In Touch (Play On Book 1)

by Cd Brennan

  “I didn’t have anything planned. In fact, I was dreading the long weekend with nothing to do. And now here I am, with the only person I wanted to see.” His words were like toothpaste on a mosquito bite.

  She smiled, and without taking her eyes from the road, reached over and twined her fingers with his, squeezing gently before releasing to put her hand back on the steering wheel. But did he mean it? She hated this typical crap in relationships. All the wondering and nerves. Screw any of that. She’d forge ahead. “You’ll love it. I know. My brother and I would go with my dad in the summer to fish and canoe when we were younger. We pretended to track moose and bear, but I don’t think my dad would have us anywhere near them. We didn’t know that, though. Gave my mom a weekend to herself every now and then. I didn’t understand that back in the day. All I could see was adventure and precious time with my dad. And my brother, but we drove each other nuts usually.”

  “Fish and canoe? Moose and bear? Sweet divine, where are you taking me?”

  There was desperation in his voice, which Gillian didn’t understand. It both saddened her and put her on the defensive. She’d gone to great trouble getting the car ready, packing groceries and supplies, timing to get him over the bridge, show him something other than Traverse City. And he acted like it was a chore. “It’s lovely and private, but I don’t want to say much more, or it will give it away.”

  It came out cold, but he didn’t seem to notice. “So this place isn’t really in a town, eh?”

  With every question, doubt crept further into her head and heart. All she could do was carry through and hope for the best.

  Finally, she took the large loop onto 75 heading north, the sun almost directly to their left. The weekend was supposed to thrill Padraig, and if she didn’t get a move on, she’d miss the next surprise she had planned. So she sped up and started passing traffic.

  “What’s the rush?”

  “The sun is going to set soon.”

  “As it normally does.”

  “Don’t be cheeky, as you say.”

  “Me? Cheeky? I’m a good boy, miss.”

  His lightheartedness revived her hope in the weekend, and she laughed. “You’ll see, not much longer.”

  The highway ended, merging into Mackinaw City limits. Gillian kept an eye on the sunset to her left, but all she hit were red lights and slow traffic. “C’mon, c’mon move it already!”

  She could feel his eyes on her, but she was too busy concentrating on navigating Mackinaw City traffic to explain. When they finally stopped to pay the bridge toll, Gillian motioned in front of her. “Mackinaw Bridge, the fifth longest suspension bridge in the world.”

  “Pretty impressive.”

  “The bridge connects the lower and upper peninsulas.” As they accelerated up the hill, where there had been one tower became two. Cables were suspended between the massive cement stanchions with others hanging vertically, disappearing over the sides. Opposing lanes of traffic squeezed into smaller lanes once they were upon the suspension, metal barricades down the center separating the cars. There was something exhilarating about crossing a large bridge, being up in the air, the view, the anticipation of the other side. She drew a deep breath, as if it was cleaner from this altitude.

  “I assume we are going to the upper peninsula?” Padraig asked.

  “And here I thought you were only a cute face.”

  “Ah, there is so much more to me—”

  “Shh,” she interrupted. “This is what I wanted you to see. Look to your left.” They were at the summit of the bridge, the merging of Lake Michigan and Lake Huron beneath through the Straits of Mackinac. They had almost missed it. The setting sun was a huge half pie sitting on the horizon, fat and the color of a mandarin. Wispy clouds brushed the sky with gold, orange, and purple. “Gorgeous, huh?”

  Craning his neck around her, he answered “’Tis.”

  Gillian pressed against the back of her seat to give him the best view possible, but when she looked over to him, he wasn’t enjoying the sunset. He had been watching her, but turned away when she caught him staring. A melancholy seemed to have settled on Padraig. That, Gillian could understand, knowing that spectacular beauty often brought with it an unexplainable sadness. It was as if something so wonderful reminded you of your life, so lost and impotent in comparison.

  She tried to break him out of it, acting like a tour hostess. The last thing she wanted was for Padraig to live through any more anxiety. “Over to your right, you should be able to see Mackinaw Island. It’s kinda a touristy place, but really nice—no cars and a few great Irish pubs.”

  While driving over the bridge, Gillian kept her eyes on the road, only glancing at the sunset a couple times. The bridge was narrow and it was a long way down. When they exited off the steel and onto the concrete, she finally spoke. “I have to be honest. I was hoping for more of a reaction from you. I thought you’d be thrilled. It’s not every day one crosses the Mighty Mac, especially with that sunset.”

  He reached over and rubbed her neck. “Sorry, I am”—he paused, as if searching for the right word—“honored that you shared this with me.”

  “Okay, that’s a bit strong.” She laughed.

  “I am. And sorry for seeming like a grumpy arse. I’m happy right here, right now with you.”

  “How come I sense a but?”

  “No but, and I plan on showing you how grateful I am once we get to…where we’re going.” He ran his hand up the back of her neck into her hair and tugged lightly. “That’s if you let me.”

  “I might do. We’re not long now. Another twenty minutes, and we’re there.” Not that she didn’t want the great sex, but she hoped for more this weekend. To get to know the real Padraig and distract him from those stupid pills he carried around. If her calculations were right, he’d be on his last ones.

  Gillian took an immediate left off the bridge after a large Welcome to St. Ignace sign on Highway 2.

  “Will we be stopping at the shops on the way? Ya know, for food or anything?”

  “Nope, I’ve got food with me and there is a ton where we are going. My mom and dad keep it well stocked. Well, mostly my mom, who likes to plan in case of emergencies.”

  “Righto.” Padraig drew a deep breath. “I don’t have a toothbrush.”

  “Brought an extra. And deodorant you’d have in your gear bag.”

  “Lovely… You wouldn’t happen to have an extra pair of knickers for me, too?”

  She turned to him and smiled. “You won’t need them.”

  Padraig was quiet as they drove west, the last bits of color from the day clinging to the horizon. Only a slice of magenta and gold were left, darkness almost upon them. She slowed and took a right turn and then another quick left onto a dirt road.

  At a large recreational plaque for Sault St. Marie State Forest Area, Gillian knew they were almost there. It was the sign she and Andrew had always competed to be the first to see when driving up with their dad. They had always tied, no winners, even if one of them barked out “I see it!” first before the other. They were so attuned to that moment that as soon as one started, the other chimed in, and their dad always had called it a draw.

  Padraig opened his window full now that they had slowed, letting the smell of warm summer fill the car with pine and earth. He stuck his head halfway out the window, like a dog would, his dark hair ruffling in the breeze.

  They were deep into a forested area, the headlights illuminating only the rutted road in front of them, trees hovering close on both sides to form a tunnel. The bright lights of the Mustang bounced with each dip in the road, flashing up in the trees one moment, down at the weeds and bushes lining the road the next. A pair of green eyes reflected briefly before disappearing back into the brush.

  She finally turned into the drive, and the car lights shone onto a small log cabin with a red door. With the same excitement she’d had as a child, she announced, “We’re here.”

  Chapter 23

  Gilli
an bounded out of her seat with a set of keys in her hand. She gestured to him from outside the car. “C’mon in.”

  The car still running, Padraig followed her. He could see little beyond the cabin in front of him, the trees now dark shapes on the fringes. It was colder than Traverse City. From the small circle of sky above them, the stars shone bright, a bit of the curve of the Milky Way came in and passed out of the viewing area.

  She wiggled the keys as if the lock was jammed, but then finally pushed it open with a grunt and a shoulder to the door. Using the flashlight app on her phone, Gillian disappeared into the immediate door on the right. As Padraig stepped through, the smell of mildew and old wood accosted him. It was cold inside, a chill he imagined had settled and rested in the place since the last time someone had stayed.

  A quiet hum kicked in before Gillian stepped back into the entrance hall. She reached her hand around the corner to flick a switch and led him into a small kitchen. A large table in the middle with a faded red tablecloth and empty fruit bowl consumed most of the space. She pointed at two doors off to the side. “We’ll throw our bags into the one on the right.”

  He followed as she continued through the far door, turning on lights as they went. Another small card table with a low-hanging stained-glass light fixture centered the room with an antique radio on one side, bookshelves on the other.

  “Lots of tables,” Padraig noted.

  As she stooped at an old black fireplace that divided the tiny dining area from the living room, she said, “Yeah, sometimes we have lots of visitors. You know, family and friends for a weekend.”

  Stepping up behind her, he watched as she turned the flue and set a match to wood and kindling that had been set over top of old newspaper. It didn’t take long for the fire to take to the dry wood, and immediately it softened the room with its glow.

  Gillian stood, then placed her hands on her hips. “So, what do you think?”

  Padraig looked around, making a show to nod his head. “Nice. Cozy.” And it was. An ancient rocker sat directly next to the fire on one side, an overstuffed chair with a pillow on the seat on the other. There were two couches, one directly in front of bare windows that ran the width of the cabin. Blackness behind mirrored them where they stood. Another couch was off to the side, across from a small telly on a stand in the corner.

  “Ha! Didn’t think men used the word cozy.”

  “Ah sure, I’m Irish.” He smiled. “We are the epitome of cozy.”

  “Let’s get settled and then we can get cozy.” She playfully punched him on the arm.

  Now, that was more like it. Perhaps, he could take this opportunity to redeem himself. Try to explain what he’d meant when they had fought. How he had changed his attitude toward the team and the club.

  He followed her back out to the car where she opened the boot, pulled out a box, and motioned to the cooler next to it. “Do you mind grabbing that for me? That’s our nourishment.”

  It only took a few minutes for them to unload all the gear. By the time they were finished, the fire had chased the chill out of the cabin, replacing the rooms with the sweet smell of burning wood. As Gillian busied herself unloading the food from the cooler, Padraig stood out of her way, watching, unsure what to do next. “What can I do to help?”

  “Put some music on. Radio is in the next room.”

  Beside a stack of board games and a large box of cards on the shelves, he found an ancient portable CD player. When he finally figured out how to get it to play, classical cello music burst forth in loud volume, which he turned down to background music. It wasn’t something he recognized, but at least it wasn’t whimsical harp. It was vibrant and intense, two cellos complimenting each other in harmony.

  From the other room, Gillian called out, “This is the duet, 2Cellos. My mom’s favorite CD. She had mentioned to me the other day that she couldn’t find it. These guys are amazing. Have you heard of them?”

  “I haven’t.”

  “So young, so talented.”

  “Oh, yeah?”

  Gillian came through from the kitchen and touched his arm lightly. Enraptured, she stood there, her head bowed, listening to the music. Finally, she spoke. “They are two young guys from the Czech Republic. To have such talent is so sexy. I wish I had the amazing gene in my body.”

  Choking on his words, Padraig barely forced out, “You do.”

  She rubbed his arm briskly as if she were wiping away his comment, too embarrassed to acknowledge the truth in it. “Not yet. Maybe one day. You have it.”

  “The amazing gene?”

  “Yeah, you’re a very talented rugby player.”

  Padraig grunted. “I used to be.”

  With one of her adoring smiles, she said, “And you will be again.”

  To have such faith in him was… He didn’t have the words. How did this amazing woman have so much confidence in him? What had he done to deserve her? Again, he asked himself the same question because he had been nothing short of a cruel bastard since he stepped off the plane onto the tarmac at the Traverse City airport. He could only hope that she saw more than the others did, that she could see beneath the surface to the man he had become through hard work and determination. Not even his ma and da had the confidence that Gillian had in him. It was both heart-wrenching and nerve-wracking at the same time. How could he live up to her expectations?

  The music changed to a slower dirge, the cellos crying out pain and loss. He didn’t mind it, but the song reminded him too much of Mass. Walking down for communion, his head bowed, hands clasped, humility in his step as his parents had instructed. For what? Redemption, he had never even understood.

  To break the sadness creeping up on him, he tried to lighten the mood. “You mean no whale or spa music this weekend?”

  Gillian stuck her tongue out at him, which made him grin. “Ha-ha, very funny. Music therapy really works. Okay, I’ll admit I got it slightly wrong at first for the Blues, but you have to admit those drums are awesome.” She unpacked the items in the box, laying them on the table. There were a dozen candles, some he recognized from her apartment, another pack of tea candles that she ripped open. A large flashlight, rubbish bags, a four-pack of toilet paper and a zipped case, which Padraig queried.

  “That’s a satellite phone. My folks make me bring it up with me in case of emergencies.”

  Padraig dug his phone from his pocket. “You mean there’s no reception here?”

  “Nope. Not one bar.”

  She was right. The phone wasn’t even searching for a network.

  “And look here, a bottle of wine. Well, well, Miss Sommersby, we are letting loose this weekend, eh?

  “Yep.” She didn’t look at him as she made busy around the kitchen. “We have four nights, so you pick it.”

  He’d save it for tomorrow night when he didn’t have any pills left. Take the sting out of his withdrawals hopefully. “Can I get something to drink real quick?”

  “Sure, glasses are in the cabinet behind you. There’s bottled water in the fridge. Only well water up here. It’s good, but I didn’t know if you’d like the taste.”

  When he filled his glass, he slipped into the bedroom off the kitchen where they had set their bags. It was small with only a dressing table and a double bed with a pastel quilt. His feet would surely hang off the end, but as long as Gillian shared the bed, he’d be happy with that. Her bag sitting next to his was a good sign. As long as he didn’t blow it.

  He found the pill case that had settled at the bottom of the side zip pocket. At first glance, it hadn’t been there and Padraig’s heart had missed a beat, but just as panic was about to set in, it surfaced in the leg hole of a dirty pair of boxers.

  As he fiddled with the cap, he heard Gillian behind him. “Is everything all right?”

  He couldn’t look at her. “Sure, no problem.”

  “How many left?”

  He zipped the bag and stood, reaching for the glass of water on the dresser. “Only one.” His b
ack to her, he rolled the white pill around in his palm, trying to steady his emotions. Many that he didn’t recognize—right now a speedball of tension, anger, agitation.

  “Are you going to take it?” Her voice was barely a whisper above the buzz in his head.

  He turned abruptly, the pill fisted and at his side. “What do you care?”

  She nodded, biting the corner of her bottom lip. “I care.”

  “Why?”

  “Let’s just say I’ve lost enough to the damn things.”

  Gillian, standing there in all her natural beauty and big heart. If he could only get past the anger, three steps and he’d be there, taking her up into his arms. But he didn’t ask for this. Her intrusion into his privacy, his life—all fucked up as it was.

  She held out one hand, to placate him, to offer him a bridge to solid ground. If only he could accept. But he knew, before he could receive her refuge, he had to give her something first. But, that wasn’t love. At least, not in his book. Wasn’t it supposed to be unconditional? And here she was placing parameters on their relationship. Making him fold his hand. Trying to change him.

  Her one arm was still out, the other wrapped around her middle.

  He licked the corner of his mouth, his tongue darting in and out. They stood on opposing sides, waiting for the other to make the first move. Make the decision for them both.

  With his free hand, he clenched his hair tight at the scalp and pulled. “Fuck!”

  She didn’t move, not an inch. Didn’t jump in surprise or startle at his release. Just stood there, her eyes not leaving his for a second. What, did she think he’d take the pill and she’d have to wrestle it out of him? He laughed at the image in his head of Gillian, the waif, hanging off his arm like the monkey bars at school, trying to weight his hand away from his mouth.