“That’s right. Leave,” says Blake.
His voice is full of sarcastic taunt. If I didn’t know him better I’d swear he wanted a fight. In my experience, running is always better.
Colton stands up and nods but there’s this weird tension in the air.
I snuggle more into Blake and the smell of rum hits me more and I want to ask him what’s up, but now this is not the time.
“Why didn’t you text me you were coming? I would have waited for you.”
“I don’t know why I came back,” he says, turning away from me.
The breeze has picked up. I grab his arm, attempting to lighten the mood. “Listen, Blake, what’s wrong?”
He shakes out of my hold and I try not to feel hurt but fail.
“Nothing. You stay here and have some fun. Thought I was up for some company, but turns out I’m not. That guy can probably give you what you’re looking for. Sorry I came.”
I reclaim his arm. “What are you talking about? I was just chatting with him. I don’t even know him.”
“That hasn’t stopped you before.”
What’s that supposed to mean? Now I’m spitting mad and I’m wondering if this guy knows me at all or even if he cares. Sad that I care what he thinks about me “I thought I wanted to be with you, but I’m not going with you if you’re going to be an asshole.”
“You don’t really mean that?”
“Mean you’re being an ass? You bet I do. I’ve spent enough of my life with that type and never again.”
He shakes his head and just like that I get it. He’s hurting over the death of his father and being angry at the world is easier than dealing with your own personal grief.
I haul him closer, feeling how stiff his body is but within seconds he’s engulfed in a hug. With the bonfire at our back, I notice how red his eyes look. God, I can’t imagine how he’s handling things. I pull him in for a solid hug, trying to let him feel with my body that I’m here for him “Let’s go to your cabin.”
There’s a questioning look in his eyes for a second and then he says, “I’m not good company. You really should stay. I think I might be really be an ass tonight.”
“I’m a big girl and can make my own decisions. I want to go to your place.”
I’m about to say something, when his lips claim mine. We shouldn’t be kissing like this in public, but damn if I care at that moment. I latch onto his head and sink my fingers into his silky hair. He does the same and within seconds I’m all hot and bothered for him.
When finally I pull back I’m hoping for that famous grin of his.
“Seriously, Alyssa, if you come back to the cabin I want to be with you but tonight I’m not feeling myself. Maybe the timings for us is off.”
I shiver with want and instantly feel my nipples harden and become breathless. “You’ve missed me.”
“More than you can imagine,” he says as I lean my head on his chest, inhaling his unique scent.
I get that he let slip that admission, but I’m holding on to it like the root of a new flower—willing a beginning for us. I wonder how a guy I’ve only known for days could wrap himself around me as tight as the bristly roses I’ve come to love in the mountains. I sigh when I realize I’ve fallen head over heels for Blake and for the first time it hurts me that he doesn’t know the real me. “I’m so sorry about your father.”
One of his hands has crawled under the back of my shirt to play with my bare skin and I have to pay attention to his words which isn’t easy when his touch is so distracting.
“God, Alyssa, I can’t talk about it. It’s all my fault.”
I’m stunned. “It’s not your fault, Blake, and we’re going to your cabin, now.”
He lets me pull him down the walk. “Alyssa, this is not a good idea.”
I ignore his statement and we continue in silence down the walk. It takes us a good forty minutes to reach his cabin. On the way we keep to safe topics. He tells me all about his quick flight, the hospital staff who were wonderful and then the realization that this really was it. I don’t offer a lot of wisdom because I don’t have much experience with death, but I do offer him my heart, if only he can hear it whispering my tender words.
At his cabin, I’m the one to open the door and he walks through. I notice the bottle of rum on the table and cringe when he pours two glasses. He downs both and like he only then remembers I’m there offers me a drink. Walking over, I pour myself a stiff one.
He doesn’t say anything as I pull him toward the sofa.
“How are you feeling, for real?