The Final Goodbye

by Brittney Sahin

  Why was he making this so difficult for her? And why couldn’t she hold on tight to her anger? Of course, she hated admitting it, but she’d always worried Ben had left town, in part, because of her—because of what she’d said to him after Nate died.

  When he’d been deployed, had he even bothered to open any of her emails that had asked for forgiveness?

  Eventually, she had stopped apologizing.

  Eventually, she’d stopped writing altogether.

  And shortly after that, she’d decided to place the blame for Ben’s absence squarely on his shoulders, it was easier than placing the burden on her own.

  But standing there now, as they literally walked down memory lane—the same trails she, Nate, and Ben used to hike—all she wanted was the truth.

  “Did you read my emails?” She tucked her gloved hands in her jacket pockets as the wind whipped her hair into her face and a bitter chill settled in her bones. “Look at me,” she cried, and he finally did.

  “We need to hurry before we get trapped out here” was all he said, and he jerked his head to the right, commanding her to walk ahead.

  “Sure. Avoidance. Let’s go with that. It worked just fine for you all these years.” She tore her gaze from his face and walked past him. “But, Ben, don’t worry—”

  “Careful!” he shouted, but it was too late.

  She tripped and fell, her cheek making contact with the icy and rocky ground.

  He was at her side in a second. “You okay?” He squatted next to her and helped her up to her knees. “No blood that I can see.”

  She swept a hand to her achy cheek. “Yeah, I’m just embarrassed.”

  He removed a fleece glove and brushed the pad of his thumb over the tender spot on her jawline.

  She pressed a hand to her chin. There’d be a nasty bruise there tomorrow for sure.

  “You want to head back to the hotel?” He helped her to her feet.

  She grimaced as another shot of pain spiraled down her thigh to her knee, which had been the first body part to take the brunt of the fall.

  “No way. The storm might hit, and we won’t be able to do this tomorrow morning.”

  He slipped his glove back on. “Can you walk okay, though?”

  She brushed the mix of dirt and snow off her jacket and made the awkward attempt to move in front of him. She’d have to hide any wobble in her step the best she could, knowing Mountain Man here wouldn’t let her continue if he sensed an injury. “I’m fine. Just make sure the urns are okay, and let’s get this done.”

  He studied her for a moment, probably trying to do a quick assessment of the damage. “If you need me to carry you, say the word.”

  “Over my dead body.” Her head fell at what she’d said, and she hated herself at that moment. “I, uh . . . let’s go.” She advanced down the trail, moving with as much ease as her body would allow without signaling to Ben she was sore.

  Twenty minutes later, they reached the rock scramble Ben had been worried about. There were icy spots, for sure, but it didn’t look too bad. Just a bunch of small rocks and a few boulders piled like a giant rock cake.

  No biggie, she thought, lying to herself.

  She inhaled a good, strong breath, but before she could even start the climb, Ben pressed a hand to her shoulder. “Give me a second. I need to assess the best route.”

  “Do you even remember how?”

  He moved around her, catching her eyes for a fleeting moment. They looked darker, possibly a mirror of her own pain.

  She carefully rested her bag by her feet and watched as he smoothed his hands over the rocks and scrambled up a couple feet.

  He came back in front of her a few minutes later. “We’ll need to stick to the left side because the rocks are eroded over that way.” He pointed toward the stone cake.

  She rubbed her chest when his back was to her. She dreaded the two-mile trek back to the car when this was over, but at least they’d be descending.

  “Give me your bag. If you’re crazy enough to go through with this, I need to carry that.” He held his hand palm up, and she fought the urge to bite out a snarky retort.

  “Fine. But don’t get hurt on my account.”

  “I’ll be fine, sweetheart. No worrying about me.” His Southern accent strengthened, reminiscent of the man he once was.

  “I wouldn’t dream of worrying about you.” She bit back her nerves and swallowed the pinches of pain in her ribs as she crouched close to the rocks, using both her hands and feet to navigate up the stones.

  “It’s icy. Be careful,” he said.

  She peeked at him out of the corner of her eye.

  He was moving slowly, making sure he stayed right alongside her.

  It didn’t take as long as she’d thought it would to reach the top. And she was fairly proud of herself for not having tumbled down.

  The ridge offered a gorgeous view of Mount Le Conte. It also took her back in time to when everything in life made sense.

  “It’s breathtaking.” She stared off at the fir-covered mountains, the higher peaks blanketed in fresh snow. She’d been surprised the trail hadn’t been overly icy, but it was early enough in the season. A few more weeks and she probably wouldn’t have been able to make the hike up.

  She turned around to see Ben kneeling down, unzipping one of the bags. He retrieved Maureen’s urn and lifted it up to her.

  She’d never been good with touchy-feely emotions. Well, she’d stopped being good at it after she lost her two best friends. Almost every one of her exes had complained she was cold and bitter, even in bed.

  Ben didn’t say anything; instead, he removed the lids from Nate’s and Ralph’s urns, and Riley did the same with Maureen’s.

  They walked toward the ledge, and her calves trembled from the height.

  “Don’t fall,” he warned.

  “Wasn’t planning on it.” She almost choked on her words as the memory of Nate falling off the cliff flashed into her mind.

  She cleared her throat. “Ready?” she whispered as the wind picked up.

  He held the narrow necks of the urns. They were going to pour them at the same time.

  Worried a breeze would kick the ashes up and in her face, she lowered to her knees to position herself near the edge of the cliff.

  “Let’s do this,” she murmured.

  He closed his eyes, and his forehead pinched tight. A strain of emotion pulled at his face, and she felt it, too.

  This was it. It was really goodbye.

  Chapter Eight

  “You’re full of shit.” Ben folded his arms and stood in the doorframe of her hotel room. “How badly are you hurting?”

  “I can handle it.” But as she rubbed her chest, a soft moan left her lips.

  He grumbled and strode through the room, the door clanging shut behind him. “Let’s get you undressed and in a hot bath. It should relax the muscles. I’ll get some oils down at the spa that might help alleviate some of the pain. It’d be better than taking ibuprofen.”

  “I’ll be the only one undressing me.” She rolled her eyes and tucked her lip between her teeth as if stifling a grimace from pain.

  It had killed him to watch her limp all the way back to the SUV. But he’d known there was no way in hell she’d let him help her walk, so all he could do was curse under his breath about it.

  “I’ve seen you naked, and I’m not suggesting that. Let’s get the boots, jacket, and sweater off you. I’ll start the bath, and then you can do the rest. I’ll run down to the shop once I know you’re safely in the water.”

  She started to stand, as if prepared to protest, but fell back onto the bed, pressing a hand to her knee and groaned.

  “Bad?” He dropped in front of her and started to unlace her boots.

  She closed her eyes and nodded. At least she was finally admitting to the pain. That was an improvement.

  He moved her boots out of the way and trailed a hand up her calf, which had her eyes opening, her gaze pinning his.


  “What are you doing?”

  “I’m going to try and help with the pain.”

  “How?” She rubbed the side of her leg by the kneecap.

  “It’d be easier if you could remove these pants, though.”

  She quirked a brow, but then her mouth fell open and her eyes widened. “Wait. When did you see me naked?”

  He chuckled and reached for her hand as she finally grasped what he’d said earlier. “Can you stand, so we can get these off of you? You have something on underneath, right?”

  “Yeah, but you’re still not answering my question.”

  He stood. “I’ll tell you if you let me help you.”

  She eyed him cautiously as if she didn’t trust him, and maybe she shouldn’t. He couldn’t even trust himself right now. Being this close to her was screwing with his brain.

  He took her slight nod as a yes, and he leaned forward, unzipped her jacket, and peeled it off. Next, her pants. This would be the hard part. He knew how defined her legs were, and seeing her only in thermal underwear was going to give him a serious hard-on that he knew his jeans wouldn’t hide.

  Ben helped her to her feet so she could unzip her black ski pants. “You don’t really go snowboarding, do you?” he asked with humor in his voice as she sat back down. His eyes trailed the black thermals that clung to her perfectly shaped thighs and calves.

  She laughed, but then pressed a hand to her chest as if her ribs hurt. “No, of course not.”

  “Didn’t think anyone could teach you if I couldn’t,” he surmised.

  She mumbled something too low for him to hear, and he assumed it was a well-deserved insult. Once crouched again, his fingers skirted up her right leg, stopping at her knee.

  “Easy,” she whispered, and their eyes met as he applied a little pressure. “So, are you going to tell me the naked story?”

  “The naked story, huh?” He grinned, and the smile on his face actually felt good. It relieved a little of the pain from what they’d gone through today.

  “Yes,” the word edged from her mouth.

  He shifted his attention up, working on her thigh. “Well, we were seventeen, and you knew I was coming over, so you’d left the door unlocked. I came in, like always, grabbed a snack—”

  “Like always,” she said with a light laugh.

  “And went to find you.” He cleared his throat as he relived the moment from his past. He stopped massaging, but his fingertips lingered on her thigh, too damn close to her center.

  His body became stiff, and he dropped his hand back to her knee. Knees were safer.

  “And?” she prompted.

  “And you’d left the bathroom door open in your bedroom, and I saw you through the clear glass shower, which hadn’t steamed up yet.” He shrugged. “Only saw your ass. No tits.”

  She slapped at his shoulder, and he couldn’t bite back another smile. “What?” he asked casually.

  “What did you do after that?”

  He wondered if he should tell her the entire story—that he’d seen her from the side, touching herself, and he’d rushed from the house like a speeding bullet before he busted his own load then and there.

  She’d been Nate’s girl at the time, and he shouldn’t have seen Nate’s girl fingering herself.

  “I left and came back thirty minutes later so you wouldn’t know.”

  “You must’ve been early. No way I would’ve popped in the shower, knowing you might walk in on me.”

  “Mm-hm. Sure.”

  He applied more pressure to each side of her knee as she said, “I am so embarrassed you saw me—” She stopped talking as her head fell back and tipped up to the ceiling. “Ohhhh.” It was an honest-to-God orgasmic moan, and he knew he was screwed.

  It was the kind of noise he’d spent the better part of his life fantasizing about hearing from her, but he never thought it would happen, especially not from an injury-related massage.

  “Oh, God, yes,” she said, louder than she probably intended, and he smiled when she looked back at him.

  “I’m that good, huh?” He continued to work and winked.

  “How do you know how to do that?” She relaxed her shoulders and closed her eyes. Her sudden trust in him was surprising.

  “I hurt my knee pretty bad in an explosion, and I had to get a lot of soft tissue work done. I learned the kind of oils to rub on it when it was hurting, as well as how to massage it to get relief.”

  Her mouth rounded into an O, but she didn’t say anything, nor did she allow him to see her brown eyes that had flecks of golden amber in them. Eyes that had haunted him for years.

  “I never thought you’d be into oils. I’m kind of known as—”

  “The Hippy Doc,” he finished for her.

  Shit.

  “Who told you I was called that?” Her eyes were definitely open now and accusatory.

  He fumbled through his head with a lie of some sort to say, but he didn’t know if he could stomach it at this point. “Ralph,” he finally said, and he dropped his hands from her leg and stood. He turned his back and dragged two palms down his face, knowing a fight was about to ensue.

  He adjusted his pants. This topic was sure to be an erection killer.

  “I don’t believe it. When did you talk?”

  Dodging bullets and enemy fire was probably going to be a walk in the park compared to what was about to happen. Riley was going to crucify him, and maybe even get pissed at Ralph, which was the exact opposite of what he wanted to happen.

  “Tell me.” She was standing behind him now, pressing a hand to his back.

  “Do you really want to know the truth?” He dropped his head forward, his heartbeat escalating, his body tense.

  “Hell, yes.”

  “Then sit your ass back down.”

  “No,” she said as he pivoted to face her, irritation swirling harsh in her irises. “Talk, damn it. And no more deals. No more massages for answers.”

  “What? You didn’t like my hands on you?” He scowled at his choice of words. He hadn’t meant to say it like that. A lungful of air left his chest, and he stepped closer to her, and the backs of her legs bumped into the bed.

  She jutted her chin out and pressed a hand to his chest. “Answers.”

  “Even if it will hurt you?”

  She looked over his shoulder for a brief moment, maybe eyeing her reflection in the mirror behind him. “Yes.”

  His head bowed, his chin nearly touching the top of her head. “Ralph and I have been emailing for years.”

  “What? No. He would’ve told me.”

  And Ralph had wanted to. Over and over again. But he had respected Ben’s request to keep their communication private. “I wouldn’t let him.”

  “Why the hell not?” She shoved at him, which had her yelping a painful cry.

  “You need to take that bath, and I need to get you those oils.”

  “I don’t need your help.” She maneuvered around him and started for the door. “I don’t need anything from you ever again. We scattered their ashes, and now you and I are done.” She grabbed hold of the knob and swung the door open. “Get out.”

  He scratched at his jaw, trying to decide what to do. Walk away? Or fight for her, like maybe he should have done a long time ago?

  “Now,” she hissed, and he noticed a sheen of liquid coating her beautiful eyes.

  “No.” The word dropped like a stone from his mouth.

  “No?” A puff of air expelled from her parted lips.

  “No.” His long legs swallowed the short distance in three steps, and he stood before her, pressed a hand to the door, and shoved it shut.

  Her jaw dropped as her eyes found his. There was something in her gaze that went beyond anger, and even beyond mourning. He recognized it because he felt it, too.

  White hot lust crept beneath his now-closed eyelids as he tried to back down, as he tried to remind himself of who she was . . .

  “Why are you just standing there? I want
you to leave.”

  “I’m trying to, believe me, I am. I shouldn’t be here,” he said in a husky voice before opening his eyes.

  “Then go.”

  He swallowed and brushed his knuckles over her left cheek, careful not to touch the other one, which was already starting to turn purple from the fall.

  “Do you really want me to leave?” His blood was pumping and running straight down to the center of his body—making him harden with need.

  Quick and shallow breaths before she whispered, “No.”

  And it was all he needed to hear. His mouth dropped over hers, and she went soft against him almost immediately, even moaning against his lips as he kissed her.

  Warmth flooded through each limb in his body as he wrapped his hands around her hips and pulled her tight against him, forgetting that she’d gotten hurt earlier. But she didn’t remind him, either. No, she kissed him back like her life depended on it.

  And when his tongue parted her lips, she invited him even further into her hot mouth and fisted his hair as she pressed her pelvis against him. It was like she needed him as much as he needed her.

  He didn’t want to stop and think about what was happening. He had no desire to remind himself that he was tasting Riley Carpenter, and he was prepared to taste all of her if he didn’t stop soon.

  I’m in love with her, bro. I’m gonna ask her out. Would that fuck up our friendship?

  Nate’s voice, like a ghost from the past, tugged at his mind, and it was as if he were pulling a parachute ripcord of betrayal.

  Christ. He forced his mouth off of hers and backed up, dragging a hand down his chest. “I shouldn’t have done that” was all he could get himself to say.

  “You’re right.” She turned from him, and his hands fisted at his sides. “Let’s forget this ever happened. We were emotional about saying goodbye to Nate and Ralph—and that’s what this was.” She peered at him over her shoulder, and he quietly nodded. “A mistake,” she murmured as if still trying to convince herself.

  “A mistake,” he repeated and reached for the doorknob. “I’m going to get you those oils, and you should get in the tub.” He tried to act casual as if it hadn’t happened, but how in the hell would he be able to erase the touch of her lips from his mind?