by Wood, Vivian
I don't look at her body as she does, at the way her very short shorts fit her body. Nor do I admire her legs. I don't think about her petite stature and how it measures up to my own 6’3.
And most of all, I definitely refuse to remember the way that she would giggle when I pinned her down, how she would squirm and pretend to try and escape.
That doesn’t get me hard.
Nope.
She peels off her jacket and looks at me impatiently. “How do we do this?”
Juggling my bananas, breakfast bars, and my canteen, I look at my watch. “When you’re ready, go. You just have to do the whole run in like… I don’t know, two and a half hours or something. This run is a piece of cake.”
She glares at me again. “I don't see you running.”
Shrugging, I move to find a place to sit. “There is no question of my fitness. If it makes you feel better though, I had to do this when I first started here too.”
She rolls her eyes. “Alright. Let’s go. I’m ready.”
I start the timer on my watch and she starts running. Sitting on the sidelines, my job is only to make sure she doesn’t cheat and eat my breakfast in solitude. She passes by a few times, her breath mostly even and her gaze fixed on some point ahead of her.
What is she thinking about? One of the things I used to love about her was the fact that I could read her so easily. One look at her face and I could just tell what was going on inside. But apparently now that is gone, replaced by a controlled stare.
That is, when she doesn’t out and out look like she’s about to kill me.
An hour and a half later, she comes around the bend, a steely determination in her eyes. She looks as worn out as she should, her breathing uneven. As she takes the final steps I realize that there is a half-moon of mascara underneath each eye.
She is wearing makeup. Or she was, before she sweated most of it off. I’m taken aback for a moment.
The old Rachel almost never wore makeup. I look at her now and wonder if there is even a little scrap of the person that I used to know hiding beneath that spiky exterior.
It hurts just a little bit, knowing that the person that I once knew – once loved – is gone. Vanished under a sea of mascara and expensive clothing.
She comes to a stop before me, panting and greedily sucking down the water that sits beside me. I look at my watch.
“One hour, thirty seven minutes.”
Rachel just nods, hands on her hips. “I think I’ll take that breakfast now.”
She takes her empty glass and picks up her jacket. She heads back to the camp site, wiping at her brow. I trail behind her, unsure at this exact moment how I should feel.
On one hand, I’m glad she passed the running portion. On the other, some small part of me thought that maybe she would fail and then we wouldn’t have anything to worry about.
Definitely not sleeping side by side in close quarters for the next three months, anyway.
But the small, weak part of me that hoped for that is just going to have to be disappointed, I guess. I follow her to the mess hall where she takes no time to chow down on one of the breakfast bars. She takes a second one, secreting it into the pocket of her coat.
Then she looks at me, stone faced. “There is a ropes course part of all this, is there not?”
I nod. “Yep.”
She’s already heading the direction. “Let’s do it right now, before I get too tired.”
Raining my brows, I follow her. Once we get to the ropes course, it seems as if she is just trying to get through as soon as possible, her expression nothing short of dogged determination the whole time. As the ropes course is fifteen feet off the ground, she has to accept my help with getting a climbing harness on. Once she’s clipped in though, my bit is done.
I step away. She goes through the entire thing pretty quickly, doing absolutely everything she can on her own.
I’m pretty sure that is the exact opposite of the point of ropes courses, but I just bite my tongue and stay out of her way.
There is one part that she can’t quite seem to get, though. The pipe bridge seems to defeat her. She’s staring down two parallel ropes at the waist and at the foot, stretched about twelve feet wide, with pipes tied across the bottom at challenging intervals.
She keeps missing the second foothold. “Jesus Christ,” she mutters.
“I think if you just—”
“Shut up!” She manages to get to the second pipe and stares at the third.
“Rachel—”
She whirls on me. “I am doing fine. I’m getting along just fine without your meddling! Don’t you have somewhere to be?”
Yikes. I definitely don’t remember Rachel ever being nasty to me. She sounds more than a little bit like her mother, which disappoints me in a strange way.
I put my hands up in surrender, backing off. She struggles through the obstacle, then races through the rest of the course. When she’s done, she unties herself and flings the harness at me, then storms off toward her cabin.
What set her off, exactly?
Unable to ask her and unlikely to do so even if I could, I wrap the ropes up and move on with my day.
Chapter Seven
Rachel
When the alarm on my phone wakes me up, I open my eyes in the darkness of the little cabin. Even though I went to bed super early yesterday there is no bedtime that makes this early hour easier to swallow. I wince.
“Ooof,” is the first thing that leaves my mouth.
My body aches. My feet are still throbbing. I sit up and pull the scratchy gray blankets back to peer at my feet. Running in my hiking boots was not a good idea, as evidenced by the blisters all over my feet, especially around my toes. Sore, cracking, and a second away from bleeding again, my blisters have seen better days.
Getting to my feet as delicately as possible, I decide against a shower. From what I have witnessed there is only the one group shower here. The thought of going in there with sores on my feet turns my stomach.
I make do with a little dry shampoo and deodorant. While I’m taking care of the necessities, I groggily reflect on the fact that I’m here by choice.
After Grayson, post-Grayson I should say, I was so hurt that it took me a long time to heal. And when I did, I made myself as strong as I knew how. Invincible, almost.
But then one glance at him, and I start to wonder what he sees. Does he see that I rebuilt myself better, or does he see the spoiled little rich girl I became?
There is a distinct bitterness in my mouth and in the pit of my stomach, thinking of what I became.
I am this way because you left me.
That’s what I want to say to him. But I don’t dare.
Dressing myself in another new outfit of soft gray leggings and a black tank top, I don my lightweight rain jacket. Then I force my feet into the hiking boots that hurt them so bad yesterday, cringing the whole time.
It’s painful. But so was learning to live in high heels. Back in college, after Grayson vanished and I made the only decision I could about my future, I had to learn.
Now I walk in them with confidence. I expect that hiking will be the same… eventually.
At least I hope so. And with any luck today’s lessons in wilderness survival will allow me to sit down a lot.
There is a loud knock on my door. I wince and hobble over to answer, taking a long breath before pulling the door open. Getting myself together, I open it with the most neutral look I can manage.
Grayson stands there, taking up the whole doorway, occupying the space casually. He looks as brooding as he has since I’ve arrived, picking his head. My eyes narrow.
I don't know why, but it bothers me that he’s so… so… put together.
“Are you ready?” he asks, stepping back.
Without answering I step outside and close the cabin door. Heading to the mess hall, I notice the first rays of sunlight creeping in, spreading themselves out across the darkened, pine needle covered ground. I
t’s beautiful in its own right, the way the light stains the blackness, turning it gray.
I step on some uneven ground and wobble, throwing my hands wide and making a low sound in the base of my throat. My eyes mist over at the way my boots and my blisters collide in this new way.
Grayson is right there behind me, his touch landing underneath my splayed arms. “Whoa. You okay there?”
His hands are hot, his touch like fire. I shake him off immediately and grit my teeth. “I’m fine.”
Grayson drops back, put in his place by my tone. I keep walking toward the mess hall, tossing my hair and holding my head high. I don't feel as confident as I probably look, but that isn’t something that Grayson needs to know.
I ignore him through breakfast. I would ignore him for the rest of eternity, but unfortunately he is teaching my wilderness survival course. He leads me to the education room, a little cabin behind the mess hall decorated in WHAT WOULD YOU DO IF… posters plastered all over the walls. The extreme situations presented on each poster reinforce the fact that I’m not in Manhattan anymore.
Grayson enters the cabin after me, seeming wary of hitting his head on the roof. He leaves the door open and glances outside anxiously for the first few minutes we are inside. I wonder what that is all about, but I’m not about to ask.
The cabin is so small and intimate that Grayson could almost touch both walls if he reached out. He glances around the room and points at one of the four desks. “Sit.”
Rolling my eyes at the command, I take a seat. He crouches down by a table that is piled high with course materials. He sifts through a stack of papers, selecting a handbook and dumping it on the desk before me. It is a weathered old thing, photocopied and battered.
It reads, How To Survive In The Wilderness. Nothing groundbreaking there.
I open it and flick through. Psychology of Survival is one chapter. Shelters and Water Procurement are two others.
Grayson rubs his chin.
“Nate said I am supposed to go through the whole thing with you. At the end, you take a test. That’s it.”
I look up at him, cocking a brow. “I just have to pass the test?”
He leans on the table, wrapping his arms across his chest. “Yup.”
“I think I can manage to read the book by myself.”
Grayson snorts. “Yeah. You might be able to read, princess, but you have to really know this stuff. What if we’re separated and you have to fend for yourself?”
My eyes narrow. “I think I can rough it. And I’m not a princess.”
That actually makes him chuckle, although the mirth doesn’t reach his eyes. “Nice try. I don't think so. I’m responsible for your ass as soon as we leave base camp, so I think you’d better know this stuff backwards and forwards.” He reaches behind himself and grabs another copy of the handbook, cracking it open. “Let’s start with the introduction, shall we?”
Shooting him a glare, I flip to the very beginning, my teeth already on edge. I try to focus on the material and not on the bossy asshole who is taking up about a quarter of the damn room. An asshole who looks like he could snap me in half with those stupidly powerful arms of his.
I curse the smallness of this space. I curse my stupid, wandering brain.
I will curse almost anything to avoid thinking about… him.
Thinking about him, lusting over him, that would make me weak. And I’m not weak.
So I just tip my nose in the air and pretend not to notice his virility.
A little over an hour later, I’ve had it with sitting. I stand abruptly, putting myself in the awkward position of having to almost touch him in order to get out of the cabin. All my blood rushes to my feet, which begin to pound.
Grayson looks at me stoically.
“We still have to go over…” He pauses, referring to the handbook. “Signaling Techniques and Wilderness Navigation.”
“Yeah, well…” I say as a push past him, heading out the door. My feet are aching, but at least I’m not still sitting in that tiny room. “I got antsy.”
He follows me outside. “I should’ve known.”
I start stretching, distracted. “What?”
He clears his throat. “In New York, you were impossible to get in one place for too long. I always wondered how you did so well on the SATs.”
My muscles freeze. I look at him.
How do you ask someone not to remember anything about you? I can’t find the words. Luckily, he ducks his head, seeming to realize that he has stepped over a boundary for both of us.
“I mean… we can walk,” he quickly corrects himself. “While we go over the last two sections.”
I say nothing as we begin our stroll. Grayson reads aloud from the handbook. I bite my lip and force my gaze down to my feet.
Memories swim up close to the surface. If I were just to reflect for a second even, I know what they would be like.
His smile.
The feeling of his big hands on my bare skin.
The sound of our shared laughter, of him chuckling as he shushes me.
Shh. We’re supposed to be quiet, aren’t we?
Then he puts his lips on that spot on my neck, the one that makes me tremble…
“Rachel,” he says.
I look up, bringing myself back to the present. Then I flush because despite my efforts, I launched right into lusting after Grayson. Or maybe remembering the way he was doesn’t quite count as wanting him now…
I could never want him now. Not after all this time has passed.
I just need to remember that.
“Are you listening?” he asks, his expression going hard. “It’s very important that you get all of this. I wasn’t kidding about the fact that I will be responsible if anything happens to you in the wilderness.”
Ugh. He sounds smug and superior. He’s just so annoying when he thinks he’s right. I can’t stand it, so I goad him a little. “We both know that if anything happens, you’ll be the first one to save yourself. I will be the one left behind.”
He stops dead in his tracks. “Excuse me?”
Now I’m riling him up. Which suits me just fine.
“You heard me. I’ve been through this once before. Only instead of the wilderness, you left me to the wolves of the upper East side in New York City.” I give him a vague smile.
His nostrils flare. His eyes look as though he could kill me, just as surely as I stand here.
When he speaks, his words are terse. “You don't know what you’re talking about.”
I cross my arms and cock my hip. “I think I do.”
Grayson regards me with something an awful lot like disgust. Good, I hope he understands now what he’s made me feel.
Then he says something unexpected. “I don't think this is going to work.”
He whirls away as soon as he utters it, heading away from the rest of the base camp. I go still.
Oh.
I didn’t think when I was winding him up that he would get all oversensitive about things. If he really gets stubborn, he could ruin my chances at a last summer of freedom.
God, he still has power over me and I loathe him for it.
I watch him storm off, chewing on my lower lip anxiously.
Chapter Eight
Grayson
Eight Years Earlier
“Just a little further,” I whisper in Rachel’s ear. “Don’t peek.”
I have my arms around her, my hands in front of her eyes. We carefully move forward on the moonlit golf course. One step from her, one step from me. It’s a little cold out and I can feel goosebumps rise on her skin. I make a note to give her my jacket as soon as we get to the blanket I’ve laid out.
She’s grinning despite the cold, on the verge of bursting into laughter. “Grayson, I couldn’t peek if I wanted to. Your hands are bigger than my face.”
She’s right, of course. She’s tiny. So short, in fact, that she has been confused for my little sister, even though we look nothing alike. That
really pisses her off, makes her screw her face into a displeased shape.
She hates being underestimated. Still, just thinking about it makes me snicker.
“Shhh,” I shush her, trying to keep my laugh inside. Glancing over my shoulder at the lit-up windows of the glitzy clubhouse, I steer her further away from it and closer to our goal. I whisper in her ear again. “Be quiet for just a minute more. I promise, it’ll be worth it.”
I keep edging us both forward across the smooth green turf of the golf course. That shining palace is the place that I worked in the kitchens until I was old enough to join the Navy. It’s also where I met Rachel for the first time.
This place holds nothing but good memories for the both of us.
And this girl… this girl makes me feel like I’m the fucking cock of the walk. Like I’m the luckiest guy in the whole entire universe, just because she picked me to gaze at with that look on her face.
She looks at me like I am the sun to her moon, like she just orbits around one of my planets. I know for a fact that it’s the opposite, but damn.
Having her laugh at my jokes and seek my kisses is straight up addictive.
A few more steps forward until I see the blanket that I set up, the midnight picnic for two. Uncovering her eyes, I grin.
“Okay. You can look.”
She opens her eyes, then presses both hands over her mouth. She looks at me with those dark eyes, already on the verge of tears.
“Grayson! You set this up for us?”
I love how emotional she is, how passionate she can be. It gives me whiplash sometimes but I wouldn’t change her for the world.
With her honeyed hair, those soft brown eyes, and her body that fits to mine like an arrow finds its notch… it could be that she has me entirely under her spell.
Smiling, I take her by the hand.
“I did.” I lead her over to the blanket and sit her down, shrugging off my leather jacket. “I know that my deployment hasn’t been easy for you…”