She laughs and hugs me again, and my heart swells bigger than the damn sun.
29
JAMIE
After leaving Ningaloo, we head to Carnarvon, spending two days on a fishing charter. I’ve never fished before, yet I manage to catch two large Golden Trevalley. Kyle only catches one and carries on about beginner’s luck. We eat well that night.
From there we move onto Shark Bay. I don’t swim there for obvious reasons, even though Google tells me it’s mostly home to dugongs and dolphins. We hand feed the latter and picnic on the foreshore at Denham. We hike more gorges at Kalbarri National Park, about halfway down the Western Australian coast.
A week later we bypass Perth and land in Margaret River, which in my opinion is home to the best vineyards in Australia. We visit cellar doors, stocking up on gifts for our friends, walk the local farmers markets, and stop by Hamelin Bay where we see giant rays from the shore.
Another week later, we travel through Walpole-Nornalup National Park. The trees around us reach at least a hundred and thirty feet high. “Let’s stop here,” I tell Kyle, pointing to the sign for walking trails. We spend the day hiking and taking photos before heading to our next campsite, pitching our tent in a pretty spot by the water.
After an early night, I wake in the morning with my body sagging into the ground. “What the hell?”
I roll and flail, my air mattress squeaking like a little bitch.
Kyle laughs and I turn. He’s watching me, thoroughly amused. “I’m not here for your entertainment,” I hiss, my back aching from an uncomfortable sleep.
“Someone needs her coffee.”
“Did you poke a hole in my mattress?”
“No, but there’s something poking a hole in my—”
“For the love of god!” I rise up, the knife from beneath my pillow in hand. “I’m gonna stab yours just for that.”
“No!” He laughs, half-rising from his own bed, warding me off with his massive paws. “That damn thing is probably why you woke up on the ground.”
I lunge across the tent, my knife jabbing straight into his inflatable mattress. It tears a long, deep gash in the corner. Air hisses out in a wheezy rush. “What in the actual fuck?” he shouts, falling back with a stunned laugh. “You’re such a bitch!”
The knife drops from my hand, and I double over, gasping with laughter while the airbed deflates around him, sinking him slowly to the ground.
“Now neither of us have a bed!”
“Oh well.” I tuck my knife away. “We can start on those bottles of red tonight until we can’t feel a damn thing, and then it won’t matter.”
I unzip the tent and step out, my jaw cracking from a yawn that stretches my face. “Bring me coffee!” Kyle orders from inside the tent.
I turn my head, sneaking a glance his way. He’s standing over his duffel bag, clad in nothing but a tight pair of bright blue cotton boxer-briefs. It’s almost a physical punch. I linger a moment before I look away, back to the ocean, trying to dispel the image, but my mind won’t let it go. The wide, muscled shoulders, his tattooed arms, the thick washboard abs, his body scarred from combat and a lifetime of hard and heavy training.
I shiver with a sense of longing and have to remind myself that it’s just Bear as I start on the coffee. The same Bear who laughed his ass off when I tripped on the edge of the jetty in Broome and fell in the water. The one who snores like a freight train after one too many beers. The one slowly turning into a mountain man because he hasn’t shaved since we left. The very same Bear who tips his head back each night in his camp chair and makes me scratch his head with my nails while he sits there and whimpers like a little girl.
I snicker to myself.
“What’s so funny?”
Kyle has stepped out of the tent, shirtless and barefoot as he does the button on his hiking shorts. We’re climbing Monkey Rock today. I hand him a full mug of steaming coffee. “Nothing you’d ever understand.”
“Ha!” He sets down his mug and stretches.
My eyes fall to the tattoo on his chest. Little Warrior. “Kyle?”
“Mmm?”
“You never told me why you got that tattoo,” I say, and his eyes follow the direction of my gaze.
He rubs it with the flat of his palm. “I wanted a reminder.”
“A reminder of what?”
Kyle turns and looks at me, his voice gruff. “Of the one person who got me through the darkest time in my life.”
My heart thumps furiously, and I brush across the inked words with tentative fingers. His skin is wonderfully warm. “I did that? For you?”
He takes my fingers, seizing them in his fist. “You did that.”
“But you weren’t there after your mother died.”
“Watching her die was the hardest part.”
“I didn’t even know she had cancer, Kyle. If I knew I could have …”
“You could have what?”
“I don’t know.” Something feels different. Something that makes panic bubble up inside my throat. I step back, pulling my hand free. I need space. I need to think. “Make me some breakfast? I want an early swim.”
I step around him and walk inside the tent, cursing Erin as I shove through an endless array of string bikinis. There’s not a single substantial pair of swimmers in my entire two suitcases.
I spend the day reading on the beach, occasionally watching Kyle as he does stuff around camp—including patching the hole in his mattress. He plugs the electric air pump into the Hilux, and I watch as his bed swells with air.
When he’s done he looks over at me, his expression smug. He carries it towards the tent and disappears inside.
We planned our hike for late afternoon, so when four o’clock rolls around, I get my walking gear on and spend ten minutes searching for my boots. I step outside the tent to ask Kyle if he’s seen them and find him by the car, ready to go, his back to me and phone pressed to his ear.
“How many did you say?” he says and pauses.
“Six? Jesus H.”
After a moment he speaks again. “No, do it. Let me know the cost, and I’ll wire the money. Can you get the photos?”
I start back for the tent.
“I don’t know, but make them good,” he replies, his voice fading out as I step through the unzipped flap. Kyle pokes his head in minutes later. “What’s the hold up?”
I stick my feet inside a slip-on pair of tan-coloured sandals. “I can’t find my boots.”
His eyes drop to my shoes. “You can’t wear those.”
“Well Google says it’s only a thirty-minute climb.”
“Yeah, a steep one. With a shit tonne of snakes.”
“I’ll be fine.”
A little under an hour later my calves are on fire, burning as we climb the steep granite, my toes digging into the slippery sole of my shoes in an effort to keep them on my feet.
“You doing okay?” Kyle asks from behind, his voice a little breathless.
The top is in sight. I tilt my head, offering a smirk before I pick up my pace to a jog as if it’s nothing, all the while my lungs are burning and my legs are ready to collapse beneath me. “Better than you,” I tease, turning around as I dance backwards.
His eyes widen. “Jamie, look out!”
I look behind me and hit the brakes, the edge far closer than it appeared just moments before. I try to stop but my feet catch on rocks and I start to skid, slipping. My legs give out and I hit the ground, sliding. I turn on my belly, scrambling for purchase, rocks tearing at my palms, but there’s nothing to grab hold of.
Fear explodes.
“Jamie!”
Kyle yells my name, but I’m going over. Sliding at a furious pace. With my arms outstretched in front me, I grab at loose rocks and dirt, trying to halt my momentum, clutching for anything. Dirt gets in my eyes, impeding my vision as I go off the edge.
There’s a momentary sense of weightlessness, and I jerk to a stop. Kyle is on his belly, his hand wrapped a
round mine so tight the bones in my fingers crush together. I tilt my head, my legs dangling as I look down at the rocky outcrop at least fifty metres below.
“Look at me!”
I turn back at the shout, blinking through the dust. His face is red, sweaty, his teeth gritting as he pushes himself backwards, slowly pulling me up, his arm straining and veins popping. A shout wrenches from him as I’m dragged upward. With one hard yank, I’m up and over. We both land on our backs, breathing heavy, eyes on the sky as what just happened sinks in.
“Holy shit,” he rasps, rubbing hands over his face.
“I almost went over.” My voice is scratchy, choked with dirt, and my body begins to shake, my lower jaw quivering. “That was so stupid. So fucking stupid.”
Kyle moves in an instant, rolling on top of me, his heavy weight pressing me down, grounding me. “Jamie.”
“I almost went over,” I choke out again, holding both palms against my head, fingers trembling as I gasp for air.
“You’re okay.” Kyle palms my cheeks, his grip almost painful. “You’re okay.”
I don’t feel okay—my heart is hammering a mile a minute—but I nod anyway. Maybe saying it will make it true. “I’m okay.”
Kyle sits up, bringing me with him onto his lap, hugging me to him. His strength surrounds me, yet I can’t stop trembling. He loosens his grip. “You’re shaking.”
I know, but I can’t make it stop.
He lets out a ragged breath while he wipes at the dirt on my forehead, brushing it from my face and hair. “Jesus Christ, Jamie.” His eyes are fierce. “Don’t ever do that again.”
“I won’t.”
“Promise me.”
It’s not a question but a rough command, and even though I can’t predict the future, or what will happen, there’s a need deep inside to wipe the fear from his expression. “I promise.”
Kyle slides his palm around my neck, his calloused skin scraping across my own. He hesitates for the slightest moment, then he lets out a sound. It hums across my skin, sounding something like a growl before he closes the distance between us, his mouth covering mine. My body tightens and butterflies erupt in my stomach. His lips press hard as if he needs to reassure himself I’m still here and breathing. They soften slowly as the scorching sun beats down on us, and he draws back before I can recover from the shock, his warm palm slipping away until it no longer holds me to him.
“Kyle?”
He expels a breath, his eyes on my mouth before looking away. “I shouldn’t have done that. I just reacted. You—”
“Don’t.”
Kyle shakes his head. “It’s just adrenaline. It’ll wear off.” He looks at me briefly before his eyes shift to the edge of the big rock. “We should go.”
He shifts me from his lap. The rejection stings like sunburn even though he was the one who kissed me. “You’re right.” I get to my feet, ignoring the confusion in my heart and the hand he reaches out to help me up with. “We should go.”
My brows knit when he crouches and slides the sandals from my feet. “What are you doing?”
“These stupid things almost got you killed,” he mutters before rising. He heaves them over the edge, one after the other.
My mouth falls open as they soar through the sky before dipping into the forest below, so far down the impact is soundless. “Kyle!”
“Fuck those fucking shoes.”
Laughter bubbles up, bursting free. “You owe me two pairs of shoes now.”
He huffs. “I’ll buy you a thousand pairs. But no heels or sandals. Just boots. That’s all you’re allowed to wear from now on.”
Our return to camp is a quiet one, Kyle giving no indication of what he’s thinking. Usually I’ll cop some teasing after a hike. He’ll dig at my stamina, asking me if I’m worn out and need a nap. Or he’ll shove a handful of dirt down the back of my shorts if I beat him to the summit. But not today. Kyle is subdued, his expression shuttered.
I use the camp facilities to wash my face, and when I get back to our tent, he’s leaving for a shower. I pour two hefty glasses of red wine, a Merlot blend from our visit to the Vasse Felix winery in Margaret River. The cellar door was stunning, fusing a rustic charm with a modern edge. We spent hours tasting wines without spitting. Getting drunk beneath the hot afternoon sun. I remember laughing until I ached.
I can’t quite pinpoint when the weight on my chest began to lift. Weight I’ve been carrying around for what feels like a thousand years. Maybe it was then. Or maybe it was watching the sunrise as we drove through the red rocky ranges. Or when the giant fish caught on my hook, and Kyle abandoned his own line and grabbed me from behind, pulling me into his front to keep me steady, laughing and encouraging me as I reeled it in with a shout.
It could have been anywhere along the way, but as I take a seat in my camp chair, wine in hand, my shoulders feel so much lighter, even though there’s tension humming through my veins.
Did we do the wrong thing? I touch a finger to my lips. Something has shifted between us. The air feels different as I stare out across the water, sipping at my wine.
I turn my head at the sound of the tent zipper. Kyle steps out in a clean shirt and shorts, his hair damp and drops of water still clinging to his skin.
He walks over to the glass of wine I poured him and left on our little camp table. He tips it to his lips, gulping down the entire contents in one go. He pours another and downs that too before looking at me. “Refill?” he croaks.
I hold out my half-empty glass, and he comes towards me with the bottle, filling it until it almost spills over. “Shit.”
“It’s fine.” Kyle watches as I bring the wine to my lips, sipping gently until it recedes to a more manageable level. Then he goes back to the camp table, pouring himself another, emptying the bottle. He sets it down, but he doesn’t pick up his glass. He just stands there, his chest rising in a deep breath.
“Kyle?”
“Mmm?
“Are you okay?”
“Am I okay?” He laughs but the sound isn’t quite right. “Of course I’m okay. I’m just thinking about all the shoes I have to buy you.”
Kyle is trying to make me laugh, but it just makes me want to cry because he’s hurting and I’m the reason why. It’s not just my careless actions on our hike. It’s Kandahar too. I hurt him by not leaning on him. By keeping him in the dark. Would I have told him what happened if I knew he would never see the bruises? I don’t know, and that answer scares me because if I keep shutting Kyle out, I’ll lose him. And I can’t imagine a life without him in it.
“I’m sorry,” I say, but the words sound trite and useless.
“It’s not your fault. I’m the one who threw the shoes.”
“Not about that.”
He turns his head, waiting for me to expand.
“I was stupid and reckless. Just like I always am. I need to stop thinking I’m invincible because it’s exactly that attitude that keeps hurting those I care about. You’re my best friend, Kyle. I don’t want to lose you. I don’t …”
“You don’t what?”
My heart pounds heavy in my chest as I set my glass on the ground beside my chair. I rise and walk over, taking his hands in mine. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
Kyle lets out a shaky breath, blinking moisture from his eyes. “You scared the absolute shit out of me, Jamie. You went over that edge, and I thought that was it. I don’t know what I’d do without you either.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop apologising.”
“I’m sorry.”
Kyle grabs me to him, his fingers digging into my arms as he ducks his head, his lips slamming down on mine. My mouth opens beneath his with a gasp. He sweeps his tongue inside, kissing me with wild, pent up aggression. I moan deep in my throat, responding, my blood heating as he grips me tight, anchoring me against him as if he’s hungered for me for too long.
Oh god.
I fist his shirt in my hands, kissin
g him harder, deeper, surrounded by him, consumed and dizzy. His palms slide down my arms until he’s gripping my ass. He squeezes, groaning as he kisses me.
I’m overwhelmed, shivers erupting across my skin. I wrap my arms around his neck, shoving one of my hands into his hair. The strands skim through my fingers while his tongue strokes mine, and I love how soft they feel, how silky.
He grips me tighter, liking it, and kisses me deeper than I’ve ever been kissed before. My body sags against his and he takes my weight, lifting me until I can’t feel my feet touching the ground. My legs wrap around his middle, holding on as he turns and sets me down on the table. It creaks, barely holding my weight. Neither of us notice.
Kyle tears himself free, my name a ragged groan on his lips. He takes a breath, and another, his forehead pressing to mine. “What are we doing?”
A tremor runs through me. I swallow, caught up in the most intense feeling I’ve ever known. “I don’t know,” I answer honestly, my voice a rasp that I barely recognise.
His lips touch mine. A soft kiss. And another. “Maybe we should stop.” But he kisses me again like he doesn’t want to stop, his mouth drawing away with pained reluctance. “Until we work it out. I don’t want to …”
I nod, my nose bumping his. He doesn’t want to wreck anything. Us. Our friendship. “I don’t either.”
He strokes my bottom lip with the pad of his thumb. It makes me ache for more. His eyes lift to mine, his voice gruff. “You’re so beautiful.”
“So are you,” I whisper.
Kyle’s lips curve slowly. “You think I’m beautiful?”
I sigh at his teasing tone. It’s his way of getting us back on familiar ground, but I can’t work out if it’s relief I’m feeling right now, or disappointment. My shoulders lift in a shrug, and I force a playful expression. “Eh, you’re okay.”
Kyle laughs and lifts me off the table, setting me back on my feet. His hand takes mine, linking our fingers as if he needs some part of himself touching mine. “We should eat something. I’m hungry.”
Fighting Absolution Page 30