by Lark O'Neal
“Is that Jess?”
I look up, my throat tight. “How do you know about Jess?”
She gives me a rueful, understanding kind of smile. “You call her name in the night.”
“God, how pathetic.” I shake my head. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“We all have our demons.” She points to the untouched pastry on my plate. “You gonna eat that?”
“No.” I push it toward her. I’ve been feeding her for days, something else I used to do with Jess. Chelsea isn’t poor, and I can tell by the orthodontically perfected teeth and worn but high end clothes that she’s from a world where girls don’t usually travel alone with a single backpack and barely enough money to get by. But I don’t ask. Sometimes the best thing the road can offer is the relief of not having to tell your story. One. More. Freakin. Time.
“So?” she asks me, swinging her foot. “You want me to tell her where you are, this girl?”
“Kaitlin,” I say. “She’s an old friend. No, I’ll text her. You don’t have to worry about it.”
A louder rumble shakes the room quiet, and then there is a shuddering, distant boom. “Whoa,” Chelsea says. “Is that the volcano?”
“I don’t know. We should get back and check the news.”
But even as we step outside, I realize we aren’t going to be leaving Iceland any time soon. The air is filling with ash, and flakes are fluttering down on us like snow. “Crazy,” Chelsea says, looking at her sleeve. “This is crazy.”
I think of Kaitlin waiting at the hotel, her eyes big and hopeful, her body so strong and lithe and gorgeous, and if I go back to the hotel, I know I’m going to end up falling into bed with her again. Not so bad for me.
Really bad for her. Even I am not that much of a dickhead. I should never have hooked up with her the first time. It was hard on her, and I knew that it would be before I gave in.
The thing is, she’s gone from flat-chested tomboy to smokin’ hot babe in the space of a year, and she has no idea. It’s sexy as hell.
“Hey, I have an idea,” I say, and take Chelsea’s hand. “Let’s get the highest hotel room in the city.”
“But—my stuff!”
“We’ll send somebody for it.”
She’s holding on to my hand for a minute, those sad blue eyes measuring, and I see the exact moment that she thinks, fuck it. “All right,” she says with a shrug.
And we’re gone.
Chapter EIGHT
Kaitlin
It’s dark when I awaken. Of course.
I can tell I’ve been asleep a long time—my limbs are stiff and the Vicodin has worn off enough that I feel my wrist in a steady throb, throb, throb. But I’ve been adrift deep in the land of Nod, as my mom says, and my head is much clearer.
My phone says it’s 8 am, which means I slept for fourteen hours. Take that, jet lag! But there is no reply to any of the texts I sent to Tyler. Maybe he’s not even here anymore.
There is also nothing from Gabe, which surprises me, honestly. It is uncommon that guys like him notice me, but it really felt like something on the bus. I close my eyes, touch the lips he kissed, think of his torso, slick with water from the hot springs.
From the bed I can reach the cord for the curtains and I roll over to yank them open to show the black sky. No stars. Clouds and mist over the water, and the lights of the buildings around the hotel.
A sense of futility creeps through me. What kind of idiot drops everything and flies halfway around the world for a guy who won’t even answer her texts?
Me. That idiot would be me.
What am I doing here? I rest my head against the window and let the feelings of humiliation and embarrassment rush through me. I’m a fool. Again. Again for Tyler, who only toyed with me last summer. I know that. Knew it. Maybe I thought—
Am I being naive about Gabe, too? I really expected that he would call. Obviously, I have no idea what guys are really thinking. Never have. Girls who play all those games, who seduce and play hard to get and all that crap—I just don’t even know how they know how to do it.
Whatever. If I don’t hear from Tyler by noon, I’ll get on a plane. To hell with him.
I need a shower. When I stand up, the hip screams first, then my ankle and shoulder, and instead of bounding, I hobble in to the shower and unstiffen myself under the hot water. My hair is strange and very dry from the water at the Blue Lagoon, and even three applications of conditioner doesn't really make it that much softer, so I have to just let it air dry as best I can. I’m starving and need to get some breakfast before the cafe closes, so I hurry downstairs in the tiny elevator in a thick sweater and Polartec leggings and boots.
The elevator slides open and I can hear the commotion before I even step out. Excited voices, coming out of the communal room. I wander in, looking for the source, but there’s no television here, only a knot of people talking in excitement.
“What’s going on?” I ask the woman standing next to me.
In a German accent, she replies, “The volcano is erupting. The airport is closed! We can’t go home!”
It penetrates my hungry brain that she has stacks of luggage arrayed around her, along with a bunch of other people. A bus has pulled up outside and travelers climb down, bringing bags and packs with them. I wonder if the hotel has room for them.
One of the girls from the night before, with black hair cut into an angular hipster style, comes over and snares my arm above the elbow. “If you want food, you’d better come get it now.”
I glance at the crowd, let her tug me toward the cafe. “Awesome. I’m Kaitlin.”
“Madeline.” She gives me a sideways smile. “I know who you are. I don’t know if anybody else does, but I love the Olympics.”
“Do you mind if we don’t spread the word?”
She mimes zipping her mouth. “Chelsea probably figured it out, too, since she’s been hooking up with Tyler.”
My face must give something away because she is immediately apologetic. “It’s not serious if that’s what you’re worried about. Chelsea is heading out today—or well, she was. Anyway,” she rushes on before I can explain that I don’t have any claim on Tyler, “get some food and join us, over there.” She points.
A couple of people at the table are looking our way and wave. I lift a hand back. “Uh, Madeline,” I say.
She pauses.
“Tyler is just my friend.”
Her nod is bright, her expression carefully blank. “Whatever.”
I pile a plate with bananas and yogurt and bread and peanut butter, and fill a bowl with muesli then carry it all over to the table. I drop it at the place they saved me for me, then head back for milk and a glass of orange juice. I slide in beside the guy with the messy man-bun who has eyes as blue as a morning sky, startling. “Hello,” he says in a British accent. “I’m Algernon. They call me Simon.”
The accent is as posh as they get, and I’m guessing he’s traveling with the beautiful Indian who is currently chatting up a girl at the other end of the table. “Hello,” I say, and I realize I’m putting on my company voice. “I’m Kaitlin. No nickname.”
His grin is swift and winning. “Blame Niraj.” He gestures toward his friend. “We were in school together, and he’s never been able to bear Algernon.”
I smile. “I kind of like Algernon.”
He toasts me with his coffee cup. “As do I, honestly.”
The knot in my gut is easing. The food helps enormously.
Madeline swings her shiny black hair and says, “Have you heard the news? We’re all stuck here.”
“My friend said that would happen,” I say with an insider nod. “He’s a volcanologist.”
“Is that like Spock?” The girl next to Madeline says. This is the blue-eyed girl from yesterday, the one with a thick blonde braid. She reminds me of someone and I can’t quite pull it in.
Madeline snorts. “No, that’s Star Trek. A volcanologist is a person who studies volcanoes.”
“Oh, cool.” She nudges her friend hard. “You don’t have to be mean about it. I never heard of it before.”
“Olivia plays stupid,” Madeline says, all droll, “but she has an IQ of like 180 or something. It’s ridiculous.” In my pocket, my phone buzzes, and I yank it out, thinking maybe Tyler will have heard that I’m here.
Wanna see a volcano erupting? Look up.
I do. It’s not Tyler.
It’s Gabe standing there in the doorway, filling it up with his broad shoulders, his head nearly skimming the threshold. His hair is clean and free, tumbling in soft curls around that amazing face. I’m suddenly electrified, my heart rushing into my throat.
I look down at my phone and text, hi come on over.
His smile fills the room with light, and he strides toward us in a graceful long limbed way. Maybe I didn’t get it wrong with this guy. Maybe he actually does kind of like me.
“I was just talking about you,” I say. “I told them you said the volcano would blow.”
His dark eyes shine. “Called in a favor,” he says, and touches the knuckle of my left hand with the tip of his finger. The current runs up my arm, through my torso, and electrifies my feet.
“I’m going to be in trouble now, you know.”
“Yeah, but it will be worth it. You want to see the volcano?”
“Is it dangerous?” I ask, at the same time Algernon and Madeline both say, “I do!”
“A little dangerous, but not terrible,” Gabe says, “and I have room for a few others. Need your winter gear. It’s cold.”
“How many others?” Madeline asks.
He frowns for a minute. “Four, if one is small.”
Madeline jumps up. “Me!”
Olivia shakes her head. “No way. Not in the cold.”
The Abercrombie boy says, “I’d like to go.” His sister shakes her head.
The Brits exchange a look. “We’d like to see it,” Algernon says, and something about the we makes me wonder if they’re together.
Or maybe not. The Indian bends down and plants a kiss on the back of the neck of the woman he’s been charming. She slaps his arm, but in a flirtatious way.
“Get your gear and meet me out front in five.” Gabe grins at me. “Can I help you get anything?”
Just that soft sentence zings through my body, bouncing from lips to knees, flooding everything in between with anticipation. “Sure,” I say quietly, and pick up the bananas and put them in my pockets, gulp down the orange juice, look mournfully at the cereal.
“I have sandwiches,” Gabe says.
“Oh, good. Let’s go get my stuff then.”
On the way to the elevator, he asks, “Did you find your friend? What’s his name? Tucker?”
“Tyler, and no. He’s not answering my texts.”
“Huh.” He looks at me as we wait for the elevator, an assessing kind of look. “That piss you off at all?”
If I say it’s just the way Tyler is, he sounds like a jerk. “A little, I guess.”
“You have a thing for him, maybe?”
I meet his eyes. “I did, once upon a time. Not now.”
“Good.” We get on the elevator, and the minute the doors close, he takes my hand, gives it a squeeze. “The volcano is pretty big magic, right?”
“Aren’t you working if it’s erupting?”
“I have been working. Haven’t slept since the ash started right after I dropped you off.”
“Wow.” Eyeing him, I can’t see any signs of weariness. “And I’ve been sleeping most of that time. Aren’t you exhausted?”
“At little. I just didn’t want you to disappear before I saw you again.”
I’m caught again in the velvety darkness of those eyes. His scent, which I thought was all from the hot springs yesterday, fills the tiny space, hot and outdoorsy and minerally. It’s knee-weakening. I think again that I should be careful. A fling would be all right, especially as I've never had one, but falling for this guy would present more problems than I can count.
As if he hears my thoughts, he raises one hand and brushes hair from my face, his fingers lightly running over my temple, my cheek, the edge of my jaw. “You’re so pretty,” he says quietly. “I could just look at you for a day. A year.”
I blush, but look away, to the numbers on the elevator. Because I’m nervous, I blurt out, “Didn’t anyone tell you to come on a little softer?”
The minute the words are out of my mouth, I hear the meanness in them. “I’m sorry, I—”
“Who has time for games? We only get a hundred years. May as well live them.”
It startles me. I’ve said something similar a million times, and the posturing I’ve been doing suddenly seems very false and unlike me. “You’re right. I don’t know why I’m acting so cynical.”
“Because this is kind of big and you’re trying to keep me at arm’s length.” He doesn’t even smile, just looks at me steadily. It lights a flame in my belly, spreading heat through my thighs, my breasts, making my heart beat faster.
I wonder if he might kiss me again, and I would really like that, but the elevator halts and the doors open. “C’mon,” he says. “Let’s get your stuff.”
My phone buzzes as I open the door to my room, and I glance at it automatically. It’s my mom, who has just signed on to the Internet and seen the news of the volcano. I shake my head. “My mother. She’s heard the news and wants to be sure I’m okay.”
He waits by the door as I text her back. I’m aware of his size, his body, taking up more space than it seems it should, his aura electrifying every corner of the room. I’m never going to be able to sleep in here tonight.
To my mom, I text: All is well. I’m stuck in Reykjavik but have friendship and hotel room and credit cards. No Tyler so far.
She texted back: Be safe. Xox.
I gather up my gear, coat and gloves. Kicking off my boots, I pull on the same pair of light weight baggy board pants I wore yesterday, and layer the rest of my gear on top. When I’m bundled up, I grab my pack, check for gloves and hat, and say, “Okay, let’s do this.”
He’s standing by the door, half-smiling as if bemused.
“What?” I ask.
“Ready, just like that,” he says, snapping his fingers. “And good gear, too.” He slides an arm around my shoulders. “I love a girl who knows the cold.”
We walk down the hallway, sweating, and in the elevator, I ask to cover my nerves, “So how bad is it, the eruption?”
“Moderate. Mainly ash, but no sulfur dioxide, which is the thing these volcanoes can produce. The ash is a headache, and causing a lot of transportation issues, but it’s not dangerous at the moment.”
“Didn’t that happen a few years ago? I was stranded in France for more than a week.”
“It’s happened a few times actually. Sometimes it doesn’t impact Europe as much, depending on the wind and the length of the eruption. Two hundred years ago, there was an eruption that lasted two years. They estimate it killed two million people around the world.”
“You say that so cheerfully.”
His grin flashes. “It’s not like that this time, promise. At least not at the moment.”
“I thought you couldn’t predict them?”
“Well, we know some things. When Mount St. Helen’s blew, for example, a lot of lay people didn’t take it seriously, but geologists were freaked out.”
The doors slide open. “Seriously, could the volcano here erupt in the bad way again?”
He shrugs. “Any of them could. There are a lot of volcanoes on this island. But today,” He gestures for me to go out ahead of him, “the Stromboli has started, and the ash will clear. Eventually. You’re not stuck forever.”
“What’s a Stromboli?” I ask.
“It’s cool. That’s what we’re going to look at.”
In the lobby, the others are waiting by the door. Gabe looks them over, shakes his head at the Brits, who are wearing cloth coats and jeans. “No, and no. Sorry. You
’ll get hypothermia.” The Abercrombie guy has a thick parka, hiking boots and even a balaclava. Gabe nods. “You’re good.”
“Wisconsin childhood.”
Madeline, too, is bundled up in similar gear. “I borrowed Emily’s, since she didn’t want to go.”
The guy’s cheeks go kind of red. “We had a little fight yesterday.”
Trying to get the relationships straight, I ask, “Emily is your sister?”
His cheekbones go even more red. “No, girlfriend.”
“Really?” I say before I realize how obnoxious it sounds. “I thought you were twins.”
He nods. “People do.”
“Sorry.” I hold out my hand. “I’m Kaitlin. This is Gabe.”
“Is he your brother?”
I laugh. “No.” But I don’t add anything.
“I’m Hunter. This is Madeline.”
“Let’s get out of here,” Gabe says, tugging on his hat.
It’s dark, of course, but in the far distant east is a hint of sunlight. “How far is it?” I ask.
He leads us to an old school Range Rover, battered and dinged in a thousand places, the color so faded it’s impossible to tell what it is. “About 75 kilometers. Ish.”
We clamber in and get settled. Gabe cranks up the heat and scrolls through his phone. “What kind of tunes?”
“We don’t care,” Madeline says from the back. She and Hunter have their heads bent over his phone, and they’re sharing a headset.
Gabe glances in the rear view mirror, and nods, slides his thumb down the list and clicks on a list. “Let’s go Icelandic, then.”
A song I recognize fills the cab. “Hey, I know this band. Monsters and Men. They’re Icelandic?”
He gives me a sideways grin. “Great, right?”
I start bobbing my head. “This song is on my training playlist.”
“I thought riders all liked metal.”
“Meh. I’m an alt rock kinda girl.” The girl’s voice floats through the guys, and I’m humming along.
“I saw them at this big festival they have here. Great show.”