///
We get to the crest of the hill and a lake comes into view. "Wow," I breathe. "It's amazing. I just assumed it was all woods down here."
"My dad built it for my brother and me."
I cast a suspicious glance at him. It's not a pond. It's a lake the size of a football field. "He built it? How the hell do you build a lake?"
Will shrugs. "Engineering background and a lot of persistence, I guess."
"Did you guys swim in it?"
"Pretty much all year long. It's built over a hot spring, so it stays warm for the most part."
"Why?" My voice is quiet and uncertain, and I'm embarrassed by the question.
"Why does it stay warm?"
"No. Why would he build it for you?"
Will cocks his head, looking at me as if he's trying to understand something. "Because he loved us. Why else would he do it?"
I don't answer, but the truth is that I can't imagine someone caring about his children that much. I can't imagine anyone caring about anyone that much.
By the time we finish riding, the sun has gone down and the breeze has picked up. The air feels crisp, a hint of fall on the heels of summer.
"So what was the deal with you and Mark Bell?" he asks as we ride back to the stables.
I'm immediately wary. "What do you mean?"
"It takes a whole lot of rage to take a baseball bat to another human being. I figured he must have cheated on you or something."
A small, choked laugh escapes my throat. "No, we weren't dating. I don't date."
"What do you mean you don't date?" he asks, aghast. His tone suggests that I just told him I don't breathe. "Ever?"
I shrug. "If I want to sleep with someone, I don't need him texting me all the time and pretending he actually likes me as a person in order to do it."
He looks more dumbfounded than when I told him about the sleep running. "I don't even know what to say. You can't mean that."
"Why not?"
"Because you should be waiting for someone who actually does like you as a person. And how do you know they're pretending?"
I roll my eyes. "I know my strengths, Will. Likeability isn't high on the list. You'd be the first to attest to it."
"I never said you were unlikeable," he protests.
"You don't have to. It's written all over your face every time you look at me." I sigh, tiring of this whole conversation and glad we're almost done riding so I can escape it. "Don't worry. I'm used to it."
"Olivia, there are guys out there who would actually like you."
"No, there aren't. There may be guys who convince themselves they like the whole package when they actually just like the box it comes in, but they'd figure it out soon enough."
"So you just stick with douchebags," he huffs, "instead of waiting for a decent guy to come along who actually means well?"
"When I'm looking for someone to hook up with," I reply, "the last thing I want is someone who means well. Nothing's less exciting than a guy who's too nice." Because in that one area of my life, I want a guy who isn't scared to take charge. Who's a little bossy and knows exactly what he wants. Someone like … no, I'm not even going to think it.
We dismount and I unsaddle Trixie while he handles the significantly better horse he chose for himself. We finish up at the same time and turn back toward the house.
"Race you?" I challenge, expecting him to refuse.
"Your funeral," he says, taking off. I'm so shocked that it takes me a second to register the fact that he's running at all.
"No fair!" I shout from behind. He slows just enough to let me catch up and then we are flying.
It's my favorite kind of run. The kind where the breeze is warm and blowing at your back and you feel so light and so strong it seems possible you'll take flight. At the very last minute he pulls ahead to win and we both crash into the front porch, laughing.
"You cheated!" I protest.
"How was that cheating?" he demands.
"Because I didn't know you were that fast!" I laugh. "I'd never have challenged you if I thought I might lose."
Dorothy is watching us from the door. "Will, did you never mention to this poor girl that you ran track at ECU too?"
"You?" I gasp, following him inside. "You ran track?"
He shrugs. "You don't have to sound so shocked."
"It's just that you're big," I protest. "I mean, you're not just tall but you know, you're broad shouldered ..." I begin stammering because all of a sudden it sounds like I'm describing him to a teen magazine. "I just meant you're muscular," dammit I'm just making it worse, "and so you carry a lot of weight." It's a relief to finally conclude on a note that doesn't sound like I'm writing porn.
///
I follow them into the dining room reluctantly. Will points to a chair for me to take, and his mother objects. "I raised you better than that," she chides. "Pull her chair out."
"Mom," he growls, "this isn't a date. I'm not pulling her chair out."
"She is a lady," his mother says, "and you always pull out a lady's chair."
He smirks. "I think even Olivia would agree that calling her a lady is a stretch."
I take a minuscule portion of the dinner Dorothy has made. It smells unbelievable, but it will sit in my stomach like a 20-pound dumbbell when I race tomorrow.
"More, Olivia," says Will, glaring at my plate.
"I'm going to get sick," I argue.
"Not as sick as you will if you don't eat enough. No more fainting episodes."
Under his watchful eye, I consume everything on my plate. The joke will be on him when I can't run tomorrow because I'm carrying an extra pound of pasta in my stomach.
After dinner, Will and I clear the table. He tells me to go sit and I ignore him, silently grabbing a dish towel. I stand on tiptoes to put a bowl away on the top shelf of a cabinet.
"I got it," he says, coming up behind me and taking it from my hands. I turn just as his arms come down and find myself facing him, our chests touching, his arm brushing against mine as it descends.
It's not just that he's close-it's that I feel enveloped by him. The sheer size of him, the power that lies in his muscles, coiled tight even at rest, makes me feel like I can't breathe.
It's as if the part of my brain that has any common sense has shut down. The only part still functioning is the part that notices the smell of his skin, the way his breathing has gone shallow, the tiny scar on the bridge of his nose and the look in his eye, vanquished as quickly as it appears, that is different from anything I've ever seen from him before.
For a single moment, I think his brain shut down too.
After I've put on the running clothes I sleep in, there's a knock on the door. Dorothy pops her head in and smiles. "Just making sure you didn't need anything. I used to make Will drink a glass of warm milk the night before a meet. Would you like one?"
I feel a pang of envy and joy simultaneously. "No, thank you," I say, stumbling over my words a little. "I'm fine."
"Okay." She grins. "Sleep tight."
I lie down and turn the lamp off. I imagine Will here once upon a time, getting tucked in. A part of me is jealous, but I'm glad he had this growing up. Even if I could take this memory, make it my own instead of his, I wouldn't.
I feel peaceful, imagining him here, and it makes me feel safe knowing he's on the other side of the door. It seems possible that tonight I won't even dream.
23
Will
I exhale with a groan when she finally goes to bed.
I've spent the last three hours pretending to not be completely freaked out by what happened in the kitchen. When she turned and I found her pressed against me like that, looking up at me with those big eyes and that mouth of hers, a mouth which could inspire bad thoughts at any hour of the day-and has-I didn't just think about kissing her. I planned on it. Some baser part of me took charge and demanded a hundred different things it had wanted before I came to my senses.
I must have been out of my mind.
She does that to me. She does that to everyone as far as I can tell, but it's only me I'm worried about. It's not just that I'd lose my job. It's that it's wrong. She trusts me. She's counting on me to help her with this, make her the runner she is capable of being, and there I was not just imagining kissing her but getting ready to actually do it.
She can't stay here again. I'll explain the situation to Peter in the morning, the way I should have when I first found out. The school may very well be forced to take her off the team. Keeping someone on board with psychological issues like that makes them liable if something goes wrong, which is the reason I never told him in the first place, but maybe he can come up with something else. Maybe if she agrees to counseling he can find some female chaperone on nights before meets. All I know is it can't be me.