by Monica Cole
Summoning a deep breath, I tighten my grip and carefully maneuver myself around. My hands are slick with sweat, and I realize I’m drenched in it.
“What kind of jerk leaves someone on the edge of a cliff?” I mutter aloud. Not like he can hear me. He’s nowhere in sight.
I take turns airing out my hands, flapping them back in forth in the air before I attempt to climb over. For some reason it’s twice as difficult trying to get back to safe, solid ground. When I’m finally straddling the railing I get excited. And anxious. I hoist myself up, ready to throw my leg over when I feel my hands slip out from under me, and the next thing I know I’m falling. It’s the most terrifying three seconds of my life. Three seconds, because that’s how long it takes for me to make impact with something so rock solid, it steals every bit of air from my lungs.
“Fuck,” a deep voice groans, the vibration rumbling against my chest all the way down to the tip of my toenails.
My eyes fly open, but everything’s distorted and spinning. I close them and try again.
Canyon is laying beneath me, the tips of our noses almost touching, our eyes perfectly aligned. I was right. They’re definitely brown. It’s hard to miss as I watch them move down my face and settle on my mouth.
“Where did you come from?” I ask, wincing at the pain in my arm as I attempt to climb off him. I manage to get into a sitting position, but not before I realize how awkward it still is. I’m straddling him, his warm palms plastered tight against my thighs.
Averting my eyes, I crawl off his lap, collapsing clumsily on the ground. He stands up and offers me his hand.
“Thanks,” I mutter. I pull my hand away, but he automatically reaches for my injured arm.
“What are you doing?” I ask, watching as he massages his fingers across my skin.
He hits a sore spot, and I suck in a sharp breath. “You hurt your arm. I’m making sure it’s not broken.”
“What are you, some kind of doctor?”
He looks at me from under his eyelashes, rubbing his lips together. “No. But my dad is. I’ve also had my fair share of broken bones, so I know what to look for.”
I keep my mouth shut after that. I don’t know why I’m being such a smart ass, but I’m sure it has to do with the events of the night. After he’s done examining my arm that thankfully isn’t broken, I grab my flip flops from where I left them by the railing and start down the hill.
“Where are you going?”
I stop, craning my head to look at him. “Home?”
“You walked here?” He asks, closing the space between us.
“It’s not like I was planning on driving back.”
He stares at me unblinkingly, rubbing his chin with his thumb and forefinger. “I’ll drive you.”
“You don’t have to do that.”
I start to turn around, but he grabs my upper arm gently, keeping my still. “You’re right. I don’t have to. I also didn’t have to talk you down from the ledge of that cliff. I’m sure as hell not going to let you walk home alone.”
I roll my eyes like the mature seventeen year old I am. “You didn’t talk me down. You left me.”
He runs his tongue along his lower lip, magnetizing all of my attention there. “It worked, didn’t it?”
“I chose to climb back over on my own,” I reply, dropping my gaze and ignoring his question. “Just like I’m choosing to walk home.”
He sighs, reflecting my irritation perfectly. “Just get in the truck.”
“I’m not getting in your truck,” I say obstinately. “For all I know you could be a psycho rapist murderer.”
He looks at me like I’m crazy. Or unfathomably stupid. “If I were going to rape or kill you, why would I wait to get you in my truck to do it?”
My mouth opens to respond, but he has a point. Not that I actually believe he’s a rapist or murderer. Just irritatingly relentless.
“Why are you so adamant about helping me?” I finally ask.
His dark eyes bore into mine. “Why are you so against letting me?”
Touché.
“Look,” I start, brushing a piece of hair out of my eyes and taking a step back, “I appreciate your concern but…”
Before I can finish my sentence, he stalks forward and grabs me around the waist, tossing me over his shoulder.
“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I scream, pounding my fists furiously against his back. “Put me down!”
“Stop moving or you’re going to hurt your arm even more,” he tells me, tightening his grip and moving his hands higher up the back of my legs.
I stop moving. Hell, I stop breathing because all I can concentrate on are his callused hands and how good they feel against my bare skin. Seconds later he’s setting me down, but my back is flush against the truck; his body inches from mine.
“That wasn’t necessary.” I frown.
His gaze skitters across my face like he can’t make up his mind where to look. “You could’ve just done what I asked.”
I release a deep breath and recline my head against the window. What is with this guy? Why does he care what happens to me? Most people could care less about someone else’s problems, yet he’s continuously cast a line, trying to fish mine out of me.
“Elle.”
There it is again. Only this time, instead of flapping its wings, my heart soars.
I tilt my head back down so I’m looking at him. Maybe it’s just the close proximity or how the moonlight hits every feature on his face, but holy crap he’s gorgeous. He smells good too. Dangerous. Like earthy spices and menthol. A chill rattles my spine as it snakes through me.
As I wait for him to speak, I’m all too aware of his knees touching mine or how his nostrils flare when he inhales. The way he’s looking at me makes me question what’s going on inside that pretty little head of his. If it’s anything like what’s going on inside of mine because right now, I’m imagining what those full, curvy lips might feel like. Fan-fucking-tastic I bet.
“How about we make a deal?” he says suddenly, retrieving the keys from his back pocket and twirling them around his finger. “You let me give you a ride home,” he trails off, eyeing me thoughtfully, “and I promise to never bother you again after tonight.”
I snort. “You actually think we’re going to see each other again?”
The fabric of his jeans grazes my leg as he shifts closer. “Maybe.”
My heart launches up my throat before free falling into my stomach. Something is seriously wrong with me. Too much adrenaline stampeding through my veins. It’s the only explanation for why my body is reacting this way.
“No.” I blurt out, crossing my arms for added effect, but I feel more like a defiant snot nosed brat than a grown woman trying to stand her ground.
He doesn’t look the least bit surprised by my answer. Just shrugs and leans forward, planting a hand beside my head. My breath hitches but his is rhythmic and steady, hot waves crashing across my cheek. As his free hand reaches around my waist, our eyes meet and for one crazy, unbalanced fraction of a second, I think he might kiss me.
“Elle,” he whispers, the low rumble of his voice tearing through me like my own personal kryptonite.
I blink up at him, lips parted.
“If you could move, I’d like to get in my truck now.” The keys jingle as he turns the lock.
My nerves that were just shaking with anticipation flare up in undefined frustration. I push past him and without so much as a glance in his direction, stalk off down the road.
He ends up following me the entire six miles it takes to get back to town. He drives close behind, headlights off and his windows down. I do my best to ignore him, but it’s hard when I know he’s watching me with his penetrating brown eyes. By the time we get downtown, my feet are aching and blistered, and my legs are experiencing a numb, tingling sensation. I want to sit down, but I still have another mile to my house. Now that we’re back in town, I’m expecting him to stop following me, but
when I glance over my shoulder, he’s still there, a dark shadow in the cab of his truck. I know he’s not dangerous or anything, but I still don’t want him knowing where I live. I veer off the sidewalk, over to where he’s stopped in the middle of the road.
“You can stop following me now,” I say, crossing my arms, so I’m not tempted to lean against the open window. My feet are killing me.
He stretches an arm over the back of the seat, one hand braced on the steering wheel. “What, you don’t want me to drive you the rest of the way home?”
“You’re already driving me crazy, so I think you’ve done enough,” I reply smartly. It’s too dark, but I swear I catch him smile.
I blow out a breath. “I don’t live far from here. I’ll be fine.” I take a step back, wincing when my shoe rubs against a blister. My discomfort doesn’t go unnoticed by Canyon.
“Would you just let me give you a ride? You’re obviously in pain.”
“I told you, I’m fine.”
He shakes his head, and I take another step back. I wish he would make this easier and just drive off. He must read my mind because the next thing I know, he throws the truck into drive and glances at me. “See you around, Elle.”
He drives off, and I stand at the side of the road watching until his truck disappears around the corner. Then I start walking. I think about him the entire way home, and I’m still thinking about him when I finally collapse in bed. Canyon. Canyon. Canyon. He’s the last thing I see before I close my eyes.
Chapter Four
I don’t come out of my room for the next day and a half. I don’t eat, and I barely sleep. But I do plenty of thinking. Replaying my run in with Canyon over and over again until it’s like a scratched record spinning in my head. No matter how hard I try I can’t turn it off. When I finally decide to get up I hit the shower. My clothes smell like a dead rat and my muscles are sore from lying in a fetal position for so long. The house feels like it’s about 110 degrees, so I dress lightly in a white tank top and cut off shorts and secure my wet hair in a tangled braid.
I check the thermostat on my way down the hall. It's 85 degrees and like our own personal hell in here. Irritated, I bump it down to 72 then head to the kitchen. It’s too hot for coffee. I grab a Coke from the fridge and drain it in seconds flat.
“Thirsty?”
I choke, soda fizzing in my throat as I struggle to keep it down. The now empty can clatters on the tile floor and rolls to where Parker is.
“Holy crap.” I run the back of my hand over my mouth, narrowing me eyes when he grins. “If I didn’t know better, I’d think you did that on purpose.”
The grin on his face turns mischievous as he wheels further into the kitchen then leans over just enough to where his long arms can reach the can on the floor. “Just pay back for locking yourself in the room and having me worried if you were even alive in there,” he says, taking the can to the trash.
“I saw you stop outside my door at least twice. Why didn’t you just knock?”
“Because I didn’t stop outside your door.”
I hop up on the counter and reach in the cabinet behind me, fishing around until I find a strawberry flavored Pop-Tart three months past its expiration date. “I guess it was mom then.” I shrug with my mouth full. Stale Pop-Tarts have never tasted more glorious.
“Mom hasn’t been home. She worked a double.” He rubs his lips together, his expression almost…guilty.
I swallow hard, my throat suddenly dry. “Wait. Mom hasn’t been home?” Panic engulfs me followed by a surge of guilt. If mom hasn’t been home that means no one has been here to help Parker. Dropping my breakfast, I jump off the counter and rush to him, bending down by the wheelchair to check his catheter.
“God, Parker. Why didn’t you tell me?” I pull the bag out, expecting the worse, but I’m shocked to find it barely full. Now that I’m this close, I notice he smells clean too. And he’s wearing a different outfit than what I saw him in last.
When I look up he’s doing his best not to laugh at me. “I’ve never seen someone so excited to check my catheter before.”
He chuckles, and I resist the urge to punch him in the arm. It wouldn’t hurt. He’s still got most of the muscle from his football days.
“What the hell?” I pout, sinking down on the floor with my legs tucked up. “How did you change this?” I point at his catheter bag, and then motion at him. “How did you change any of this?”
His face sobers; gray eyes darting around behind me.
“What?” I question suspiciously. The look on his face is one big guilty secret.
He drags a hand through his cropped hair and sighs. “It’s nothing.”
“Nothing my ass.” I crawl to my knees, swinging his wheelchair, so he’s facing me. “Someone changed this for you. Who was it?”
“I’ll tell you, but you’re not going to like it.”
“Spill.”
He sighs again. “It was Canyon.”
Hearing his name is like a sucker punch to my gut. I’m shocked. Horrified. And definitely confused as hell. Why would he be here helping Parker? As my brain works to figure it out, the realization hits me that Canyon has been here the last two days. From the looks of it, he was even here this morning. The thought thrills me and makes me sick simultaneously. And then something clicks. Canyon must have been the one who stopped outside my door. Twice.
I slide off my knees and sit, unable to hold myself up anymore. My stomach is churning, and it’s not because of that old Pop-Tart. It’s because Canyon has been in my house. Outside my room. What if he had tried to come in? My door wasn’t even locked.
“I’m sorry, Elaine.”
I shake my head, causing my thoughts to tumble around recklessly. “I told you to tell me. I just wasn’t expecting that.”
His eyes scan my face, brimming over with sympathy.
“I don’t understand though. Why Canyon?”
He’s quiet for a minute, like he’s contemplating on telling me any more. “I’ll tell you but first get off the floor.”
Using his wheelchair to steady myself, I get up then push him into the living room. I collapse on the couch, propping my feet on the coffee table.
Parker takes a deep breath, and I wait patiently for him to start. “The reason Canyon was here is because he helps me out when mom isn’t around.”
“So this isn’t the first time you’ve called him over for help?”
He shakes his head.
But now I’m curious.
“How long has he been doing this?” I ask slowly.
Parker rakes his hand through his hair a few times before dropping it to his lap. “Since you left for college.”
His answer floors me, and I’m crushed with the weight of it. Two years. Canyon has been coming here to take care of Parker for two years.
I drop my head to my knees and say, “I’m sorry, Parker. This is all my fault.”
“Why? Because you weren’t here to take care of me? You aren’t my nurse, Elaine, you’re my sister. You don’t have to feel guilty for going away and living your life.”
“How can I not feel guilty?” I reply, jerking my head back up. “I leave for college, and my ex-boyfriend has to come by and take care of you.”
I press my fingers into my eyes until I see stars.
“Elaine.” Parker’s voice is calm unlike the untamed emotion raging inside me.
I look up to find him staring, and it’s all I can do not to burst into tears. Parker has always been too forgiving. Especially of me. I feel like he should be as angry at me as I am with myself.
“It should’ve been my job Parker. I should have been the one taking care of you. Not Canyon, especially after what he did.”
“I know he hurt you, but he is still a good person. He’s sacrificed a lot to help me and mom. He gave me a job, and you know we need the money to make ends meet.”
He’s right, but it doesn’t change what Canyon did. He might have mended some of my family’s
issues, but he still clawed my heart out, destroyed my trust, and tainted a promise.
“I understand that he’s done a lot to help you.” I drag my knee to my chest and take a deep breath. “But this is a lot to take in. When I left, I thought Canyon was leaving too. I never expected him to stay behind, and I definitely didn’t expect him to be so involved in your lives. I just need time for this to sink in.”
Parker rubs his fingers under his eyes. “I know you do, and I’m sorry I upset you. But you would have found out eventually. I thought it would be better coming from me.”
He’s right about that. Waking up to find Canyon in my house is the worst possible scenario I can think of. This isn’t easy to hear, but I’m at least glad it’s coming from my brother.
Parker wheels over to the small table by the door and grabs his wallet and hat. “Sorry to rush off, but I need to get to work. I should be home before six.” He adjusts his hat and unlocks the door. “Oh, and before I forget, there’s a party tonight.”
I groan, making a face to show him I’m anything but interested.
“Will you at least let me finish?” He laughs. “It’s at one of my former team member’s house, Brady Garrett. It’s his birthday and his girlfriend is throwing a party. Nothing big. I thought you might want to come. You know, get out of the house for a while. Be social.”
I make another face, kicking my feet up on the couch. “No offense, but that doesn’t sound the least but fun. Besides, I won’t know anyone, and odds are I’ll end up sitting alone the entire night.”
“What’s the difference in sitting there alone and sitting here?”
“Well for starters, if I stay here there won’t be any obnoxious partygoers getting drunk off their asses. Secondly, there’s nothing remotely appealing about attending a party where I won’t know a single person.”