Bear Creek Road

by L. C. Morgan

  And he did.

  “Did you mean it?” he asked, and my brow furrowed, pain shooting through my head as I racked my brain.

  Oh, God.

  Had I told him I wanted to bear his bearded babies?

  Did I say that out loud?

  I didn’t think my heart could pound any damn harder as I looked up, realization dawning on what I had said last night.

  Let’s help each other forget.

  Closing my eyes again, I hung my head and cleared my throat. “Yes.”

  The retreating scuff of his boots helped me perk up.

  Was he leaving?

  Now?

  After all I confessed?

  When I heard the door slam shut, I made my way to the front room, peeking out and then backing away from the side window when I saw him coming back up the stairs. Torn between running back to my room or making a break for the kitchen, I ended up just standing there, staring at the door as he walked back through it.

  I didn’t think I’d ever get used to the way he came and went. It was almost like he belonged here, all comfortable and cool as he scratched at his jaw and then ran his hand down the length of his beard.

  “I thought you left.” Looking down, I crossed my arms over my chest and toed a fascinating dent in the floor. My line of sight followed his hand as he held out a bottle of generic pain relievers.

  “Thank you.” Grabbing the bottle, I led the way into the kitchen. I went to pull a glass from the cupboard, but he stopped me, taking the glass from my hand and jerking his head toward the table.

  “Sit.”

  The butterflies approved of his demand, flitting and fluttering along the lining of my stomach as I did as he said and took a seat.

  I watched with rapt attention as he moved around my kitchen like it was his own, going straight for the bread and placing two slices in the toaster. It was almost comical watching this rugged man butter toast. I smiled as he licked some excess butter from this thumb and then placed the plate in front of me.

  The last person to make me toast was my gran. Only she would cut the slices down the middle, flip them and turn the crumbling triangles into edible wings, though they were nothing compared to the ones still fluttering around inside of my stomach.

  I straightened when he sat directly across from me and motioned to my plate.

  “Eat,” he ordered, and I obediently picked up a piece and placed a corner in my mouth. Making the mistake of looking up, I caught him watching me just as I took the first delicious bite.

  I slouched back down some and turned my head as I chewed, self-conscious of the muffled noises I was making. I must have sounded like a starved pig at supper time. At least, that was what it felt like when I chanced a glance up and caught his unwavering gaze fixed on my mouth.

  The unmistakable heat of his hand stopped me mid-chew. My brows lifted as he slid it down the back of my calf, gripped my ankle and lifted my leg to settle my foot in his lap. Swallowing, I closed my eyes when his thumb pressed into the aching arch.

  God, that feels good.

  Sliding his thumb down, he cupped my heel, making circular motions with his fingers. I gave in to the sensation, shamelessly moaning as he worked his way back up, pressing firmly into the arch again before running his thumb along the top, right below my toes.

  I could feel my headache slipping away as I sank further into the chair, hardly noticing when he switched feet, giving the other the same amount of attention. It wasn’t until he stopped and placed both hands on top of my feet that I opened my eyes, discreetly checking for any signs of escaped slobber.

  Wouldn’t be a good friend my ass.

  “Go somewhere with me.” It wasn’t exactly a question, but he didn’t sound all that demanding either, not like he had before.

  “Where?” I could’ve kicked my own ass for asking. Did it really matter where when Joe was the one who wanted to take me there?

  Removing my feet from his lap, Joe straightened in his seat. He snatched a piece of toast from my plate before answering.

  “The beach.”

  ***

  It was a little late to make a trip to the beach, but I didn’t say anything, wanting to spend all the time with Joe I could. Few words were spoken the whole ride. The tension that filled the cab wafted out when I opened up the door to meet him at the bed of the truck.

  “How can I help?”

  Grabbing the white board and bag out of the back, he started for the choppy ocean, talking over his shoulder. “Just keep up.”

  Making my way through the sand, I followed behind him the best I could, trying not to freak out.

  When I had told him to help me forget, I had meant it. When he asked me if I had meant it, I had still meant it. But I didn’t do the ocean. Looked at it, yes. Waded out and into it, no. Never. Not once in my life. Not a damn chance.

  Squinting up at the cloudless sky, I wished for rain as the sun shone down on us in a mocking way. Its bright beam, I imagined, was God’s middle finger.

  “I, uh … I’ve never done this before,” I confessed, my voice sounding a little shaky as I stumbled behind then stopped beside him.

  “Surf?” Stabbing the board into the sand, he stripped himself of his boots and shirt, and I followed suit, wishing I had worn a one piece. Those waves looked brutal.

  “I’ve never been in the ocean.”

  His face gave nothing away as he slid his fingers along the inside of my wrist to the palm of my hand and laced them between my own.

  He didn’t ask if I still wanted to go. He didn’t suggest we could just forget about it and turn back. Instead, he led me out into the rippling water, tightening his grip when I tightened mine.

  The sensation was nothing like I’d ever felt before. The rough grain of the sand rubbed against my skin, swishing and swallowing my feet with every step I took. Once the water was up to my chest, I lost all sense of self control and pulled him closer to wrap my arms and legs tightly around his waist and shoulders.

  There was no doubt he could feel me trembling as he wrapped his arms around my back to help hold me in place. I threaded my fingers into his hair, trying to focus on the heat of his breath, how it blew against the side of my neck just before he pressed his lips into my shoulder.

  The intimacy of the act took my breath away. He soothed me with his warmth, letting me take my time, only loosening his grip when I loosened mine. I wasn’t sure how long we were out there just clinging to one another before I finally felt comfortable enough to let go.

  “Not that bad.” Joe kept both hands on my waist until I shook my head.

  “No.”

  He smiled before ducking under water and taking his warmth with him. I attempted to keep my cool while I waited for him to resurface. Either he could hold his breath forever or something terrible had happened. I hoped for the former, just about losing it when something wrapped around my ankle.

  Kicking and thrashing, I took off for land, letting out a small screech when I was pulled back and into a set of familiar arms. His lips pressed into my shoulder again, and I shivered as he mumbled an apology into my skin, canceling it out when I felt his laugh vibrating against my back.

  I tried not to laugh myself as I wiggled out of his grip and turned to splash him in the face. Another screech escaped when he lunged forward and grabbed me around the waist to take us both under.

  My arms wrapped around his neck as we broke the surface. His wide smile mimicked mine as we floated, both melting away with the shine of the sun. Time had gotten away from us, and it was setting quickly. I was getting more and more antsy, not only because I could see less and less of our surroundings, but because I wanted to kiss him. And not only did I want to kiss him; I wanted him to kiss me.

  With my limbs still wrapped tightly around his torso, he swam us to shore, helping me to my feet when it was shallow enough to stand. Without thought, he threaded our fingers back together, only letting go once we made it to our spot on the beach.

  Bending
down to grab a towel out of the bag, I handed him one. He stopped me when I went to grab the other, pulling me closer to wrap his around my shoulders. His hands heated me through thick threaded cotton as they rubbed up and down my arms and back. Pulling the towel tighter around my body, I made the mistake of letting my eyes roam up his to find him doing the same.

  Licking the salt water from my lips, I waited for him to make a move, disappointment filling me when he reached down for his shirt instead.

  I quickly got dressed and packed the bag as he did the same. He walked a little slower this time, letting me keep up so he could open the door for me.

  If possible, the ride home was more awkward than the ride over. I stared out the window at the passing palms that turned into pines, the low croon of the radio keeping me company the whole way.

  Pulling up to the house, he came to a stop, his eyes roaming up the length of my thigh. Placing my hand on the door handle, I didn’t know what to say. Did he want to come in?

  “Ten tomorrow. Be ready.” The playfulness he let peek through today had gone, replaced by that surly demeanor of his. I wondered if it was just this town that got to him.

  What could have happened to him here that was worse than overseas?

  I didn’t ask, just gave a silent nod and pulled the handle, pushing open the heavy door to slide out.

  His bright headlights illuminated my path up the steps, where I cast him one last glance over my shoulder, gave him a wave and slipped inside.

  Chapter Nine

  Lining my shoes up beside the front door, I contemplated which to wear: the flip flops, the tennis shoes or the never-ever-used hiking boots.

  To be honest, I didn’t know why I had the boots. I never went hiking. Mark never went hiking. No one I knew ever went hiking.

  Crossing my arms over my chest, I toed on a flip-flop, and then kicked it back off.

  At the very least, I could’ve asked him where we were going. I didn’t want to pack another bag filled with all my just-in-case-I-need-it layers. I didn’t want to look high maintenance because I wasn’t. Far from it, in fact. So far from it that I hardly wore any makeup—a blessing in which my gran always said I could thank her good genes.

  Looking over my shoulder, I glared at my duffle, cursing Gran and what little grasp she had on the notion of packing light. It didn’t exist to her, therefore, it didn’t exist to me, and this was an impossible decision to make.

  My ears perked up with the pop of gravel under the weight of tires. Everything inside me lit on fire. I was sixteen all over again, going on the first date that I wasn’t quite ready for.

  The sound of a slamming door startled me, bringing me back to the task at hand.

  Shoes, right.

  I was overthinking it.

  Just pick a pair!

  Peering out the window, I blamed the man on the other side of the door for making me indecisive and stupid. His outfit gave away nothing as usual.

  Grabbing a light jacket, I pulled it on over my tank, deciding I was not going to wear the hiking boots. I couldn’t. I didn’t have long enough socks. I was wearing cutoffs for God’s sake, and this wasn’t the nineties.

  Tennis shoes it was.

  The knock on the door shot me into action, and I went for the side zipper on my bag, pulling out a pair of ankle socks. I just slipped on the second shoe when I realized he’d actually knocked.

  I couldn’t decipher if that was a good or bad thing as I pulled open the front door.

  “Hey,” I greeted, a small smile pulling at my cheeks.

  Dropping his eyes to the ground, he ran them back up my legs before looking off to the side. “Ready?”

  “Yeah.”

  Just like the day before, he stopped by the passenger’s side and pulled it open for me. Only this time, he helped me in. Palming one cheek over my shorts, he effortlessly hoisted me up and into the cab. The heat of his hand was welcomed, but agonizing. It made my eyes flutter shut as a callused finger skimmed some exposed skin below my shorts.

  Was he doing this on purpose?

  I watched as he walked around the front of the truck, distracting myself with the seatbelt while he climbed in. His cedar scent filled the cab, and I sucked it into the greedy space of my lungs. Why did he always have to smell so goddamn good?

  One hand on the gear, he gripped the wheel with his other. I peeked at him out of the corner of my eye, watching the muscles in his forearms flex and smooth as he shifted. I liked the way his long fingers curled over the balled end of his stick. His thumb caressed the side, swiping over the top every so often in an innocent motion I found highly erotic.

  Does he touch himself the same way? I wondered, then chastised myself for it.

  What was wrong with me?

  Glancing up the length of his arm again, I admired the tight pull of his sleeve before settling on his profile.

  If he could feel the weight of my stare, he didn’t show it. He just kept his head faced forward and let me enjoy the view. It was better than the trees, better than the bosky, thick foliage growing all over and in between.

  I could have stared at him all day, just watching the small movements he made. But I wasn’t even given the chance. Turning off the main road, we barreled down a well-beaten path, pulling onto a grassy knoll where he cut the engine.

  “Bear Creek.” He stared out over the blue-green wakes of rippling water while I stared at him.

  “It’s beautiful.”

  Nodding, he looked over, and I looked forward, following his cue when he climbed out of the cab.

  The high grass tickled my legs as we walked through the open field and in the direction of the lake.

  “My dad taught us to swim here.”

  Trying to catch up, I smiled up at him. “Yeah?”

  Nodding, a small smirk peeked out from behind the thick, coarse hairs hiding half of his face. I got the feeling he was about to continue when a splash sounded from the lake. The echoed shouts from some unruly kids bounced off the surrounding rock, and just like that, he closed himself off again.

  “Wanna show you something.” Changing our course, he headed into the surrounding woods where he steered me clear of low hanging branches and pointed out tripping hazards.

  He led me out of the trees and onto a dirt road. It was whimsical and portrait-worthy, covered with a leafy green archway leading to the outlined structure of an unfinished house.

  “What’s this?”

  “A house.”

  You don’t say.

  Giving him a look, I pushed him on the shoulder.

  “I can see that much. Is it a house the company’s building?” I asked, curious as to why he brought me here.

  Did he expect me to help raise walls?

  I hoped not.

  “No, just me.”

  “Oh, wow. Who are you building it for?” Eyeing his hands, I worked my way up his arm, finding it incredibly sexy he was building this house all on his own.

  He shrugged it off as if it were no big deal.

  “Can’t live off Brenda and Tim forever.” Taking my hand, he pulled me up the stairs and onto the platform where he led me through the beams. When he let go of my hand, I sat beside him on the pine planks and hung my legs over the smooth edge.

  “I didn’t realize that cabin was theirs.” I never imagined it wasn’t his. It was just so him.

  He only nodded, peering out into the surrounding woods before I turned my attention to the trees myself.

  My heart sank with how he must have felt, being left out to the point of being mistreated by his family. He obviously thought they spoke badly of him, if they spoke of him at all.

  From what Mona had told me, his own friends hardly ever talked to him anymore. Besides Tim and Phil, no one ever came around to visit. And maybe that was what he wanted. Maybe that was what he strived for—to live a solitary and secluded life, breaking ties before they had the chance to see how broken he actually was.

  Then again, maybe not.

&nb
sp; How long did they try to get through to him? How hard did they push? Was it hard enough?

  To be fair, I couldn’t jump to conclusions and put all the blame on them. I didn’t know the whole story. I didn’t know any of the story, really, when I sat down and thought about it.

  All I knew was that Joe had been to war—one waged by man, and another by himself. You could tell by the hardened creases that lined his forehead and the corners of his eyes. He carried some pretty heavy baggage, which made it hard to get close to him. At least, it was for me.

  When I first arrived, I thought he hated me. And maybe on some level he did.

  “I started building a few years ago … before.” Pausing, he caused me to turn my attention back to him.

  There was that word again. Before. Before what? Before who? Was he building it for him, for them? I wanted to know.

  “Before …” I pushed in hopes that this time he’d open up and elaborate. It was about time I learned more about the man I had spilled all my darkest secrets to.

  Crinkles formed at the corner of his eye, and I knew he was smiling. I knew that he knew what he was doing, and he was enjoying torturing me. What I didn’t know was why. What was so bad that he could manage to find some sort of amusement in it but couldn’t talk about it?

  I wasn’t expecting it when he finally kind of did.

  “Before life.” He shrugged. “Before the war, before it changed everything.” Tension filled his shoulders. He squinted up into the bits of sun breaking through the trees.

  My heart pounded, the muffled thump, thump, thumping growing louder in my ears. I swallowed the painful lump in my throat, biting back the sudden urge to cry.

  It was me who had suggested we help each other forget, and here I was urging him to remember. It wasn’t exactly fair.

  Something in his demeanor told me not to say anything more, to not ask any more questions, so I didn’t.

  Thigh to thigh, we sat there a while longer, the warm breeze filling the silence as it rustled the leaves on the trees. I wasn’t ready when he helped me up and led me back to the truck. I didn’t want to go home just to sit alone in silence. I wanted to share it with Joe.