Authors: J. Daniels
She slowly turns her head. Her eyes, more green than brown today, narrow in on mine. “Yeah? You know what else has a nice view of the lake? Our campsite. Maybe even the car. Why don’t we go check?”
“I can carry you,” I offer, attempting not to smile at her quick-witted apprehension. “I wouldn’t mind it.”
“You are not carrying me,” she scoffs, yanking out of my grip. “I’m capable of getting there myself. And you know what?”
“What?”
She leans in, standing on her toes to get closer, her hands curling around her hips, her face so near to mine I can see the freckles she’s hiding underneath her makeup. “That’s exactly what I’m going to do, Mason, because contrary to what you think, I fucking
love it
out here.”
Brooke lets out a tiny squeak, spins around, and sprints through the tall grass like something is chasing her.
My mouth stretches into a grin.
Fuck, baby. Look at you. Always surprising me.
She makes it to the boulder and, with frantic hands, tries to claw her way on top of it, but her footing slips on the smooth rock. “No! Goddamn it, no!”
Laughing, I follow behind and reach the boulder just as she slips again. Even with a running start, she’s too short to get up here alone. I toss my bag on top of the rock to free up my hands.
“Here, my little nature lover,” I say against her hair, grabbing her waist and hoisting her up onto the rock.
She thanks me through a breathy pant and shifts over to make room.
I climb up with ease and sit on the warm stone. Reaching for my bag, I watch Brooke scoot to the ledge and look out over the tree-line.
She’s tousled and winded. Her hair is coming undone, several thick pieces falling beside her face and sticking to her neck, barely any of it still contained in her pony. Her skin is flushed and shiny from the bug spray. A light dusting of dirt clings to her legs.
I want to freeze this moment. I want to be able to sit here and do absolutely nothing, just stare at this woman for hours and hours. Bask in the stunningly unpolished version of the temptress I met on the footpath that first day.
Fuck, how wild she was then. Luring me. Making it so I couldn’t remember ever seeing anyone else.
She’s still just as brilliantly captivating as she always is in any arrangement. The little wolf or the docile sheep. I’ll take every layer of Brooke. Anything and everything.
You’re a wreck for her, mate. This is a lot more for you now.
My world seems to slow.
Brooke moves from her perch to sit on the other side of the bag. She tucks some hair behind her ear, looks up at me through those long, dark lashes, and winks. That’s it. Nothing more than a bloody wink, and a commanding warmth spreads in my chest like kerosene poured over an open flame.
Yeah, I’m a fucking wreck all right.
I wipe my hand across my mouth, collecting myself before I speak. She grimaces at the dampness beading on her brow when she touches her fingers to her skin.
“You look pretty,” I tell her, ducking my head to see her eyes. “Really fucking pretty.”
She shrugs, laughing a little as she drops her hand. “Thanks. I’m sweaty.”
“Yeah.”
“Yeah,” she echoes, fighting a smile. Her gaze shifts between my face and the bag as she crosses her legs beneath her. “What did you pack to eat? I could murder some food right now.”
I unzip the pouch and pull out what I grabbed from the cooler before we took off this morning.
Bread with some almond butter, apple slices cut and drizzled with lemon to keep from browning, trail mix, two protein bars, and some fruit leather.
I hand Brooke a bottle of water and set the food between us with some napkins.
“Anything edible in there?” she asks through a chuckle, poking at the fruit leather. “This . . . I’m not going to lie. It looks like a shoelace.”
I hand her a cookie dough flavored protein bar. “Eat this.”
Her eyes flicker with delight as she reads the package. She tears it open with her teeth and takes a bite, her jaw working through one full chew before it locks up. Our eyes meet. Her nose wrinkles in disgust. She drops the bar and grabs her water, tipping it back and swallowing the bite she took.
“That tastes like glue,” she mumbles, wiping the back of her hand against her mouth. She shoots me a disapproving look. “You packed glue bars and shoelace, Mason. Congratulations, we’re going to starve to death.”
I take a bite of my sandwich, grinning. “We can always hunt for food. Have you ever tried squirrel? It tastes like chicken.”
“Me? Oh, yeah. I eat squirrel all the time. It’s all I usually eat when I camp.” She grabs the bag of apples and opens it on her lap, stretching her legs out in front of her. “Can’t we hike to a McDonalds or something? Or a Chick-fil-A? I need a six piece nugget to make my life right.” She crosses her ankles and snaps into an apple slice.
I’m smiling, amused at her reaction to the lunch I packed, until something small and black on Brooke’s calf catches my attention.
I know what it is. I know
exactly
what it is. Ticks are an unfortunate hazard to camping, one I didn’t warn her about.
Fuck.
She must’ve picked it up when she ran through the tall grass. I would’ve noticed it on her before. I’ve been staring at her legs all morning.
I need to act fast and get it off.
I also need to keep her oblivious to it.
“What would you order at Chick-fil-A, if we hiked there?” I ask, reaching into the outer pouch on my bag and feeling around for the supplies I need. My hand closes around a small metal instrument. I pull it out and search for my lighter and medical kit.
“Mm. A number one, extra pickles. And a cookies and cream milkshake on the side.” She takes another bite of apple. “Or a wrap. They have good wraps.”
“Sounds good.”
“Better than squirrel,” she laughs through a shake of her head. “Which I’m sure doesn’t taste anything like chicken.”
I set out my supplies and put the bag down, pushing the food out of the way. Scooting closer, I wrap my hand around her knee and gently hold it. “Brooke, I need you to stay still, yeah? Don’t move.”
“What?” Her leg jumps. The apple she’s holding falls on top of the bag. “What are you doing? Why do you have tweezers?”
“You have a tick on your leg.”
“WHAT? Oh, my God, where?” She sits up and gasps. Her entire body jerks. “Mason! Get it off!”
I squeeze her leg and look up into her round, panicky eyes. “Baby, relax. I’m going to get it off.”
“Have you done this before?” she asks, her voice shaking. Tears filling her eyes and those pouty lips quivering.
I nod. I would nod right now even if I didn’t know what the fuck I was doing. I don’t want Brooke to be scared. Her face is killing me.
“Yeah. Plenty of times. Trust me. Can you hold still? That’s all I need you to do.”
“Oh, God,” she whispers, blinking hard and sending the tears down her face. Her leg remains tense beneath my hand, but she doesn’t resist me. “O-Okay. Just don’t mess up.”
“I won’t.”
“Mason.” She puts her hand on top of mine, gripping me tight. Our eyes meet. “Please. Don’t mess up.”
I stare at her as she slowly pulls away. “I won’t,” I promise, letting her see my conviction, making sure she hears it in my steady voice. “Hold still and you’ll be right.”
She nods and blinks away.
Looking down at her leg, I grip the tweezers and position them over the tick, slowly advancing. I pinch as close to Brooke’s skin as I can get and gently pull the fucker straight up, making sure to remove the mouth. I blow out a quick breath when I see I have all of it.
“All right there, sweetheart?” I ask, picking up the lighter.
“No,” she quietly replies, her face turned away. “Just tell me when it’s over.”
I burn the tick with it still pinched in the tweezers. When I’m certain it’s dead, I dispose of it off the rock and open up my kit. I kneel next to Brooke. “Just going to clean the area. I’m finished. It’s gone now.”
Brooke nods and wipes at her face. She still isn’t looking at me. Her tear-filled eyes are fixated on the tree line.
Once I disinfect and bandage the wound, I clean my hands and rub her leg. “There. See? That wasn’t so terrible, was it?”
I immediately regret my words when her head drops between her shoulders.
With a quiet sob, she breaks. My strong, determined girl crumbles, crying into her hands, her tiny body drawing in on itself like a wounded animal.
“Hey, come here.” I pull her into my arms, crushing her to my chest as she continues to sob. I push her sweaty hair out of her face and kiss her cheek. “Shh. Baby, it’s okay. You’re okay. It’s over, yeah? Does it hurt?”
She shakes her head and clutches onto my shirt. “I hate it here,” she cries, rubbing her face into my neck, her body shaking as she draws me closer. “I hate hiking. I hate all of it. Bugs and my smelly bug spray. All those trees you pointed out. The flowers. Fuck, I hate flowers, Mason. I fucking hate them.”
She sniffs and cries some more. I hold her tighter, running my fingers through her hair and rubbing her back.
“I was lying when I said I loved it. I don’t love it at all. I want to go.”
I press a kiss to her temple. “Okay. We can go.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Hey.” I tilt her chin up.
Her face is red, streaked with tears. Her eyes swollen and sad. She looks miserable and scared, and the worst part is she wouldn’t look this way if it wasn’t for me.
I did this.
I brought her out here and made her uncomfortable. I saw her anxiety and kept fucking pushing because I thought she’d enjoy what we were doing. Maybe not all of it, and maybe not right away, but like everything else with Brooke, I was willing to wait for that moment. Guide her to where I wanted her to be with me.
Fucking selfish is what I am. She probably hates me for this, and if she does I don’t blame her. I feel like the biggest arsehole on the planet.
“Come on.”
I stand, bringing her with me and setting her on her feet. I quickly pack everything away into my bag.
I don’t give her the chance to help. She shouldn’t have to. This is all my doing. My bloody mess I need to clean up.
Same goes for the campsite.
Once we make it back, Brooke stands off to the side while I pack up the tent and stow our belongings into our separate bags. I load up my arms with the gear and the cooler. She grabs the sleeping bag, squeezing it against her chest just like she did when we arrived yesterday. Her head stays lowered as she stares at the ground.
Fuck. She can’t even look at me now.
“I’m sorry, Brooke,” I tell her, ready to drop to my knees and beg for this woman’s forgiveness.
She lifts her eyes and nods, acknowledging me, then drops her chin against the sleeping bag and hugs it tighter.
With a jerk of my head, I motion for her to walk in front on the path that leads to the parking lot.
She’s ready to go. I won’t keep her here any longer.
The trip home is different than every other time I’ve been in the car with Brooke. I’m the one turning up the volume on the stereo, but not because I’m anxious or avoiding conversation.
I hate silence. I hate how quiet we’re both being, but somehow I know she prefers music to hearing my voice right now.
She’s completely shut off from me. Head turned and eyes engaged out the window. She hasn’t looked at me once since we pulled out of the lot. I doubt she wants to talk.
I park in front of the studio and grab Brooke’s bag out of the back of the car. I’m ready to carry it for her when she blocks my path with her body and with quick hands, takes the bag away from me.
“It’s fine. I got it.” She slides it up her arm and over her shoulder, huffing a loud breath after. Her eyes slowly reach mine.
She looks unsure of what to say next, if anything.
I’m unsure too.
I take a step back and gesture at her leg. “Clean that again when you get home, and keep some antibiotic ointment on it. You should be fine, but if it gets infected or you start running a fever, you need to go to the hospital.”
Brooke’s eyes widen marginally. She glances down at her leg, uttering a soft, “fucker,” before shaking her head and looking back up at me. Her shoulders sag. “All right. Anything else?”
I feel my eyebrows draw together.
Anything else? Is she dismissing me?
Running a quick hand through my hair, I lift the other between us, then lower it with an exhausted sigh. “I don’t know, Brooke. Is there?”
My voice sounds tight and hoarse. I feel like something’s got a grip around my throat.
She stares at me like I’ve just asked her the most absurd question, her eyes hard and searching. Then, as if snapping out of a trance, she blinks away, tilting her head and wiping a hand along the line of her neck.
“Ugh. I need to take about fifty showers. I’m going to go do that and then coat my body in disinfectant.”
Spinning around, not giving me another look or word, Brooke clears traffic and hurriedly crosses the street.
I watch her get into her car. I watch her pull away and disappear around the corner.
I stand there, dumbfounded, my mouth slack, my mind reeling with confusion.
What the fuck? Is that it? Is that how this is going to end between us?
Sure, Brooke has every right to be angry with me. Sure, I fucked up dragging her out into the middle of nowhere this weekend and pushing her to try new things, but what about everything else?
The dates. Our talks and the way she opens up to me when it’s just us. Last night in the fucking tent. Does none of that matter?
I slump back against the side of my car and scrub both hands down my face. Tension pulls at my muscles. I feel stiff and tight all over.
I need a long run. Hours on the pavement.
I practice yoga daily. It calms my mind, but nothing substitutes the mental and physical workout a hard as fuck run will give you. I want to be too tired to think. Running will do that.
Haphazardly unloading my camping gear into the studio, not even bothering to take it upstairs, I lock up behind me and go through a few stretches to loosen up. I hit the footpath with quick strides, running down and back up Fayette Street, through alleys and behind businesses. I run faster, harder, down streets I’ve never been down before and ones that are familiar.