Mountain Man

by Jules Barnard

  The room and its objects waver and fade. I’m dizzy, sick to my stomach…

  Suddenly, the overwhelming weight lifts from on top of me. Air rasps through my chest. The circular fixture above my head comes into focus, and the sound of the casino can be heard…

  I look down my body at an unfamiliar man standing in the doorway, wearing a yellow Sallee Construction shirt, a set of keys dangling from his hand.

  The man glares at Drake. “I’ll be needing this room. For the electrical.”

  “It can wait,” Drake grinds out from my side, one knee propped, his hand braced on the ground as if he rolled off me and froze. “Get out.”

  The Sallee worker presses his lips together and shakes his head. “No can do, boss.” He opens the door wider.

  Drake rises to his feet as someone passes, gawking at us. “You’ll be fired for this.” He jerks me up and my head spins with the abruptness. The arm he crushed is swollen, weak, throbbing with every heartbeat. “Come along, Genevieve.”

  “Oh, she’ll be staying with me,” the worker says.

  My gaze wavers toward him like I’m on a rocky boat.

  “Excuse me?” Drake’s voice is tight, frigid.

  “That’s my buddy’s girlfriend you have there. He wouldn’t want you touching her. If he saw what I just witnessed, you wouldn’t be breathing right now. I suggest you let her go.”

  Drake thrusts me behind him like a dog fighting for a juicy steak. “You’re fired. Get out.”

  “Sure.” The worker tosses the keys on the ground, his meaty hands flexing at his sides in a threatening manner. He’s a couple of inches taller than Drake and twice as wide. “Taking the girl with me, though.”

  Drake’s breath hisses out low and angry. He releases me and storms out the door.

  I’m shaking, my hand supporting my injured arm.

  “Take a minute,” the Sallee worker says. “You can stay or go home, but I’m not leaving your side till you’re clear of the casino.” He pulls out his phone and types as if texting.

  I slump to the floor and try to control the shaking. My head hurts. I can’t concentrate and the room is spinning. I lie down and close my eyes.

  I sense the guy squat beside me. “You need a doctor?” He touches the inside of my wrist, then his hands fumble beneath my knees as if he’s going to lift me.

  I sit up abruptly, which doesn’t help the spinning. “I can walk. Can you take me to my house?” I cough, my throat scratchy and sore. I’ll go to the hospital, because I’m not letting Drake get away with this and I want proof of his violence, but I need my best friend with me.

  The Sallee worker follows me past a new waitress in the lounge. She’s pretty and fresh for her shift. The bartender looks away, but the waitress gapes.

  I change in the basement while the Sallee worker waits for me outside the employee entrance. In my street clothes, no one pays attention to the girl with messy hair and mascara smudges who’s crossing the casino floor to the exit.

  Inside the parking garage, the worker points to a beat-up gray truck an aisle down. “My truck’s over there.” I don’t even know his name, but he wouldn’t let Drake hurt me and he works for Lewis. He thinks I’m Lewis’s girlfriend.

  We enter his truck and he turns the key. We pull out of the parking garage and the farther we get from the casino, the more my body’s shakes. Throat clogged, nose burning with unshed tears, I hold back the emotion threatening to erupt. I just want to get home.

  My phone buzzes from inside my purse on my lap. I pull it out and glance at the screen. Three missed calls and a text message.

  Lewis: Joe told me what happened. I’m on my way.

  The voice messages are also from Lewis, the first a panicked-sounding call in which Lewis says he’s on his way to the casino and talks about contacting the police. The second message he must have left while driving over. In it he says he spoke to Joe and that he is meeting us at my house. The third message is of the frantic where are you variety.

  Lewis sounds upset and worried, and I can’t bring myself to care. I am numb.

  When we pull up to my house, Lewis is talking to Cali at the front door. Cali sees us first and runs to the truck, Lewis a step behind her.

  “Oh my God, Gen.” She opens the door and pulls me to her. I cry out. “What? You’re hurt?” She looks at my face, then down, as I instinctively turn away to protect my arm. “Shit,” she says. “It’s swollen and blue…and your throat. That fucker!”

  My arm is horribly tender but I can move it, so I don’t think it’s broken.

  Lewis rounds Cali and supports my waist, taking my weight. “I’m okay,” I rasp. He flinches, his eyes intense. My voice is rough from screaming and the pressure of Drake’s hand at my throat.

  Lewis is always trying to carry my weight—the physical, the emotional. Is this why he kept his struggles with Mira and her gambling to himself? He won’t share his own burdens?

  Lewis thanks Joe and helps me to the chalet. “Cali, can you grab a cold pack or a bag of ice? Frozen vegetables if you don’t have either?”

  I sit on the couch and he tucks a pillow behind my head. He kneels beside me and turns over my arm, eyeing the bruise. He lifts my shirt as if to check me over, and I jerk it down. “I need to see where you’re hurt,” he says. His eyes widen, mouth pinching. “He didn’t—did he…?”

  “No, my arm is the worst of it.” I lean back and close my eyes. Tears stream down my cheeks, no sound erupting from my battered throat.

  Drake didn’t rape me, but he was going to.

  Lewis presses his face into my neck, his breaths tense and choppy. He’s cupping my head, eyes blinking rapidly against my skin. “I wish I’d been there for you.” He looks up, something in his expression unhinged. “Promise me you won’t return.”

  I believe the look in his eyes, the one that says he cares so much he’d do anything to make this better, but it’s not enough. I need more from him than a protector. “Don’t worry about me. You have other obligations. I’ll be fine.”

  “Gen—” He runs stiff fingers through his hair and leans forward, his hands compressing the cushions on either side of my body. The gesture should intimidate, but the look in his eyes—caring and intent—negates the effect. It’s as if he wants me to see inside his soul. “I’m here right now.”

  “But you won’t always be. There will be times when I need you and your commitment to someone else will prevent you from coming.”

  The door opens and my mom walks in with a bag of groceries in her arms, a smile on her face. Behind her, Jaeger carries four more bags.

  Mom took a plane to Tahoe and could have rented a car, but that would have made too much sense. Mooching rides off my roommate’s attractive boyfriend and me is more her speed. She may be in love with Fred, but she’s not blind.

  Her smile dies as she looks from Cali to Lewis, her gaze finally landing on me. “Genevieve?” She drops the bag and kneels by the couch, nearly knocking Lewis over to reach me. “What happened?”

  Lewis stands and turns, his back rising and falling on deep, controlled exhalations, as if he’s attempting to keep it together. Jaeger sets the groceries on the counter and wraps an arm around Cali. She hugs him and whispers in his ear. He glances at me, and his mouth tenses.

  Jaeger intercepted Cali’s run-in with Drake and knows the gist of what happened to me in the suite. It’s safe to say he’s not Drake’s biggest fan.

  I don’t know why I thought Drake would leave me alone if I only stayed away from him. He’s worse than I ever imagined. The things he said to me… what he tried to do…

  From a few feet away, Lewis turns his gaze on me, and it’s so intense that for a moment I don’t hear my mom’s incessant questioning, which I’ve managed to ignore thus far. His eyes cut away and I watch helplessly as he strides to the front door.

  A deep panic fills my chest. He wouldn’t…

  I sit up and glance at Cali’s boyfriend. “Jaeger—” I stare wordlessly at Lewi
s.

  Jaeger nods and catches Lewis by the shoulder, mumbling something in his ear. Lewis’s grip on the doorknob tightens, his shoulders rigid. He jerks from Jaeger’s hold, but Jaeger continues to talk in a quiet rumble.

  Lewis flings the door open and stalks out. Jaeger searches Cali’s face. She nods and he follows Lewis.

  “Genevieve, talk to me!” My mom squeezes my hand.

  I close my eyes and tune out the world.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  My mom snores. Loudly. I bought earplugs a few days ago when she first arrived, but it hasn’t helped. I slept off and on during the day yesterday to catch up and rest my arm, which has turned this purplish-green from shoulder to elbow. Nasty looking, but it feels much better. It turns out Drake didn’t burst an artery or maim me for life.

  Cali went with me to the hospital after Lewis and Jaeger left. The story I gave my mom was that I fell down a flight of stairs at work. She sort of bought it. Even if she didn’t, that’s all she’s getting. My mother would go apeshit if I told her the truth, and I can’t deal with her drama on top of my drama.

  The nurse at the hospital took one look at me and called the police. I gave my mom another bullshit story for why the police needed a statement, sent her for coffee, and told the officer what happened. I thought Drake was a creepy pervert, but this? I don’t know why I didn’t think he’d take it this far. The signs were there. I ignored them.

  The idea of an investigation terrifies me, but I’m done keeping quiet. Lewis’s employee is willing to speak out, unlike the witnesses in the hotel suite, who were Drake’s accomplices. I’ve been passive, fearful in the past, but I’m channeling the competitive edge that’s had me training day and night for the mudder and I’m fighting Drake—the casino as well, if I have to. What he tried to do… I’m more than humiliated, I’m pissed. I won’t let him get away with it.

  Jaeger followed Lewis to Zach’s house the night of the attack. Jaeger made Lewis promise to stay put, but Cali said that at one point Zach had to talk the two of them out of going after Drake. Lewis had convinced Jaeger someone needed to do something and that they were the ones to do it.

  Zach has serious persuasion skills, because he’s physically no match for either Jaeger or Lewis. I don’t know how he talked them out of their testosterone rage.

  Lewis was there for me. The look on his face after his worker brought me home… He cares—maybe more than cares, and I’m not sure what to do with that information. It’s not enough for the kind of relationship I want. Lewis kept important things from me and I’m tired of secrets and omissions. I want all in or nothing.

  Tucked away in our tiny bathroom, I prepare for the mudder race and watch the sun slowly rise through the window. For the first time in my life, I didn’t mind waking early. It’s peaceful in the morning and I need the calm to prepare for what I’m about to go up against.

  A loud banging on the door startles me, the tin of blue face paint I’m holding tumbling from my fingers into the sink. “Light a fire under it, Gen,” Cali calls.

  I’ve been in here for an hour dressing and carefully applying the blue and black body paint my team selected. I open the door and glare at Cali. “Not so loud,” I grumble. She knows better than to make blaring noises this early.

  Her eyes travel the length of me. “You look badass. You’re going to kill it today, aren’t you?”

  Looking the part and playing the part are two very different things, but I have a burning need to prove something, so maybe she’s right. I want to win. For me. “Going to try.”

  I zip my sweatshirt over the tight blue running shirt with “Mudder and Destroy” screened on the front, the same as the guys. Lewis insisted we wear fast-drying, formfitting clothes for the race, explaining how the mud and water get absorbed by plain T-shirts, weighing a person down. Black yoga cropped capris complete the outfit.

  Because of the prizes this year, coordinators are treating the race like a triathlon. I pinned my number to my shirt and wrote it in body paint down my arms and calves. I’ve got blue face paint fingered over my cheekbones like the guys, to make it easier to spot one another. Eye black below my eyes will help block the glare, and the blue zigzags crisscrossed over my calves are a Washoe symbol.

  Cali unzips my sweatshirt and inspects my wounded arm, twisting it front and back, examining the same symbol I added there.

  “It’s Washoe for good luck,” I tell her. “The guys thought it would be a nice touch. I put it on my arm because—well, for obvious reasons.”

  Even without the bruise, my arms are my biggest weakness. I’m not built like a man and nothing will change that, not even the mini-guns I’ve developed through Lewis’s training. I’m competing against a bunch of beefy dudes who climb vertical walls with their pinkies. I’ll blow past them running, because I’m not encumbered by all that muscle and I’m fast, but the arm obstacles are gonna hurt.

  “You sure you’re up for this?”

  I shift my elbow and admire the vibrant coloration from where Drake squeezed me. My body has recovered for the most part from the attack. The rest of me is another story. “It’s sore, but mainly it just looks bad. I actually think the bruise makes me appear hardcore, which I consider a bonus.”

  She rolls her eyes. “I’m worried about your arm, but I was thinking about what happened.”

  “I’m okay.” Sort of. Not really. I’m not sure I’ll ever fully get over what Drake tried to do. The anxiety of knowing how close he came to truly hurting me has me waking at night in a cold sweat. “I feel better moving forward. If I sit at home depressed and scared, he’s won, you know?”

  “I wasn’t only referring to Drake,” she says pointedly. My heart sinks. She’s referring to the fact that Lewis hasn’t been by.

  She shakes her head and drags me out of the bathroom. “We’d better get going. Jaeger’s got the car running. Fred just picked up your mom. He arrived on the first flight in this morning. Everyone’s pumped—” She gives a little hop at the front door and claps her hands together as I grab my phone and ID.

  I’m jittery with nerves, so that explains my adrenaline rush, but seriously, how does Cali have this kind of energy in the morning? It’s not human. Her excitement and the knowledge that everyone will be watching isn’t helping my nerves.

  No pressure.

  We pull into the packed parking lot below Heavenly in Cali’s sporty new car, courtesy of her hot, generous boyfriend. I’m really not jealous of the car, but of the devoted, loving boyfriend? Hell yes.

  Jaeger bought Cali a car because he wanted her safe, and because he has insane money and can afford it. He was worried about her bumming rides after it turned out someone she rode with spiked her mocha with the drugs that put her in the hospital. Jaeger isn’t being too cautious. He wants to take care of her, and there’s something so romantic about the gesture it brings tears to my eyes. I’m totally overemotional and it’s not helping my warrior appearance.

  I could have had that kind of love. Maybe. Lewis would have been a devoted boyfriend—except where Mira was concerned.

  I made the right choice.

  The lifeless ski lift chairs flicker in the sunlight like metal skeletons against the brown landscape as we make our way through the throng to the check-in table. In a way, the mountain is a graveyard without winter snow. I sign in with the organizers and move to the center of the crowd, bathed in competitive adrenaline.

  The air around me shifts, crackles, sending a tingle down my skin, a higher energy than the existing buzz of activity. I know he’s close before I catch sight of his head several inches above those of the other competitors. As it did the first night we met, his presence disarms, dizzies.

  I watch from a dozen feet away as Lewis approaches our team. His body is painted like mine, but he pulls it off, as if he’s meant to wear face paint and fight battles. The fitted clothes show off every muscle and smooth line of his masculine frame, passed down from generations of Washoe bred to hunt the land benea
th our feet.

  His head swivels, his gaze snagging mine and holding it as I approach. My heart beats a spastic rhythm, my eyes darting away and landing instinctively on the hillside. Being here with him—it’s too much. I miss him, and he’s beautiful in this place.

  Lewis glances in the direction of my gaze as he steps toward me. “Hallowed ground. That’s what we’re competing on,” he says.

  I focus on the wiry lifts and decomposed hillside—and then I see the rest. Wood logs halfway up the hill—an obstacle?

  Competitors aren’t allowed information about the course layout, but Lewis has done this before. He knows what to look for and he knows the land, having grown up here. “Is this another spooky story to freak me out?”

  He shrugs. “It’s true. This place was used for rituals.” His mouth purses. “Not sure which, maybe the spirit babies.”

  Spirit babies? What the hell? I’m stressed about the race and more than a little shaken up by what happened with Drake. I don’t need to worry about man-eating birds or Native American Chucky dolls coming after me.

  Lewis pulls out a jar of blue face paint from a small backpack. He reaches inside the container and runs a warm finger down my neck. My body jerks in a shiver. The absence of his touch these last couple of days has me craving him. His broad hand grounds me on my good arm and he finishes the design, his fingers gentle.

  My gaze strays to his eyes and he returns the look with such intensity, I forget where I am for several heartbeats. “What’s it for?” I finally manage. I’m guessing he created another symbol, but I can’t see my neck.

  He shoves the jar in his pack. “Protection. Prosperity.” He paces a few feet away and checks in his bag with the coordinators.

  Tears well behind my eyes. What is my problem? So I was almost raped, my absent father suddenly appeared in my life, and the guy I’m in love with is too overburdened for a real relationship. Okay, that is all pretty fucked up, but I can’t let it cripple me now.