When I opened my eyes, the beams of sunlight had vanished, and the sea was a uniform gray once more. Was that a good sign or a bad sign?
There was a rustling sound, followed by the hiss of a zipper, and then Rory emerged from his tent.
He was clad only in a pair of black gym shorts, and his hair was tousled. I stared at his beautiful body, lean and strong from endless miles of walking and swimming. I remembered our brief conversation about kilts and indulged myself by imagining him wearing one…and nothing else. Then he stretched his arms up over his head, the motion causing his shorts to ride low on his hips, displaying the yummy indentations of his obliques and a line of paler skin, and my mouth went completely dry.
Suddenly, his arms dropped to his sides. “Amelia? What are you doing up?”
“What?” I murmured absently. He started toward me, the graceful motion of his body as he walked utterly mesmerizing.
“Amelia,” he said sharply.
I blinked. And felt my face burn as I realized he’d totally caught me staring at him. Oh, good grief. I closed my eyes for a moment, then looked up, mortified. His face was a bit pink, too, as if my gaze had burned him. The image that accompanied that thought was absurdly funny, and a giggle burst from me before I could stop it.
“Are you okay?” he asked, obviously concluding that I’d lost my mind, which only made me laugh harder.
“I’m sorry,” I gasped, wiping the tears from my eyes, “I just…maybe you could go back inside your tent and come out again, so we can start this whole scene over?”
He smiled—just a small curve of his lips, but it still counted. “I don’t know what just happened, but it’s nice to hear you laugh. How’s your knee this morning? And why are you up and around?” he asked, the smile dropping from his face. “I told you not to try to walk without help.”
I stiffened, bracing for confrontation. “I had to pee, and you were sleeping.”
He flicked his gaze to the sky, as if calling on the same higher power I’d just spoken to, then looked back at me, his eyes stern. “You should have woken me up.”
“I didn’t want to.”
His eyes turned silvery with anger. “Because you’re stubborn and prideful and would rather fall down than ask for help!”
“Yeah, that’s exactly it. You have me figured out. You know, when you offered to help me finish, and I gratefully accepted, neither of us seemed to consider that most of the time, we don’t actually get along.”
He stared at me for a moment, and then his shoulders sagged as the fight just fell out of him.
“Damn it,” he muttered. He sat beside me, tunneling his hands into his hair and tugging, as if he needed the pain to center him. He looked at me once more, his eyes now a troubled grayish-green.
“Look, I get that you don’t want to be dependent on me to escort you to the loo. But I don’t want you to fall and risk further injury, especially if I’m asleep in my tent and have no idea that you’re out there. Can you understand that?”
I sighed. “I do understand, and I’m sorry. It’s just that you—” No, better not to say it.
He cocked his head. “I what?”
He pinned me with those eyes, and I couldn’t not tell him. “You looked peaceful, for the first time since I met you.” He looked totally taken aback, and I hurried to continue. “I know you don’t sleep well, and I just couldn’t bear to disturb you if I didn’t have to.”
He didn’t say anything. I closed my eyes, wishing I could crawl into a hole. I should have just apologized and left it at that.
His hand suddenly covered mine, and I opened my eyes. He was looking at me with the strangest expression on his face. “Thank you. That was…I’m sorry for yelling at you.”
God, those eyes! First, they were silver and angry, like molten steel; then they were gray-green and turbulent, like a stormy sea. Now they were bright green and luminous, like a piece of sea glass shimmering in the sun, and I couldn’t look away from the vulnerability they revealed.
As if in a trance, I watched my hand brush a lock of hair off his face and then touch his cheek. Watched his eyes widen in surprise, his whole body going rigid. And then he leaned into my touch.
It wasn’t more than a few seconds that we stayed like that before I drew back, knowing if I didn’t, things were going to get awkward. I cleared my throat and met his eyes, which were back to the calm gray-green of a rainy day.
“I’m sorry for doing what you told me not to do. It was light out, and I felt stable enough with the trekking poles. But you’re right—if I’d fallen, that would have been bad.”
He nodded—slowly, as if he was still processing what just happened. Then he patted my thigh and stood. “Okay, I think that’s settled.”
“I think so.”
“Sit tight for a moment, and then I’ll check your knee.” He put on his flip-flops and then strode down the path to the trees. I watched him go, wondering for the thousandth time why either of us had agreed to this.
He returned a few minutes later and ducked into his tent. When he came back out, he was wearing a T-shirt. Damn it.
“Let’s have a look at that knee.” He was all business now, that earlier moment of vulnerability gone as if it had never happened. He knelt at my feet and started to push up the leg of my sweatpants, but the elastic around the ankle wouldn’t stretch over my swollen knee. He peered up at me, his eyebrows raised.
I carefully stood, placing my hands on his shoulders. “Do it.”
His eyes widened, and then comprehension set in. Averting his eyes, he reached under my T-shirt, snagged the waistband of my pants, and started to pull them down.
“Could you go slower with that?” I muttered, squirming as his touch ignited little fires inside me.
He looked up at me from under his dark copper brows. “If you insist,” he said, his lips curving into a wicked smile. I sucked in a breath as his thumbs slowly grazed my thighs, those little fires exploding into conflagrations as every cell in my body responded to his touch. My heart pounding, my legs wobbly for reasons having nothing to do with my knee, I clutched his shoulders. If he leaned a little closer, his mouth would be—
His hands tightened around my thighs, his eyes bright green and scorching in their intensity, and I knew he was thinking the same thing.
“Rory…” I whispered, not sure if I was asking him to stop or keep going.
He blinked, and the spell was broken.
He whisked the pants down my legs and off. I let go of his shoulders and sat down, trying not to feel disappointed that he could turn it off that quickly, while I still felt the imprint of each of his fingers searing into my skin.
He unwrapped the bandage and hissed in a breath through his teeth. My knee was still swollen. “You know what this means?”
“No, wha—” I followed his gaze to the peacefully rippling sea a few yards away. “Oh, come on. Can’t I just take, like, extra ibuprofen or something?”
“You already are. The cold water will help more.” He went into his tent and returned with the shorts I’d worn into the sea the day before. “I brought in your things last night before I went to bed. You were already sleeping, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”
“Thanks.” I slipped on the shorts, which were mostly dry. Not that it was going to matter. He lifted me in his arms and waded into the water until my knee was submerged. “Aren’t you getting tired of schlepping me around?” I asked, whimpering at the cold.
“Not yet,” he said as he started walking. “So what’s the deal with you and hiking?” he asked. I flicked my eyes to his, surprised at the topic. “You said you hated hiking. Seemed extreme.”
If we weren’t going to talk about that heated moment we just shared, it was as good a topic as any. “It was the spring of our junior year of high school. Carrie and I had joined the Environmental Club, because it would ‘look good on our college applications.’ It was a lot more fun than I expected, with various field trips and cleanup days at the b
each. Until the hike, at some mountain in upstate New York. Unlike with you guys, there was no organization to it—and no guide. We were told to meet back at the van after we finished, and then we were left to our own devices.”
He looked horrified. “They left a bunch of teenagers to fend for themselves on a mountain?”
“Yep.”
“That’s not okay. Tommy and I do a lot of work with teens, taking them out on the trail to teach them orienteering and survival skills. Eventually, they do go out on their own, but not before they’ve had days of training. And even then, we aren’t far.”
“Well, I wish we’d had leaders like you and Tommy. Our group separated almost immediately, with the more experienced hikers charging off ahead. Soon it was just Carrie and me. I started to get blisters and had to go slowly. Carrie said we should turn back, but she’d been so stoked about the hike, and I didn’t want to ruin it for her, so I said I was okay, and we kept going.
“And then it started to pour. We turned back, but by then the trail was a slippery mess, and we got completely lost. We were out there for hours trying to find our way back. By then it had gotten dark, and we were both chilled to the bone.
“It was terrifying, Rory. I thought we were going to be out there all night, freezing to death or getting attacked by a fucking bear. A park ranger finally found us.”
“I’m sorry that happened. That was a shitty introduction to hiking, and I hope someone got sacked over it?”
“The teacher that ran the Environmental Club got in trouble for not employing proper safety procedures. I couldn’t get warm for days, and had nightmares for weeks after that. Carrie got super into hiking, and I swore I’d never go hiking again.” I looked into his sympathetic eyes. “And yet, here I am.”
“Has your opinion of hiking changed at all these past few days? Other than the sprained knee?”
I thought of how I felt when I reached the top of Ben Tianavaig, before everything went to hell, the sense of accomplishment, of pride—the exhaustion and soreness replaced by the adrenaline rush of standing atop a mountain with the wind rushing around me, the fresh air filling my lungs.
“I might not hate it so much now.”
“It’s a start,” he said with a smile.
God, I would never get used to his smiles. They were like a rare gift—that was maybe not so rare anymore. And that wicked grin from a few minutes ago—I want to see that again.
“Anyway, we need to get ready to head out. Thank you for telling me that story. Just so you know, I’m going to do my best to get you to love hiking before we reach the end of the trail.”
“Well, you can try,” I said, though in all honesty, he was off to a decent start.
“Fair enough.”
A moment later, he was carrying me out of the water and setting me down on the rock.
And all I could think of was how much I missed being in his arms, icy water or no.
Chapter Twenty-One
Amelia
After our dip, he re-wrapped my knee. “Do you, uh, need me to help you get dressed?” he asked.
“No, I can do it.” Even if it took me an hour. I couldn’t handle his hands on me like they were before, not if it wasn’t going to go anywhere.
It didn’t take an hour, but it did take a while. I limped out of the tent, carrying my boots and socks—there was no way I could put them on without help. As I was getting dressed, the reality crashed down. Getting back on the trail today was going to suck.
Rory helped me with my boots, and then we ate quickly.
“You ready to head out?”
I just nodded, knowing that if I said yes, he’d be able to hear in my voice that I was afraid I was nowhere near ready.
I stood, and he helped me into my pack, waiting while I adjusted to the heavy burden. He handed me my poles and then shrugged into his own pack. “Okay, we’re aiming to get to Sligachan today, where you’ll have a non-reconstituted meal and an adult beverage at the hotel restaurant before you sleep in an actual bunk—after you shower. How’s that for motivation?”
“Sounds amazing.”
“Aye, it does. But you’re going to let me know if you need to rest, right?”
“I will.”
“And if we can’t make it to Sligachan today, then we won’t, all right? I would rather we go at a steady pace, even if it’s slow, and sleep out another night, than completely wear you out so you can’t move tomorrow.”
His face flushed slightly at his double entendre. “That didn’t come out right,” he muttered. Maybe it wasn’t what he meant to say, but it conjured all kinds of naughty images in my mind, and I wondered if he was seeing similar ones in his.
“Trust me, if you wear me out so much that I can’t move tomorrow, you’ll know it,” I said with a grin.
He stared at me for a moment, his eyes wide. Then he looked away, muttering something under his breath that was either a prayer or a curse, which made me laugh. It was fun to see him flustered, and it momentarily distracted me from worrying about how I would get through the day. He glanced back at my laugh, then rolled his eyes and grinned. “Come on, let’s go.”
The first few miles were on the road. While I had complained the day before about how uncomfortable it was to walk in hiking boots on pavement, today I was grateful for the stable ground.
It was still slow-going, and although my knee seemed to be doing okay, Rory insisted on holding my upper arm “just in case.” But I could feel the tension running through him, and I knew this pace was nearly impossible for him to maintain, with his long, uninjured legs.
After about a mile, I couldn’t take it anymore. “Rory, stop for a second.”
“What’s wrong? Do you need a break?”
“No, I’m fine. And I think I can manage okay without you holding my arm.”
It was fascinating to watch the series of emotions that ran across his face. First relief, then guilt, then doubt. He shook his head. “What if you fall?”
“Then you’ll help me up, say ‘I told you so,’ and then I’ll let you hold my arm for a while.”
His lips quirked at that. “All right. But let me know if I start walking too fast, okay?”
“I will.”
It was much easier to walk without him holding my arm, though I missed his touch. I was also able to move faster, and although it wasn’t anywhere close to his usual pace, it was obviously easier on him, too.
But the silence was starting to grate on my nerves. “Tell me about Tommy,” I blurted out after we’d been walking for a while.
He looked over at me, clearly surprised. “Why?”
“It’s your turn to share. I told you about the Hike from Hell.”
He visibly relaxed. “What do you want to know?”
Why you’re being weird about it. “How long have you guys known each other?”
“I’ve known him since I was a lad, but we didn’t really become friends until years later. He’s actually the one who got me into the outdoors and hiking, which, like you, I used to hate.”
“You hated it?” I knew why I had hated it, but he’d had this incredible scenery as his playground. “Why?”
“It’s…complicated,” he said after a moment. “I was small for my age and not great at anything athletic, and I couldn’t keep up with my… I just had a tough time.”
Okay, then. Obviously not a favorite subject. “How did Tommy get you into it?”
He didn’t answer, and the silence became uncomfortable. He walked as if on autopilot, his thoughts clearly far away.
Suddenly, my knee buckled. Rory grabbed my arm and wrenched me upright before I hit the pavement. “Let’s take a break.”
“I’m okay, I just didn’t see a rut in the road.”
“I know. We’re just about to the point where we leave the road for a path. We’ll rest for a bit and then carry on.”
There was no sense in arguing with him. Besides, my knee was aching and my other leg was tired from doing extra work to keep
me upright. I needed the break.
I took off my pack and sat on a rock overlooking the sea. Rory sat a few feet away on another rock.
“I was a pretty messed-up kid,” he said suddenly. Startled by his out-of-the-blue admission, I looked over at him. His gaze was firmly fixed on the sea. “I was flunking my classes, running with a bad crowd, picking fights at school, getting suspended. And it didn’t make a difference,” he whispered, almost as an afterthought.
“Only one person seemed to care,” he continued, “my literature teacher at school, Mrs. MacDougall.” He paused for a moment, a smile that looked almost sad curving his lips. “I’d always liked to write but had never shown my work to anyone. My dad…thought writing was for girls.” He put that part in air quotes, his lip curling with disgust. “So I’d always been embarrassed to show it to anyone. But Mrs. Mac was amazing. She cared, you know? And she was the first one to encourage my writing. She knew me before…everything. And when…it all went to shit, and I stopped doing anything much at school other than causing trouble, I always did my work for her class, because I didn’t want to disappoint her.”
I pictured young Rory, putting on a tough facade, lashing out at everyone and everything except this one teacher. What could have sent him down that path?
“One day, after my latest round of mischief, I was expelled. I didn’t even care anymore. But Mrs. Mac found out and got them to give me one more chance, saying she’d vouch for me. She told me I was at a crossroads, and I could either keep going as I was and end up amounting to nothing—or worse, wind up dead in an alley—or I could take the hand that was being offered to me and let her help me turn my life around. I was fifteen.”
This was the most he’d ever said about himself. There was so much more he wasn’t saying, but I didn’t dare interrupt him.
“For so long, I hadn’t cared about anything, not even whether I lived or died. No, that’s not true—I did want to die,” he whispered. He clenched his fists on his thighs, as if to force down the emotion that threatened to burst forth—that he couldn’t let burst forth.
Under a Storm-Swept Sky Page 13