The parking lot running between fields is worse. I don’t know if these people got stuck here during a game or what, but they’re lying across folded down SUV seats, like they’re waiting for a tailgate party that’ll never happen.
“You know, there are like seven or eight fields here,” Vincent informs me, as we edge around one set of mangled bleachers after another.
He’s been around me too long. Now I’ve got him filling the silence. “Do you play?”
“Team sports? Nah, I prefer singles racquetball at the club.”
I’m mid-nod before I realize he’s joking. “Funny.”
“Do you?”
“Not since PE,” I admit. And even then, I faked my period through most of it.
“Ah.” He hesitates a second before a grin hooks his mouth. “Did you ever do it behind the bleachers in school?”
So, that’s where this is leading. “No, I can’t say I crossed that cliché off my adolescent bucket list.”
“Oh.” We round the corner, and he does a quick sweep of the shadows. “Care to remedy that?”
Is he serious? There are people everywhere here! Though, not down here by the gates, between the giant metal death traps…
Sorry,” Vincent cuts in, eyeing my expression. “I didn’t mean to put you on the spot or anything. I just thought—”
“No, no, no!” I wave him off a little too fervently. “I was just thinking.”
“Oh yeah?”
Concrete blocks lay wasted in a massive pile, propping up dozens of benches still attached to the surviving structure. If we went behind those, where the shadows cast just enough…
What am I doing? I’m so out of it, I’m trying to justify repeat sex with a guy whose mood swings borderline PMS. This can’t end well.
Maybe we should just pause for a second, breathe… listen to the crazy guy singing Bon Jovi ballads in the parking lot.
“You’re making a face,” he informs me, looking around before he eases the backpack down his arm. My triage blanket is sticking out from where it’s been crammed in the top.
“What do you think would’ve happened if we’d met under different circumstances?” I ask. Off topic, I know, but it’s been eating at me for a while. He’s been pretty handsy with me the last few days, mostly because I’ve been the only woman in a however-many-mile radius, but why now? Is he trying to keep himself awake?
“We’d be in your hotel room, and I’d be wearing one of those fluffy robes.”
“I’m serious.”
“So am I.”
I groan.
“Elena.” He grabs the side of my face, like he’s afraid I’ll turn away. “Do you still not get what you do to me? Even when you’re dissecting a perfectly good moment, all I want to do is make you feel good. I want to make me feel good. Even if the world does cave in around us, can’t we have that?”
My heart hammers out a beat that resonates in my ears. What’s his motive? How could he… when I’m…
“Eres hermana,” he tells me, lowering his voice.
“I’m… sister?” A nervous giggle spills from my lips at his ill-conceived Spanish. Where did he even pick that up?
His brow crumples. “Hermosa! I meant, hermosa.”
Beautiful? Even sister was more believable than that.
Taking my hand, eyes locked on mine, he gently pulls me into the shadows. With one quick tug, I’m in his arms, and his lips are already on mine. Faux pas forgotten.
There’s something different about this kiss. It’s slow… deliberate. He’s saying things with his touch neither one of us has said out loud, and it’s surreal. The noise, the unseen crowds, it all fades into the background. I grasp a fistful of his shirt.
There’s attraction, sure, but something else pulses between us—respect forged in chaos, a partnership I never saw coming. Despite everything Vincent’s done, everything I’ve seen him do, I’ve grown to admire this man more than anyone I’ve ever met. He’s strong and resourceful and… unbelievably broken.
He tangles a hand in my hair, walking me back against the building until my shoulders meet concrete.
I don’t want to fix him. I know I’ll never find a Band-Aid big enough to cover the kind of pain he’s endured—the kind of pain he continues to suffer through. I just want to stay by his side. I want to be the one who gives him a reason to keep pressing forward. As stupid as that sounds.
Whenever I think about the things he’s been forced to do for my sake, for the sake of millions who will never know the parts of himself he’s sacrificed, it’s all I can do to keep the tears from falling. Because I know it’ll upset him. Because all he has left to cling to is his pride. Mierda. My eyes are stinging again.
Vincent pulls back, scrutinizing my expression with evident confusion. “What’s wrong?”
I shake my head and try to get his jeans unbuttoned.
“Elena.” His hands still mine.
Please don’t let me cry, please don’t let me cry…
Without another word, he pulls me against his chest and holds me there. No questions, no detours, just comfort. Sweet, instinctual comfort. My watering eyes forfeit their emotional dam, spilling tears down my face and his shirt. I didn’t realize it before this moment, but I don’t want to lose him.
What’s going to happen once the novelty of our shared experience has worn off? After he’s fulfilled his promise to get me home, is he going to up and disappear? I mean, he’s frustrating as all hell, but I don’t want to lose this feeling. So cherished, so… strong.
“These things hit everyone at different times,” he mumbles into my hair. “Don’t fight it. This is good.”
Damn it, doesn’t he know the difference between a traumatized outburst and the tears of a last-minute revelation? I hold him even tighter, drawing deep, steadying breaths, because I know I’m never going to be able to vocalize the mess of exhaustion-laced emotions swirling around my brain. I’ll soak in the memory, and that’ll be it.
Huh.
It’s probably better this way, anyway. We’ve come too far for me to put a damper on his reunion. After we stash the bag, it’ll be time to get down to business. If we don’t hit another snag, we could be in Portland by tonight. Tonight.
Vincent rubs warmth into my back and leaves a chill in his wake. How am I supposed to act now? I’m going to over think everything. It’s what I do!
“You okay?” he asks, pulling back just enough to look me in the eye.
I nod and sniffle away any last traces of desperation. “Yeah, sorry, I just…”
“Don’t worry about it.” He ruffles my hair with a tired grin and turns to where he threw our backpack on the ground. “Should we see how much of this we can carry on our persons?”
“I believe,” I say, clearing my throat, “you promised me something first.”
His brows rise, and the gentlemanly consideration melts from his expression. “Don’t mess with me.”
“I’m not.” That much is true.
Without another second of contemplation, he starts to pull his shirt over his head. This time, it’s me who stops him.
“Let me.”
I mean it all sexy like, but when I grasp the material, I realize I can’t quite reach to pull it off.
He bends down, blind, and I somehow get the collar caught. Now I’m pulling at the end, and somewhere in there, he’s chuckling at me.
“This isn’t funny,” I hiss, finally getting it over his head. “It’s highly erotic!”
Now he’s full on laughing to the point that tears are glossing his eyes. “I know.”
“Vincent!” I shove him, and it only makes him laugh harder. How do our romantic moments always turn into an awkward comedy? I throw the shirt and don’t even bother struggling with his pants. “Drop ‘em.”
He hesitates, glancing at the unobscured field. The angles are all off from the ramp, making it next to impossible for anyone to watch us, but it’s still an audience. We’d have a stadium full of creepers’ came
ras on us if they weren’t all dead…
The cameras, not the creepers.
“You want to take this somewhere else?” I ask.
He casts our surroundings a sideways glance before reaching down to unbutton his jeans.
My arid throat struggles to swallow. Dear, sweet daylight. Even in the shadows, this is so much more visual than that night in the hammock. Or the night we took turns scrubbing each other down. Or when I stared at him for twenty minutes when he thought I was asleep.
My pulse quickens as he bends to tug at his pant legs. This should feel the same, it should all be the same, but it’s not. The temperamental stranger from my memories is now a friend—a muscular friend bathed in sunlight.
There’s a 97.3 percent chance this will morph into one of those humiliating naked dreams.
“You okay?” he asks again, the corner of his mouth twitching upward.
“Just take off your pants!” My demand is a little louder than anticipated, but it’s too late to take back now. I busy myself, throwing my own articles of clothing onto the backpack, trying to ignore the effect his body is having on me. We’re doing this. It’s going down now.
And so is he.
God help me.
Vincent falls to his knees on the cracked concrete without as much as a wince. I know what he’s thinking, and believe me, the thought is appreciated—but after days of walking, my muscles are trembling. I can’t stand here. Even for that.
Shaking my head despite the growing need inside me, I put a hand on his shoulder. I was wrong. Maybe I am teasing him. I cast my guilty stare away from his questioning eyes… only to find the answer had been tracked and strewn at our feet all along. Mulch. We’ll go in the bushes!
With a burst of adrenaline-fueled strength, I heft the backpack just enough to pitch it off the ramp and into the nearest landscaping with an oh-so-feminine grunt. Our clothes are next, getting a Spartan kick that leaves them scattered on the ground. Finally, I turn from the edge and lower myself down.
“Huh.” Vincent rises to his feet and drops into the scraggly brush beside me. “You never struck me as an ‘in the bushes’ kind of girl.”
“And with good reason.” I push him down onto the grass and climb on top with my best predatory crawl, bringing us face-to-face, warmth to bursting warmth. “You’re dealing with a woman now.”
He grins. “Yes, ma’am.”
CHAPTER 18
I may never walk again.
Whatever exhaustion plagued me before was nothing compared to the shakiness settling into my aching thighs. I can’t even shift my weight without feeling it.
“Why didn’t we do that every night?” Vincent mutters in my ear, sprawled beneath me on the ground.
Oh, yes. It’s not like we were struggling to escape a disaster area with our lives or anything. “I’d imagine that kind of exertion would have put us even more behind than we already are.”
He stiffens. “Yeah…”
You’d think with his long-awaited reunion just hours away, he’d be sprinting the last however many miles to Portland. Metaphorically. We’ll be lucky to crawl there. “You don’t seem very excited.”
Vincent grunts, rolling us over to face me. “Best case scenario, it’s awkward. The last time I saw my brother, he was throwing my shit out on the lawn. And worst case scenario… well, that memory sticks, ‘cause maybe that was the last time.”
I swallow.
“Then what?” he presses, eyes searching mine in what little ambient light the day has afforded us. “Where the hell do I go from there?”
I consider cracking a joke about my boudoir, but it’s not the time. What if his family didn’t make it?
Sure, they were well outside of the inundation zone, but they were in a larger metropolitan area. There was probably just as much chaos with nowhere to run. How will I comfort him if we’re too late? Or worse, no one knows what happened to them. He’ll spend the rest of his life searching, obsessing… shackling himself to the past. Never moving on. This hollow shell of himself forever.
“Don’t make that face,” he mutters, pushing my hair back. “I’ve just got a bad fe—”
The earth beneath us shudders, and the bleachers overhead start jittering. To our right, a couple of poles start swaying back and forth. “Shit.”
My body has developed a reaction to this damned shaking. Even if everything were to stop with a sudden jolt right now, I’d have a hard time settling my own trembles. It’s going to happen no matter what. Just ride it out. Let it happen. It’ll stop soon…
“We’re vulnerable as hell here.” Vincent’s sharp gaze scans our surroundings, but I can tell from the tone of his voice we’re screwed. There’s nothing we can get under that’s not in danger of collapsing. “Guess we don’t have a choice.”
“What?”
He grabs my hand and bolts for the parking lot. I get that we need to make it out into the open, but there’s the small matter of us being naked! The bushes that gave us cover mere moments ago are now scratching fiery lines across every part of my body. Every part.
I’m staggering and stumbling, trying to cover my breasts with one arm, but the earth is an unforgiving rug being ripped out from under us. I can’t find my footing to save my life.
“Come on,” Vincent barks over his shoulder, an Olympic-grade specimen mid-sprint. I’m glad he’s still got the strength to run and pull like this. I’m also glad he can’t see the gasping flabfest behind him.
Daylight pours down in blinding force as we stumble onto the cracked pavement, and already, I miss my hand-me-down shoes. Why didn’t I grab them? Why didn’t I grab anything? What if we can’t get back there?
As if to punctuate my worries, a metallic groan sounds behind us—seconds before massive impact. A barrage of crumbling thuds swallows the sound of my pounding heart, and I bend to catch my breath. Car alarms go off. People scream. It’s like that story Abuela used to tell about the lady who turned into a pillar of salt. Sometimes, you’re better off not looking back.
“Man,” Vincent mumbles, rubbing his neck as we kneel down. “That could’ve been us. About six seconds, and that could’ve been us.”
“But it wasn’t. Now it’s our stuff trapped in a steel cage.” I still can’t look.
“Probably aluminum with steel supports, but yeah, it’s buried.”
Did he just… ? Forget it. Rather than focus on his obliviousness or the gritty bits embedding themselves in my burning legs, I run a mental rewind. If we’d ditched the pack and loaded up, we would’ve been back on the road by now. But no, I had to prove myself by playing temptress. My proverbial “groove” chose a hell of a time to come back. “Look, I’m sor—”
“Oh my stars!” an older woman cuts in, stumbling down the parking lot with a big, flannel blanket outstretched in her arms. Despite the circumstances, her hair is still neatly tied back in a black and gray braid, and her skirt flaps wrinkleless in the breeze.
I feel that air. It’s been tracing my bare behind in constant reminder that I’m naked. What’s she doing?
Vincent jumps up to catch her and receives the Samaritan offering just as the shaking subsides. “You okay?” he asks, bracing her arms beneath the blanket.
“Yes, I just…” The woman averts her gaze, a blush staining her wrinkled cheeks. “Here.”
“Oh.” He shoots me a get-up-and-help-me look as he covers himself. “Thank you.”
“Yes,” I chime in, rising to huddle alongside him. “As soon as we can recover our clothes from the debris, we’ll get this back to you.”
“No need, hon. You keep that.”
I blink. “Are you sure?”
She holds up her hands, waving me off. “It’s been in the back of my truck for years.”
“Don’t you need it?” I press. “It gets chilly at night.”
“Oh, no. I haven’t been sleeping in that rusty bucket of bolts. My grandson’s car is here.”
Vincent and I must both be giving blank stares,
because she elaborates, “I live in Ladd’s Addition, and he goes to Pacific U. Sometimes we like to meet in the middle for Hops games.”
I smile. “Well, that’s sweet. So, he’s been with you for all of this?”
She nods.
“It helps to have someone, doesn’t it?”
“It does,” she agrees, leaning in as if we’re gossiping in a beauty parlor. “He has been the sweetest thing, making sure I’m taken care of. I just hate that this mess is going to put all of his plans on hold.”
A quick wave over her shoulder indicates a guy built like a linebacker, eyeing us as he leans against a silver Sentra. He unfolds his arms long enough to wave back, but then goes back to scowling in suspicion—not that I blame him. His grandmother just ran off to help a couple of naked deviants.
“Is he getting behind in his studies?” I wouldn’t think any schools would be in session yet. What other plans could a kid that age have to worry about?
God, I sound old.
“No, nothing like that. He had just saved up enough to pick out a ring for his girlfriend, and with all of the damage everywhere, he figures it’ll take another couple of years before he can ask her.”
“Surely she’d understand.” I look to Vincent for agreement, but he’s staring the kid down. No, scratch that. He’s staring down the Tacoma beside him.
“Would you rent your truck for a day?” he interjects with a jerk of his chin. “I’ve got cash.”
Her brows pinch. “You know that truck’s twenty years old? I don’t know how far it could get you.”
What does he want with a truck, anyway? It’s not like the roads have been cleared. Of course, knowing him, he probably wants to take it apart for another MacGyver stunt.
“Please,” he grits out. “I just want to try it as far as Portland. After I make sure my brother’s okay, I’ll bring it back.”
Her expression softens. “Oh, honey…”
“Are these two bothering you, Grandma?” the grandson calls, closing the distance between us.
As We Know It Page 16