Him being naked is fine—more than fine, actually—but now it’s my turn. The man is built like a superhero, and I’m an infomercial before picture. It’s not fair. Once he sees me sans Spanx, this passion-filled possession of his is going to fizzle out real’ fast. Then what? We’re supposed to wander around the forest for days without thinking about it?
“Need help?” The rasp in his tone underlines his impatience. Oh, look. The boxers are gone now, too.
“No, I, uh… turn around.”
He raises an eyebrow but says nothing, turning with his hands up in surrender.
Shit. I thought he’d protest and we’d fight and then… damn it! Where’s Smokey the Bear when you need him? I peel off my jacket, pull off Naveen’s shoes and socks, and then hesitate on my leggings. There are few things more difficult than trying to take off damp, form-fitting pants—one of those being the removal of Spanx panties you wore trying to survive a tsunami.
I have to climb out of the hammock to unholster my own weapon and begin the necessary shimmies. As I roll each layer down, I can only imagine the jigglefest going on, but I’m determined now. We need this. If he can get past his issues, so can I.
Probably.
Balancing on one foot, I try to tug my wet leggings off of the other. I hop across a patch of wet leaves until the material comes fr—
The scene whirls back, and an icy chill courses up my spine a second before the hammock breaks my fall. Stiff canvas cradles the upper half of my body, while my bare ass swings in the evening breeze. My heels drag through the dirt.
“You okay?”
“Don’t turn around!”
I’m breathing hard now, as I try to find my footing and remove the offensive garment. My shirt, which was once a cute, black tunic, is now camo-streaked with dirt and blood. I take a deep breath, pull it over my head, and force my shaking hands to unfasten my bra. I can do this. I’m a curvy, confident, modern woman. If I need an intimate distraction to keep my sanity in check, then so be it. Right?
Everything gets tossed on my permanently borrowed triage blanket, and that’s it. I’m bared to the world. Another breeze slips past, bringing goose bumps and tightened areas I’m not yet comfortable advertising, so I cross my arms over my chest. “Okay…”
Vincent turns around with a grin that gets wider when he takes in my awkward, crossed pose. As he saunters over, all I can think of are the survival “reality” shows that always warn against exertion and burning too many calories. What if this makes us starve to death in the forest? I mean, is a little fun worth it in the grand scheme of—
He kisses me again, and everything fades into bokeh with firelight burning the edges. Brent never had this dizzying effect on me. His affection was harsh and needy, but never this wanting. He made me feel like some perverse toy he reviled but continued to use every night, a quick means to an end. But Vincent… he could fool me into seeing myself the way he looks at me.
His arms draw me near, a wall of warmth amidst the cool summer night, and his hand travels lower. I stiffen in anticipation, but there’s no groping, no taunting in my ear. Instead, he lifts me up and carries me back a few feet to the hammock—all without breaking his kiss.
Next thing I know, my back’s against the swinging canvas, and he’s straddling me. Hovering. His tensed hands are fisting the edges of the material as he stares into my eyes. “You’re sure?”
I nod, a little more vigorously than someone who’s trying to keep her composure should, because I don’t trust myself to speak. Instead, I draw in a deep breath of piney, smoke-tinged air before he goes to work, kissing a line down my neck to my collarbone. It’s hungry but reverent, strong but unexpectedly gentle. By the time he reaches my breasts, I’m writhing beneath him. Ready.
But he makes me wait.
Sweat shines across his shoulders as the muscles bulge and contract at the base of his neck. He edges down the hammock, his movement rocking the material beneath us back and forth, and he shoots me a wicked grin.
I want to shake him and yell, “Get on with it, man!” But I manage to control myself. Barely.
Vincent lowers his mouth to the valley between my breasts, his breath a teasing warmth as the scruff along his jaw brushes over my skin. It’s instant friction, a match struck, a sensation I can’t contain. My fists curl, and I tighten beneath him.
He smirks, and I realize the torment has just begun. It might be a long night out here…
CHAPTER 14
There’s afterglow, and then there’s being sated in every way possible.
Vincent and I are still sprawled in the hammock, at some point late into the night, and I can’t imagine ever moving from this spot. Seriously. I’m over the whole self-conscious thing right now. For the moment, I’m content to enjoy the feeling of our bodies intertwined and the sense of safety that comes from lying in someone’s arms.
Someone’s chiseled, muscular arms…
“Don’t let me go to sleep,” Vincent murmurs into my hair.
“Want me to smack you?” I reach back without looking, slapping somewhere near his behind.
That earns me a snicker.
Lying here, admittedly delusional from lack of sleep, I imagine what it’d be like if we didn’t bother trying to make it to Portland or Bend or even Seattle. What if we settled here in the forest and built our own Swiss Family Robinson house? If things are as bad everywhere as they are in Seaside, no one would brave the trek out here to bother us, anyway. We’d live off the land, raising our children and grandchildren to tell our story.
It’s a great plan, except now I’m craving Swiss Rolls, and a world without Little Debbies isn’t a world I want to live in. I guess we’ll just have to continue our journey to civilization tomorrow. Until then, I yawn and snuggle closer, burrowing down into the material. I won’t be able to make it ten feet down the highway without getting at least a few hours of sleep.
My eyes flutter and close of their own accord. I know he wants to stay awake, but it’s his fault I’m this worn out. Maybe I can just sneak a few minutes here and there… and… there…
“Don’t,” Vincent groans, pushing me with his shoulder.
“M’not,” I hear myself answer, though it already sounds far away.
“Uh-huh.”
My breaths level out, cocooned in his warmth, and—
“Move!” Vincent shouts in my ear, jolting me awake as his elbow collides with the side of my face, and we both flip to the ground.
I whip my head back to survey the clearing with my heart hammering in my ears. The fire’s burned down to smoldering embers, so time must’ve passed, but I don’t see anyone around. “Vincent…”
He struggles against me, his eyes half-lidded and rolled back. “I said move!”
The barked order shoots through my nerves, and I comply without thinking, crawling out to my blanket. “What’s wrong?”
“Shit.” He’s staring at the ground with unseeing eyes, reaching for things that aren’t there. “Shit, shit, shit…”
“What?”
He rips at the air and slams his hand into the leaves. “Damn gauze. Someone get a medic!”
I lean back onto my hands, panting for air. He’s not awake. All of that, and he’s not even awake. “Listen to me.”
“Anyone else hit?” he demands with an urgency I don’t recognize. His eyes are wide now as he scans the area, but it’s as if he can’t see me. He can’t see anything. “Where’d it come from? Someone get eyes on that hill!”
“Vincent.”
“Damn it, Sanchez…” He’s panting now, sweating so hard I can see its gleam. “Don’t you leave us here. You hear what I’m saying? Hey… hey, hey…”
I edge closer. Is this like sleepwalking? I can’t remember if you’re supposed to wake someone up at this point or not. He sounds like he’s about to have a panic attack.
“Where’s Jones?” he strains, tears choking his voice in a desperate plea.
“Vincent, you’re having a ni
ghtmare.”
His eyes go impossibly wide before he throws himself over his hand in the leaves. A second or two passes before he yells over his shoulder, “I’m fuckin’ knuckle-deep in Sanchez. You wanna move him before Jones makes it over here? He’ll bleed out.”
“Vincent…” I reach out with hesitant fingers, barely grazing his arm.
“No, no.” He’s slapping at the ground now, side to side as if he’s trying to keep someone awake. “No, no, no, no, no…”
“Shhh…” I slowly wrap an arm around his shoulders. “You’re safe. You’re not there anymore. You’re in the forest, remember?”
Silent tears burn trails down his cheeks as he fights me off, gasping for breath. “No.”
“You’re safe,” I reassure him, just as he did for me a few hours ago. “Come on.”
Vincent blinks at the ground and slowly pulls his hands back. Then he opens them, palms up, and stares at his fingers for the longest time. “I…”
“You’re here.” I rub his back. “With me.”
“Elena,” he breathes my name like a memory, but doesn’t turn to face me as he speaks. “You let me fall asleep.”
“I know. I guess I must’ve fallen asleep first.”
“Helpful,” he mutters to himself, straightening. “Do me a favor and stop touching me.”
My hand stills. “Uh, sure.”
“Now go.”
“What?”
“I’m trying to be civil here.” Venom edges into his tone. “I need a minute. Clearly, you’re not grasping that, so can you just go?”
My brows knit. He’s getting cagey again, just like at the assembly area. I know I should listen to him, disengage for a while before we both say things we’ll regret, but this other side of him reminds me of someone. Someone I’d rather not indulge. “Well, sorry. I was just trying to comfort you.”
“Why don’t you comfort yourself?” He sneers over his shoulder. “Go talk to your imaginary friend. Mama Whatshername.”
“Uh-uh.” I raise my voice this time. “We don’t go there.”
He stands up, scrubs the back of his wrist across his eyes, and stalks toward the fire. “So, you’re allowed to get up in my business, but I’m not allowed to mention yours?”
I hurry to follow suit, brushing my knees off as I stand. “How the hell was I in your business? You were the one putting on dramatic theater in the middle of the night for all to see.”
His expression contorts into something dangerous as he jerks his boxers and jeans back on. Suddenly, I wish I could reel that last one back.
“Sorry,” I mumble, snatching my bra up off the blanket. “That wasn’t called for.”
Vincent doesn’t acknowledge me again after that. He strides over to his pack, eerily calm, and fishes around until he finds one of the cigarettes. When he turns, his gaze pierces through me, surveys the tree line, and then settles on the fire.
Maybe I should’ve left…
He crouches long enough to light his cigarette on the ghostly flames licking the embers, and then rocks back to take a long, slow drag. Some of the tension leaves his shoulder.
“Do you…” I clear my throat. “Do you lose control like that often?”
The cigarette goes lax and he rips it away. “Lose control? Do you know how many triggers I’ve faced the past two days and kept my composure? Think about it. A lot.”
“So, you were in control when you elbowed me in the face?” I point to the area that’s no doubt pink and puffy by now. “I’m not trying to make you feel bad. I’m just saying.”
“Saying what?” He lets wisps of smoke trail out from between his lips.
“Saying… you might need help.”
“Oh, yeah?” He’s bitter now, staring down the flames. “Who’s gonna help me?”
“Well.” I’m borderline pissed now, so I don’t care that he sees me shimmy into my undies. “I don’t know about Seaside, but Seattle has programs, some specifically for… men and women in your situation. They can help you get housing.”
Vincent’s skeptical glare finally settles on me. “And what, exactly, is my situation?”
“You know…” I finish dressing and readjust the hammock to sit down. “Homeless veterans.”
He takes another stressed puff, shaking his head. “There are guys who really need that shit.”
“You!” I gesture at him, exasperated. “You need it. Why do you think you’re so undeserving of help?”
“I don’t.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Why do you care? We screwed once, and now you think you’re my girlfriend?”
I bristle. “Don’t say it like that.”
“I told you, you don’t understand shit, so stay out of it.”
I suck in a deep breath. There are only so many times I can repeat the he doesn’t mean it mantra. “There’s a reason I don’t know you, you enfermo hijo de puta que se está autodestruyendo solo.”
“Oh yeah?” He lunges to his feet. “How about this. You wanna know what I did when the tsunami caught up to us? Nothing. I thought, ‘Here’s my chance to end it, and no one can say a damn thing.’ But then I got pulled out. Some do-gooding asshole pulled me out! I can’t even die right.”
The fire in me burns out. That was after we’d met. “You wanted to die?”
“Every minute of every day.”
“You don’t mean that.”
Vincent levels me with a stare.
Just when I think I’ve shed all the tears I can ever possibly cry, they spring anew in my eyes. This man is breaking my heart, and it has nothing to do with me. What can I possibly say to him?
“Relax.” He takes another drag. “I’m not going to off myself. Strained as things with my family have been, I’m not going to do that to them.”
“Have you tried antidepressants or sleeping pills or anything?”
“That’s why I drank.”
So, no.
“Don’t give me that face,” he goes on. “You don’t know the shit I saw, the shit I did, over there. If it weren’t for Naveen, I’d still be drinkin’. Hell, I’d have probably been passed out on a bench somewhere when the quake hit. Blissfully ignorant.”
“And Naveen and I would be dead.”
He doesn’t have a comeback for that one.
I stifle a yawn and stretch out on the hammock. It’s obvious he’s not going to use it, so I may as well. We’re not getting anywhere tonight. “Look, I’m sorry you had to go through all of that—I’m sorry you’re still going through it—but you need help. No amount of booze or sex or whatever the hell you use to numb the pain is going to fix it.”
I curl into the spot we’d shared not fifteen minutes ago. Without his warmth, it feels completely different. “Whether you like it or not, there are people who care about you now and want to see you better. So, get your shit together, swallow your pride, and work on admitting that to yourself. ‘Cause I’m not going anywhere.”
And with that, I close my eyes, granting him the distance he so desperately craves.
❇ ❇ ❇
The scent of something cooking over the fire lures me back to the world of the living.
“Morning, Sleeping Beauty.” Vincent looks up from where he’s pulling what appears to be fish off his makeshift grill.
It is morning, isn’t it? Huh. Sunlight filters through the leaves overhead, painting patterns all over the ground.
“Morning,” I finally manage, patting my hair down. “What do you have there?”
“Fresh catch.” He’s proud—I can tell—so I’m not even going to bring up last night.
I study the fish lying across a bed of grass he’s built up on a log. It’s silvery and scaly and still somewhat distinctive in shape, aside from the obvious cut areas. “Are we… ? Do you… ?”
“Eat the whole thing like a bear. The animals will respect you and leave you alone.”
My stomach turns, and I cover my mouth. What can I say in response? I love fish, but I can
’t eat that thing. Though, he did try so hard to make breakfast…
Vincent grins. “The skin keeps it from burning. Once it’s done, it’ll come right off.”
“Oh.”
I hate him.
“We’re going to have to share this one,” he informs me, using his knife to split it open like a tinfoil packet. “Get in there.”
He pulls white meat from the center and pops it into his mouth. “Or dig out something to pick it up with. I don’t care.”
“I’ll rough it,” I mumble. Truth is, it’ll be easier to pick and choose what appears edible this way. I pinch at the most solid-looking piece Operatio-style, careful not to touch the sides. “Hot, hot!”
I drop it.
“It did just come off the grill.”
“Shut up.” I start to suck on my fingers but think better of it. “Can I use the spork?”
“I don’t know. Can you?”
My eye twitches. “May I use your spork, Lord Fancypants?”
He snickers and gestures at his pack. “If you can find it.”
If I can find it… I mimic him under my breath and turn around to pick through the backpack. After rifling around a few times, I finally find it strapped to the freshly scrubbed pot. Too bad he didn’t dry the thing before putting it back in there. I scoff in his general direction and wipe my wrist on my pants. Whatever he used to clean it was strong. It’s burning my nostrils just like…
I sniff my wrist, and then glare at the backpack. That’s not cleaning solution. It’s vodka. “Vincent!”
“What?”
“Have you been drinking?”
“Why?”
“So, yes.” I purse my lips and shake my head, counting to ten in my mind. “Whatever it is, it’s leaking.”
“Shit. Really?” He edges around me to reach inside. “Oh. No, we’re good. The bite valve was coming off the hose.”
“Hose?” I looked all through that bag last night. Where the hell was he squirreling away booze and a hose?
As We Know It Page 12