“Did he leave you alone after that?”
“Yeah. He sent the police to me instead.”
“Shit.”
“Yup. Then, I got a call from my old partner,” she says.
“About him?” I ask.
“No. When I was fired, we were waiting for a ruling on a pro bono case I took on for the firm. Flood victims suing the insurance company for failing to pay legitimate claims. The ruling came back and we won. Big time. There was an appeal filed by the insurance company, and they wanted me to help with it,” she states. “Said they could get the DA to drop the charges if I did. So, I did. I could have been disbarred if I’d actually been prosecuted,” she says.
I whistle, impressed at their nerve. “Why didn’t they just assign another attorney?”
“I’m regarded as the foremost expert in the area of disaster relief financing for municipalities and regulated businesses like property and casualty insurance companies,” she says.
“That sounds impressive as hell, but it’s all Greek to me. Tell me, in plain English, what that means,” I ask her.
“Well,” she sighs. “When I was in law school, I wrote this article for a prestigious law review about the economics of hurricane disaster relief and how wrong we get it. That we focus on the bulk of the money of the issues that are sexy and headline worthy. Like helicopter rescues and helping resettle displaced people in new cities and states. But what about the people who stay? Whose homes aren’t washed away, but simply flooded. The news cameras ignore them. It’s not sexy to sit in your house and suffer quietly. No one wants to tell stories that would force us to really think about how we treat poor people in this country. So instead, we see the people lifted out of their homes by helicopters, moved to entirely new cities, given new clothes, new lives, and that makes us look benevolent. And I’ve been advocating for the litigation of cases that will force the federal circuits to take a position. Or maybe even make it to the Supreme Court.” She shakes her head. “Gah, sorry, I could talk about this all night,” she says.
“I could listen to you talk about this all night,” I confess.
“Because of you, I’ll never get my Nobel Peace Prize. I had so much potential,” she cries and shakes her fist up at me.
“Stop speaking of yourself in the past tense,” I chide her gently.
“You’ve ruined my life,” she yells up at me. “And you know what’s worse?”
“What?”
“Forget it,” she says.
“Forget what?”
“Nothing,” she responds sullenly.
“Okay,” I acquiesce.
“I guess it doesn’t matter if I tell you now,” she grumbles after a few seconds pass. I smile but hide it in my voice when I speak.
“Shit or get off the pot, Confidence. Tell me or stop talking about it,” I say.
“See? You’re rude. But, because I’m stupid when it comes to men, I like you.” She says it like it’s a fate worse than death.
“You do?” I ask, completely surprised and pleased.
“Of course, I do. I saw you and thought, yes, he’s mine.” She leans her head against the wall and gazes up at the stars.
“Did you, really?” I ask. I like the way that sounds.
“Yes. Something is very wrong with me,” she says miserably and I snort out a laugh. “It’s not funny. Every time I look up at you, I think about how much I want to kiss you.”
Heat coils in my chest. “I want to kiss you, too,” I admit.
“Of course, you do, now that I’m lying down here about to die,” she says angrily. I laugh. Again. God, she’s funny.
“I should be inside eating cake, getting drunk, and taking some beautiful stranger to bed. What kind of karma is this?” She wails to the sky and slams her open palm on the ground.
I watch helplessly from this stupid ledge. I feel like total shit.
“I’m sorry about what I said,” I start.
She doesn’t respond.
I haven’t apologized for anything in a long time. I don’t even know if I’m doing it right, but her increased volume makes me think not.
These are my “What would Swisher Do” moments. As soon as I ask myself that question, the answer comes.
“It was shitty, and I was an asshole for no reason,” I call down.
“Yes, it was.” She sniffles and looks up at me over her shoulders which are pressed flat against the rock. “No one’s an asshole for no reason. But, I really hope yours is good, because I want to forgive you,” she says begrudgingly.
I laugh. “You sure about that?” I ask.
“Only because if I get off this ledge, I’ll be able to have the night I wanted.” She scowls up at me.
I like that scowl.
I like her.
Very much.
The fearlessness of her conviction is so fucking attractive.
It’s a very rare trait. It’s the lack of that trait that makes the saying, and there are no atheists in foxholes very true.
But here she is. In her proverbial foxhole, and she’s not finding her faith. Or compromising. I’ve only known four other living people who are like this, and three of them are my brothers. So, I give her a sign of respect that I give very few.
The truth.
“I can count my family on one hand. My aunt, my brothers. To everyone else, I’m a means to an end. And that end usually has something to do with my money. I’ve stopped minding. I just wish I would meet someone who would be honest about it.” I say the words out loud that I’ve only ever let fester in my chest, and they sound as awful as they feel.
Her voice softens. “Oh, Hayes—”
The blare of sirens and the glowing from their flashing lights cuts her off.
The spell is broken, and I switch to action mode. I speak quickly and urgently down to her.
“I told them not to alert anyone inside. But it’s going to be impossible for them to get out here without that now. And people are going to come out and see what’s happening.”
“Of course, they will,” she says dejectedly. “For once, I’d love to not make a dramatic exit.” And I feel her pain. More than I can say.
“I’m going to go and make sure they don’t come too far, and I’ll do my best to make sure your dignity is in one piece when the night is over,” I tell her and start to get up.
“No, you can’t leave me alone with them!” she cries out, and her eyes widen with fear. “What if they drop me? What if I fall?” she cries. Her chest heaves and arches her back off that wall.
“No, don’t worry, and don’t move. I won’t leave until they get here, but I want to go and stand by the entrance to make sure that no one else comes out here. The last thing we need is for you to have to push through a crowd of people.”
“I’m so scared. Please promise you’ll stay close by. I just want to hear your voice, please?” She pleads with me with such earnest vulnerability that it makes me wish I could be the one to bring her up to safety.
“I’ll make sure you’re safe. And I’ll be just behind the rescuers, okay?” I search her eyes until she nods.
She looks over to her left and whimpers.
“Don’t look. Keep your eyes turned up here.”
“It’s so dark. I’m scared, Hayes.” She hiccups my name, and my heart squeezes in my chest. A sudden gust of wind picks up her thick mane of hair and blows it wildly around her head.
She screams! “Oh my God, are there birds?” Her hands wave frantically around her body.
“No, it’s just your hair, Confidence,” I call. I look over my shoulder when I hear shouts and chairs scraping the ground.
“What if they can’t find a way to get me up?” she asks tearfully.
“It’s really not that far. It’ll be a breeze, and I’ll be right here. I’ll make sure you’re safe. I promise.”
I’ve barely managed to keep myself safe. But I’ll be damned if I don’t excel at it for her. I hear the commotion before the back flap of the tent ex
plodes open.
“Down here,” I call out and start to lift off the ground.
“Haaaaaaaayes, I can’t see you anymore!” she screams.
“I know, but I’m here. I need to make room for the rescuers. One second!” I yell and then rush a few feet to meet them.
A woman in a short, multicolored sundress comes dashing out. Her eyes are wild with fear. She runs at me. “When I heard a woman had fallen, I was afraid it was TB, and then I see you.” She reaches me and shoves me in the chest. “And I knew it was her. What did you do to her?” she snarls in my face.
Then, she crumples against my chest and covers her face with her hands. “I should have stopped her!” she wails.
I put my hand on her shoulder and pull her back. Her green eyes are clear of anger, and I can see her distress is real.
“Come on,” I say and start walking again. “I told her I’d be close enough to hear her, and right now, I’m not,”
When I reach the rescue party, Confidence is shouting, “He left me!” over and over.
“No. I didn’t,” I shout over her.
“You did.” She sounds unhinged. “You promised me, Hayes,” she wails.
“I didn’t leave. Your friend came down, I was just—”
“Oh my God! Cass!” she shrieks.
“TB, I’m so sorry, I’m right here, don’t worry,” her friend yells over her shoulder.
“So, what’s the plan?” I ask one of the men who’s talking on his walkie-talkie.
“We’re just getting anchored, Signore Rivers,” he says. “Then we’ll send Danelo down to secure her harness, connect her to the rappel, and we’ll pull her up. Once we’re anchored, it will only be a matter of minutes,” he says.
I exhale a sigh of relief I didn’t even realize I was holding onto.
“Why don’t you go sit there?” He nods at the stone steps where the rest of the guests are gawking. “You look very pale.”
“No, I want to be close enough for her to hear me,” I tell him. “I’ll wait right here.”
TURD BLOSSOM
CONFIDENCE
“Thank goodness,” Cass cries when my feet touch the ground after the rappel team hauls me to safety.
I wince at a shooting pain in my ankle and immediately bend my knee to take the pressure off it.
The harness is heavy, and when I try to stand on one leg, it’s impossible. I sway a little until a pair of strong hands grab me by the shoulders and steady me.
“Let me hold you up.” Hayes’s deep voice makes my heartbeat quicken. I look up from the three pairs of hands that are working to loosen the various latches and clasps on the contraption that saved my life. When our eyes meet, his are full of worry and warmth that I hadn’t seen up close. I’d been staring up at those eyes while I was sitting on that ledge. They had been my lifeline. I know he never felt fully afraid, but I did. When I landed on that ledge, it took me a full thirty seconds to convince myself that I wasn’t dead.
“Thank you for staying with me.” I reach over the men kneeled around me and grab his outstretched forearm.
“I’m sorry you were out here in the first place,” he says. His eyes are close and hypnotically focused on my mouth. I look at his mouth, too. One of his hands leaves my shoulder and cups my face.
“You scared me, Confidence,” he murmurs.
“You pissed me off, Hayes,” I say softly.
“I’m sorry, if you are,” he says.
“I hold grudges, so I’m not ready to accept your apology,” I say honestly.
He smiles.
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.”
“But I’ll work for it if I have to,” he says. His hazel eyes burn into mine. I swallow hard at the heat in them. He’s looking at me like he wishes we were alone. I do, too.
Something happened between us while I was on that ledge. I didn’t feel it fully because no matter how much he did to distract me, I couldn’t forget that I was a few feet away from falling off. But now that I’m safe and in his arms, I’m catching up. And my body is buzzing for an entirely different reason. I smile up at him, bright and wide with my perfectly straight teeth that my mom always called God’s apology for fucking up everything else in my life.
“I’m so glad you followed me out, even though it was your fault. You kept me from going crazy,” I say softly. We’ve run the full gamut of emotions, and we’ve ended up at intrigued and much more than interested.
He leans in slightly—his eyes are open and on mine. My heart is thudding like I’ve just sprinted for a mile. My face is tingling His fingers move in slow, small circles at the base of my neck; his thumbs massage the muscles that are clenched in my jaw. My head falls back and his fingers slip into my hair and cup the base of my skull. He cradles my head like it’s the most delicate thing he’s ever held. I’m liquifying. The adrenaline is mingling with lust, and I’m turned on in a way that I’ve never been before. What they say about near death experiences making you horny is true. His fingers caress my scalp and send chills through me that curl into heat-seeking missiles that turn my entire body into an erogenous zone.
“I’m going to kiss you now,” he murmurs and leans forward to brush a kiss on my mouth. But my lips want more and they cling to his greedily. Kissing him is like being hit with a thousand lightning bolts of full-blown pleasure. He feels like the most worthwhile regret I’ll ever have. I want to make this count.
I sink my teeth into his lower lip and tug. He hisses, but he takes control of the kiss and covers my mouth with his. And then he kisses the shit out of me. It’s so perfect that it feels like I fell off the edge of the cliff just so this could happen.
His lips are soft and demanding. I could get addicted to this man—really fast. My body is singing like it’s just had that first, singular hit of its new favorite drug. He pulls back after one of the men working on my harness coughs loudly. I hold onto his lips until simple biology makes it impossible for me to hold on anymore. We smile like lunatics at each other. He looks like a kid on Christmas morning and that’s exactly how I feel. When they pull the harness off me, I know two things for sure. One, this was just the first of many kisses I’m going to share with him. And two, that I’ll never forget him or this trip as long as I live.
“I still don’t forgive you,” I remind him.
“I want to make it up to you.”
“Okay,” I whisper when he leans away.
“Hell yeah, TB!” Cass calls from over Hayes’s shoulder.
The harness loosens and the men crouched in front of me working it loose all stand. Hayes lets go of me, and I drop my leg back down for balance. I immediately regret my decision because pain—almost blindingly sharp—shoots up my leg from my ankle.
We’re in my bed. The EMTs decided my ankle was only sprained. They put me in a soft knee length boot to mobilize it. Considering that I fell down that ledge, I’m amazed I walked away with that being the only thing wrong. I also walked away with the most unexpected, beautiful surprise. Hayes Rivers. He’s still mostly pretty rude, but he’s been attentive and tender. And I can’t keep my hands off him.
“So, tell me, what’s TB mean?” he asks. His breath is warm and tickles the fine hairs near my temples.
“Turd Blossom,” I say, and his chest tightens against my cheek.
“What in the world is that?”
I laugh hoarsely and pat his chest softly. “And you call yourself a Texan,” I say.
“Is knowing what a turd blossom is a prerequisite for being a real Texan?” he asks.
“No, it’s not a prerequisite, it’s a requirement. To call yourself a real Texan, you’ve got to have had some shit dumped on you and come up smelling like roses,” I tell him.
“And how do you know so much about being a Texan?”
“I went to college in Texas,” I tell him.
“UT?”
“Not UT, I couldn’t afford that. I went to Texas State in San Marcos. It was like Paris, France compared to Amorel,” I s
ay and laugh as I remember how googly-eyed I’d been for the first couple of weeks.
“Where’s Amorel?” he asks.
“It’s where I’m from. Right in the armpit of Arkansas, just across the Tennessee border, and along the banks of the great Mississippi River.”
“Is it a small town?” he asks.
I laugh. “That would be a generous description. We have one road running through town and really, it’s just there because the railroad tracks need a place to cross.” I laugh.
I wiggle the toes of my healthy foot along his shins. “It’s why my feet are extra wide.”
He laughs. “This because of your childhood? Or is this a random Confidence fact?” he asks.
“My childhood,” I clarify. “I was barefoot all the time. Walking on hard ground with no shoes makes your feet spread and hardens them.” I miss the springy, fertile, cool soil of Amorel beneath my feet suddenly.
“I played barefoot all the time,” he says
“I didn’t play barefoot. I lived barefoot. I even went to school without shoes. And so did a lot of the other kids.”
“Barefoot? Were you …” He trails off like he doesn’t want to say it.
“Was I poor?” I ask and laugh. “It’s not a dirty word. I’m not ashamed of where I come from. Because look where it got me,” I tell him.
“Well.” He hums low in his throat like he’s thinking deeply. “I think you defied the odds, getting out of there to where you are now.” He leans back and looks down at me. “I have a feeling you left a string of broken hearts in town when you left, and I’m sure half of them never managed to make it out and come after you,” he quips.
“Yeah, no.” I laugh out loud at the idea. “There was nothing romantic about my existence. It was a hard life, but my town did everything they could to make sure I got out. And, there was no string of broken hearts.” I nudge the center of his chest with my nose. “I was too busy doing chores, hunting, cleaning, going to school, and reading everything I could get my hands on.”
The Rivals Page 8