Stirred Up
Page 20
Back in the car, she kept the headlights off and pulled into the packed dirt spot beside his car. Then she shut the engine and sat there, peering out at his tent expectantly. Only nothing happened. Apparently the noise hadn’t woken him up, but then he’d slept through a pack of coyotes practically at his door.
What now? She’d driven out here like every second counted, but now that she was here, she had no plan whatsoever. Waking him up in the middle of the night probably wasn’t the best way to say she was sorry. She sat there, getting colder, with nothing to do but sit in the dark and listen to the silence, her mind drifting from one memory of him to another. Roasting marshmallows on sticks he’d brought from home, their rides down the highway, the way he looked at her in the morning when he woke up. The way he’d looked at her yesterday, when she told him she’d never trusted him.
She let her head fall back against the seat and closed her eyes. She was here now, with him. Morning would come soon.
***
Two hours after leaving Cheryl’s apartment Jason arrived home, his turmoil undiminished by the miles he’d burned up driving too fast down the highway. But no matter where he went, or how fast he went there, he couldn’t escape memories of her laughter, her constant desire to do better, the sounds she made when he was inside her. And the fact that none of it meant anything, because she’d never trusted him.
He peeled off his jacket and went to the bathroom, his haggard reflection staring back at him as he washed his hands.
Sucker.
The nausea that had been with him since their fight kicked up a notch. But he wasn’t going to let himself waste away because he had the bad luck to fall for the wrong woman. He needed to get out of the house and act like a human.
He felt better as soon as the decision was made. He had a goal, something to work toward besides drinking himself into a stupor. So he gathered his equipment and clothes, ate something nourishing to fuel his body, drank water to move the sludge out of his veins. An hour later he was climbing in Red Rock, his whole body and mind focused on moving up the wall. Find a foothold, a handhold, move a few inches. That was as far as he needed to think.
He reached the top and collapsed, exhausted and spent, forty-five minutes later. As soon as he did, he remembered the look on Cheryl’s face the last time they’d come, how jubilant she’d been about getting to the top of the wall.
As soon as the thought formed, he cursed it. He’d let her back into his brain, and now there was no getting her out. Coming to Red Rock had always cleared his mind and soothed his spirit, but that was before he’d brought Cheryl. They’d been here together so many times, he couldn’t help seeing her everywhere. He should have gone to Mount Wilson. He’d never been there with her. Then again, maybe he’d come here because he wasn’t ready to let her go.
He got back to the campsite and set up, thinking back over every detail of the one time he and Cheryl had camped together. Then he built a fire and stared into it, unable to keep from remembering how happy she’d been when he made pancakes. She expected so little, he’d wanted to give her everything he could. Now he was left with nothing.
If it had been a matter of just him wanting her to stop stripping and her being angry about it, they could have worked through it. But how did you get past a complete lack of trust? The accusation had blindsided him. He’d thought they were building something, when all along there was a hole where a heart should be.
The sun sank and he stared into space a while longer, listening to the bustle and laughter of the camps around him. Before it was even ten he dowsed the fire and crawled into the tent, more alone than he’d ever been. When the coyotes started howling, they seemed to be voicing his pain.
He fell into an exhausted sleep and woke the next morning knowing he’d dreamed about her all night. The sun was just barely up as he staggered out of the tent and pulled on his shoes. After a quick trip to the toilets he pulled out the coffee and started water boiling.
Only then did he notice the gray sedan parked on the other side of his Jeep.
“What the…?” he muttered, walking toward the car, only to stop dead.
Cheryl.
Heart pounding in his chest like he’d summited a mountain peak without enough oxygen, he walked slowly toward the car, his eyes glued to her sleeping profile. This slight, innocent-looking woman had knifed him in the heart and left him for dead, and now she was back.
The new light lit her pale cheek and the bright curtain of hair that partially hid her face. She shifted as if trying to get comfortable, her lashes fluttering, and all the love and fury he’d been fighting flooded through him. Hope rose in his chest, wanting this to mean something, but he tamped it down.
Taking a deep breath, he tapped lightly on the window.
She frowned in her sleep as if fighting the noise and burrowed into the seat. He’d teased her about doing this very thing every morning when her alarm went off, and he could barely stand seeing it. He tapped again, louder this time, and she bolted upright, her eyes wide as she looked around. Then she saw him standing there and her mouth turned up in an uncertain, trembling smile.
He stepped back from the car and she swung the door open and got out.
“What are you doing here?”
It came out harsher than he’d intended, and she flinched and fell back a step. Even now he wanted to reach out and comfort her, but he held himself rigid, afraid to move or give anything away. His only defense against her was remembering she meant pain.
“Maybe I shouldn’t have shown up like this,” she said, looking more uncertain now. “But once I’d realized how stupid I’d been, I had to see you.”
“What more is there to say?” he asked, even though part of him wanted to fall at her feet. But he couldn’t go back to what they’d been before, as tempting as that was. “I get being angry that I went to the club without telling you. It’s your life, and you should do whatever you need to do. But if you don’t trust me–”
“I do trust you. With my life. I’ve just been stupid and scared and convinced no one who knew what I’ve done could want me.”
“I tried to show you–”
“I know,” she said, tears welling in her eyes, tearing him apart. “When I think about you bringing those branches from home just so I…I think I’ve loved you for a long time now, but I’m only just figuring it out.”
He stared at her, afraid to believe what he was hearing. But she came toward him, her face lifted to his, all the fear and hope he was feeling reflected in her eyes. Her hands came up and cupped his face, cool and soft against his hot skin.
“You’re killing me, Cheryl.”
“Don’t say that. I can’t stand knowing I hurt you.”
He looked down at her, all the pain fading away, making room for something better.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “Not if you mean it.”
“Oh, I mean it.”
He threw his arms around her and pulled her tight. “Do you believe I love you now?” he asked, kissing her lips, her cheek, the corner of her eye.
“I believe you,” she said, her voice high and breathy. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing it a few thousand more times.”
“I’ll tell you every day for as long as you’ll let me.”
“That’s going to be a lot of days,” she said, slanting a look at him through her lashes.
“Is that right?”
“Let’s see, three hundred and sixty-five days in a year, times, what, sixty years, is…” She frowned. “Never mind that. I’m an English teacher, not a math teacher. But it’s a lot of days.”
He laughed and pulled her toward the tent. “I can’t wait.”
About the Author
Isabel Morin started reading romance novels when she was thirteen years old and she hasn't stopped since. Now she writes them, too. She lives in New England with her husband, the inspiration for many of her heroes. You can visit her at http://www.isabelmorin.com or email her at: authorisabel.morin@gmail.co
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Other books by Isabel Morin:
No Other Love
Tempt Me
Set Loose (Sin City, Book One)
Coming in 2014: Sin City, Book Three, in which Beth and Evan have their shot at love, and we see more of Cheryl, Jason, Cutter and Emily.