’t you talk to me? You used to tell me everything.” He faces me then. The turmoil is obvious, lurking right below the surface of his calm expression. “We both know how the story ends…if anyone should be upset it’s me and yet I want to talk about it.”
“I can’t talk about this…I’m sorry.”
* * *
Five minutes later I step inside the tiny tent with the shadow of our argument preceding me. And as if that isn’t uncomfortable enough, I happen to walk in the exact moment he’s undressing, stripping his shirt off. No surprise, I’ve always had the worst timing.
While he pulls the shirt over his head, my eyes stray, taking in every detail of the body of the man he’s become, so different from the boy in my memories. Where he only had a few tattoos before, his chest is now covered with the story of his life, the ink marking every milestone, every tragedy…my name. I keep staring at it, torn between delight and despair.
Heat races up my neck.
There’s not enough room in this tent for me, him, and all the unspent lust between us. Something’s going to give soon. I just hope I’m not making a huge mistake when it finally does.
The shirt drops and he catches me looking. I don’t even bother to feign innocence. “You have so many more.” The last time I saw his bare chest, he had just finished the skull and cross in memory of his parents.
I step closer and his breath stalls. It’s the smallest of movements, his chest puffed out, throat conspicuously still. Except I notice. I notice because noticing him is all I’ve ever done.
Slowly, I raise my hand and trace each cursive letter written above his heart that spells my name. We’ve been touching all day and it feels so, so right it scares me. He flinches at first, as if my touch burns, but then he leans into it.
“How long have you had this––you didn’t answer me earlier.” I look up into his rust-colored eyes. Glinting brightly, they move away for a beat, as if he’s deciding how to answer.
“Since you left,” he rasps.
I draw back for a moment. Startled…angry. Startled wins. Which raises more questions begging to be spoken out loud. Prudence stops me though. Because then what? What do I do with it? My feelings for him are as temperamental as spring in Oklahoma. There’s still too much hurt mixed with the love
and I can’t make out which portion is bigger.
My finger slides north, over the divot at the base of his neck. Noah shivers and his eyes fall closed. Wrapping my good hand around his neck, I place my thumb over his Adams apple and press. His eyes meet mine and his lids lower, the thick fan of his black lashes throwing shade, the good kind. He tips his head back, exposing himself.
“I could strangle you sometimes.”
“So do it.”
“Too easy. I’d rather see you suffer.” There’s no bite to my voice though. His suffering isn’t going to change the past.
“Baby––” he chuckles. It’s humorless and pained. “I’ll be suffering till the end of days. That’s guaranteed.”
Easing up on the pressure of my thumb, I draw it down over the writing across his collarbone, the red ink spanning from clavicle to clavicle. It’s then I know for sure I don’t want him to suffer any more than he already has.
“Never give up on your dreams,” I read out loud. My eyes slide up to meet his, which are steady on me and filled with warmth. “But you did give up on your dreams.”
He remains quiet. The dig doesn’t seem to have affected him at all.
“I got a new dream,” he very directly answers.
“Oh, yeah, what’s that?”
“You.”
One word. One word makes my knees shake, and my face fall, and my heart pump so loudly I can hear it clamoring to be free of my chest. The spike of pain that comes with it is almost unbearable. “Stop it.”
“You’re my dream,” he continues. “You’re the only reason I’ve gotten out of bed for the last ten years.”
“Stop! I’m not listening to this.” Alternating between fury and disbelief, I stalk out of the tent, in a hurry to get as far away from him as possible.
“Maren!” I hear him shout, the sound right over my shoulder. “Stop.”
“No!”
It’s pitch black out, the moon and stars hiding behind a thick bank of clouds draped across the night sky. It’s impossible to discern one direction from another so I walk whichever way straight is. Unfortunately, before I can get anywhere, a strong hand wraps around my bicep and spins me around. He grasps both my arms and pulls me in, his naked chest colliding with my barely clothed one since I’m still in my sports bra and shorts.
