by J. Daniels
She’s still just as brilliantly captivating as she always is in any arrangement. The little wolf or the docile sheep. I’ll take every layer of Brooke. Anything and everything.
You’re a wreck for her, mate. This is a lot more for you now.
My world seems to slow.
Brooke moves from her perch to sit on the other side of the bag. She tucks some hair behind her ear, looks up at me through those long, dark lashes, and winks. That’s it. Nothing more than a bloody wink, and a commanding warmth spreads in my chest like kerosene poured over an open flame.
Yeah, I’m a fucking wreck all right.
I wipe my hand across my mouth, collecting myself before I speak. She grimaces at the dampness beading on her brow when she touches her fingers to her skin.
“You look pretty,” I tell her, ducking my head to see her eyes. “Really fucking pretty.”
She shrugs, laughing a little as she drops her hand. “Thanks. I’m sweaty.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” she echoes, fighting a smile. Her gaze shifts between my face and the bag as she crosses her legs beneath her. “What did you pack to eat? I could murder some food right now.”
I unzip the pouch and pull out what I grabbed from the cooler before we took off this morning.
Bread with some almond butter, apple slices cut and drizzled with lemon to keep from browning, trail mix, two protein bars, and some fruit leather.
I hand Brooke a bottle of water and set the food between us with some napkins.
“Anything edible in there?” she asks through a chuckle, poking at the fruit leather. “This . . . I’m not going to lie. It looks like a shoelace.”
I hand her a cookie dough flavored protein bar. “Eat this.”
Her eyes flicker with delight as she reads the package. She tears it open with her teeth and takes a bite, her jaw working through one full chew before it locks up. Our eyes meet. Her nose wrinkles in disgust. She drops the bar and grabs her water, tipping it back and swallowing the bite she took.
“That tastes like glue,” she mumbles, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. She shoots me a disapproving look. “You packed glue bars and shoelace, Mason. Congratulations, we’re going to starve to death.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, grinning. “We can always hunt for food. Have you ever tried squirrel? It tastes like chicken.”
“Me? Oh, yeah. I eat squirrel all the time. It’s all I usually eat when I camp.” She grabs the bag of apples and opens it on her lap, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Can’t we hike to a McDonalds or something? Or a Chick-fil-A? I need a six piece nugget to make my life right.” She crosses her ankles and snaps into an apple slice.
I’m smiling, amused at her reaction to the lunch I packed, until something small and black on Brooke’s calf catches my attention.
I know what it is. I know exactly what it is. Ticks are an unfortunate hazard to camping, one I didn’t warn her about.
Fuck. She must’ve picked it up when she ran through the tall grass. I would’ve noticed it on her before. I’ve been staring at her legs all morning.
I need to act fast and get it off.
I also need to keep her oblivious to it.
“What would you order at Chick-fil-A, if we hiked there?” I ask, reaching into the outer pouch on my bag and feeling around for the supplies I need. My hand closes around a small metal instrument. I pull it out and search for my lighter and medical kit.
“Mm. A number one, extra pickles. And a cookies and cream milkshake on the side.” She takes another bite of apple. “Or a wrap. They have good wraps.”
“Sounds good.”
“Better than squirrel,” she laughs through a shake of her head. “Which I’m sure doesn’t taste anything like chicken.”
I set out my supplies and put the bag down, pushing the food out of the way. Scooting closer, I wrap my hand around her knee and gently hold it. “Brooke, I need you to stay still, yeah? Don’t move.”
“What?” Her leg jumps. The apple she’s holding falls on top of the bag. “What are you doing? Why do you have tweezers?”
“You have a tick on your leg.”
“WHAT? Oh, my God, where?” She sits up and gasps. Her entire body jerks. “Mason! Get it off!”
I squeeze her leg and look up into her round, panicky eyes. “Baby, relax. I’m going to get it off.”
“Have you done this before?” she asks, her voice shaking. Tears filling her eyes and those pouty lips quivering.
I nod. I would nod right now even if I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I don’t want Brooke to be scared. Her face is killing me.
“Yeah. Plenty of times. Trust me. Can you hold still? That’s all I need you to do.”
“Oh, God,” she whispers, blinking hard and sending the tears down her face. Her leg remains tense beneath my hand, but she doesn’t resist me. “O-Okay. Just don’t mess up.”
“I won’t.”
“Mason.” She puts her hand on top of mine, gripping me tight. Our eyes meet. “Please. Don’t mess up.”
I stare at her as she slowly pulls away. “I won’t,” I promise, letting her see my conviction, making sure she hears it in my steady voice. “Hold still and you’ll be right.”
She nods and blinks away.
Looking down at her leg, I grip the tweezers and position them over the tick, slowly advancing. I pinch as close to Brooke’s skin as I can get and gently pull the fucker straight up, making sure to remove the mouth. I blow out a quick breath when I see I have all of it.
“All right there, sweetheart?” I ask, picking up the lighter.
“No,” she quietly replies, her face turned away. “Just tell me when it’s over.”
I burn the tick with it still pinched in the tweezers. When I’m certain it’s dead, I dispose of it off the rock and open up my kit. I kneel next to Brooke. “Just going to clean the area. I’m finished. It’s gone now.”
Brooke nods and wipes at her face. She still isn’t looking at me. Her tear-filled eyes are fixated on the tree line.
Once I disinfect and bandage the wound, I clean my hands and rub her leg. “There. See? That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”
I immediately regret my words when her head drops between her shoulders.
With a quiet sob, she breaks. My strong, determined girl crumbles, crying into her hands, her tiny body drawing in on itself like a wounded animal.
“Hey, come here.” I pull her into my arms, crushing her to my chest as she continues to sob. I push her sweaty hair out of her face and kiss her cheek. “Shh. Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s over, yeah? Does it hurt?”
She shakes her head and clutches onto my shirt. “I hate it here,” she cries, rubbing her face into my neck, her body shaking as she draws me closer. “I hate hiking. I hate all of it. Bugs and my smelly bug spray. All those trees you pointed out. The flowers. Fuck, I hate flowers, Mason. I fucking hate them.”
She sniffs and cries some more. I hold her tighter, running my fingers through her hair and rubbing her back.
“I was lying when I said I loved it. I don’t love it at all. I want to go.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “Okay. We can go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Hey.” I tilt her chin up.
Her face is red, streaked with tears. Her eyes swollen and sad. She looks miserable and scared, and the worst part is she wouldn’t look this way if it wasn’t for me.
I did this.
I brought her out here and made her uncomfortable. I saw her anxiety and kept fucking pushing because I thought she’d enjoy what we were doing. Maybe not all of it, and maybe not right away, but like everything else with Brooke, I was willing to wait for that moment. Guide her to where I wanted her to be with me.
Fucking selfish is what I am. She probably hates me for this, and if she does I don’t blame her. I feel like the biggest arsehole on the planet.
“Come on.”
I don’t give her the chance to help. She shouldn’t have to. This is all my doing. My bloody mess I need to clean up.
Same goes for the campsite.
Once we make it back, Brooke stands off to the side while I pack up the tent and stow our belongings into our separate bags. I load up my arms with the gear and the cooler. She grabs the sleeping bag, squeezing it against her chest just like she did when we arrived yesterday. Her head stays lowered as she stares at the ground.
Fuck. She can’t even look at me now.
“I’m sorry, Brooke,” I tell her, ready to drop to my knees and beg for this woman’s forgiveness.
She lifts her eyes and nods, acknowledging me, then drops her chin against the sleeping bag and hugs it tighter.
With a jerk of my head, I motion for her to walk in front on the path that leads to the parking lot.
She’s ready to go. I won’t keep her here any longer.
The trip home is different than every other time I’ve been in the car with Brooke. I’m the one turning up the volume on the stereo, but not because I’m anxious or avoiding conversation.
I hate silence. I hate how quiet we’re both being, but somehow I know she prefers music to hearing my voice right now.
She’s completely shut off from me. Head turned and eyes engaged out the window. She hasn’t looked at me once since we pulled out of the lot. I doubt she wants to talk.
I park in front of the studio and grab Brooke’s bag out of the back of the car. I’m ready to carry it for her when she blocks my path with her body and with quick hands, takes the bag away from me.
“It’s fine. I got it.” She slides it up her arm and over her shoulder, huffing a loud breath after. Her eyes slowly reach mine.
She looks unsure of what to say next, if anything.
I’m unsure too.
I take a step back and gesture at her leg. “Clean that again when you get home, and keep some antibiotic ointment on it. You should be fine, but if it gets infected or you start running a fever, you need to go to the hospital.”
Brooke’s eyes widen marginally. She glances down at her leg, uttering a soft, “fucker,” before shaking her head and looking back up at me. Her shoulders sag. “All right. Anything else?”
I feel my eyebrows draw together. Anything else? Is she dismissing me?
Running a quick hand through my hair, I lift the other between us, then lower it with an exhausted sigh. “I don’t know, Brooke. Is there?”
My voice sounds tight and hoarse. I feel like something’s got a grip around my throat.
She stares at me like I’ve just asked her the most absurd question, her eyes hard and searching. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she blinks away, tilting her head and wiping a hand along the line of her neck.
“Ugh. I need to take about fifty showers. I’m going to go do that and then coat my body in disinfectant.”
Spinning around, not giving me another look or word, Brooke clears traffic and hurriedly crosses the street.
I watch her get into her car. I watch her pull away and disappear around the corner.
I stand there, dumbfounded, my mouth slack, my mind reeling with confusion.
What the fuck? Is that it? Is that how this is going to end between us?
Sure, Brooke has every right to be angry with me. Sure, I fucked up dragging her out into the middle of nowhere this weekend and pushing her to try new things, but what about everything else?
The dates. Our talks and the way she opens up to me when it’s just us. Last night in the fucking tent. Does none of that matter?
I slump back against the side of my car and scrub both hands down my face. Tension pulls at my muscles. I feel stiff and tight all over.
I need a long run. Hours on the pavement.
I practice yoga daily. It calms my mind, but nothing substitutes the mental and physical workout a hard as fuck run will give you. I want to be too tired to think. Running will do that.
Haphazardly unloading my camping gear into the studio, not even bothering to take it upstairs, I lock up behind me and go through a few stretches to loosen up. I hit the footpath with quick strides, running down and back up Fayette Street, through alleys and behind businesses. I run faster, harder, down streets I’ve never been down before and ones that are familiar.
The sun lowers in the sky, dipping between buildings. Sweat soaks my shirt and trickles down my face.
My feet beat on the cement, a steady, relentless pace I push myself to keep even after my muscles ache and my lungs burn.
I think about Brooke and our weekend, but not the shit that happened today. I think about holding her last night in the tent. Her soft body curling against mine, pulling me closer in her sleep. Her breath against my neck and the smell of her hair.
Christ, being with her like that was everything. And fuck me, if I don’t want it every single night.
My infatuation with her started out as an idea. A glimpse of a woman I wanted to know and understand. A delightful interest. But the more time I spend with her, the more desperate I feel.
To have her. To keep her. I’m completely mad for this woman and I may have cocked it all up.
Three hours later and I’m staring down at the drain in my shower as cold water beats on my back.
My body is fatigued, my muscles aching and worn, but I don’t have the clarity I usually feel after a long run. My goddamn head feels heavier somehow.
So much for de-stressing therapeutically. I debate getting dressed and walking to the nearest liquor store.
Cutting the water off, I step out and cinch a towel around my waist, moving out of the bathroom and toward the bed. I unplug my phone from the charger and send out a quick text.
I did promise to keep her informed of developments. This is, unfortunately, my latest development.
Me: I fucked up with Brooke.
The phone barely touches the dark wood of my nightstand before it starts ringing.
“That was fast,” I tensely answer, wiping a quick hand over my face to collect the water dripping from my hair. “Please tell me you weren’t expecting that message and waiting around for it. I like to think my chances with this woman weren’t doomed from the start.”
“How the hell should I know about your chances? I’ve never met her,” Tessa replies, her tone helplessly clever. “And last time we talked, you said she was warming up to you, and that you’ve been seeing a lot of each other. Quite a bit, I believe were your exact words. Based on those two facts right there, I’d say you were doing better than a chump who was doomed from the start. I doubt she would’ve spent any time with you if that were the case.”
“Right, well, as lovely as that thought is, our time together may be over. I’m not sure how warm she is to the idea of me anymore after what I’ve put her through.”
“Oh, Christ. What did you do? And please, don’t skimp on the information. Reed still likes to leave out important details to stories just to make himself sound better. It never works. If you want my advice, I’m going to need to know exactly how you fucked up. Like you can’t tell me Brooke hates you now because you took her for a moonlit walk last night after your date, because I’m going to hear that and think ‘what the fuck is this bitch’s problem’, when really, you’re leaving off the part where you ran over some poor old lady with your car, left her to die in the middle of the street, and then ditched your vehicle because it was evidence. Making someone an accessory to murder is a valid reason to hate you.”
“I actually think Brooke might’ve preferred that to what really happened.”
“Ha-ha,” Tessa dryly replies. “Spill it. What did you do?”
I blankly stare at my comforter. “Took her camping when she expressed a strong aversion for it. I thought maybe I could get her to like it if she just focused on being with me, and not where she was or what we were doing. Last night I saw how a
nxious she was out there. I should’ve taken her home then.”
I might still have a bloody shot with her if I had.
Exhaling a worried breath, I pinch the bridge of my nose. “She was trying to like it. Christ, she was beautiful out there, Tessa. So determined. Then today I pulled a tick off her leg and she broke down crying. I felt terrible. I still feel terrible. It was fucking awful seeing her upset like that and knowing I was the reason for it. She asked me to get her out of there and I did. When we got back, she barely said anything before she left to go home. It felt like a brush-off.”
“Maybe she was just freaking out and needed a moment to deal with it. Did she actually tell you to go fuck yourself and never speak to her again?”
“Not in so many words,” I answer.
“Well, I would’ve,” Tessa chuckles. “Fucking gross. A tick? That’s just cold.”
I feel the muscles in my shoulders tense. “I didn’t fucking put it there. I got the bloody thing off, didn’t I?”
“Would you relax? I think you’re overreacting.”
Overreacting? Am I? I don’t see Brooke here with me, so I think I’m reacting just fine.
Tessa breathes a laugh. “Mason. Mason. Mason.”
“Yeah?”
“Do you love her? It kind of sounds like you do.”
I close my eyes, taking in a deep breath and releasing it slowly.
When did my obsession with Brooke become something more?
I have no doubt of my feelings for her. I’ve never been more certain of anything before, but I can’t pinpoint the exact moment it all changed for me.
Would it even do me any good to admit it to someone now? If it’s over, what’s the point?
“I . . .” My response is interrupted by another call coming through the line. I pull the phone away to look at the screen, and my spine straightens as I blink the caller’s name into focus.
I nearly drop the damn device before I press it against my ear again.
“Tessa, it’s Brooke. I need to take this.”
“Ah, see? All that worrying for nothing. Let me know how it goes.”
“Yeah,” I reply thickly, my bloody voice bound by my uneasiness again. I clear my throat before clicking over to answer the call. “Brooke?”