Learning to Drown (23 page)

We came to a brief clearing where the
woods opened up a bit. The field was pristine. White and perfect. A physical
manifestation of peace. Something in my chest felt a bit softer, some tight
part of me loosened. I glanced at Lucas in my peripheral vision, not ready to
say I had been a jerk. I so wanted
him
to for once admit to being less
than perfect. To admit that he had been overtly cruel to me. That it had been
wrong. He didn’t. But he did shock me by saying softly “The scar you are
obsessed with, the one you touch–and the one on my jaw for that matter–is from
the last fight I had with my father.” He kept his head straight and he didn’t
look at me. I felt like if he did turn and face me the spell would be broken
and he’d clam up again. So, I didn’t turn to look his way, instead I watched
the fresh snow powdering the already packed field of white.

“I told him I wanted to go to college.
I’d set up the financial aid. I’d done everything I needed to do. Matthew was
his responsibility then and I was off to college to start my life.”

I waited, feeling my chest clog with
fear of something that had already happened. Something I could not change for
him and yet wished I could. My eyes stung from the wind and impending tears.

“We got into it. Fists and he had a
can opener in his hand when he clocked me. He didn’t attack me with it. Not
intentionally. He was drunk and honestly I think he forgot that he had it in
his hand. He said fine. Go. Matthew would be fine. He had a father. And I
should never come back.”

I drew a line in the snow with the toe
of my boot. I waited. I listening. I did not speak. I was silence incarnate.
For once.

“Then he passed out. I knew he was
leaving the next day for a long haul. I knew he wouldn’t change his life. I
knew that was what Matthew would have for support, as a role model. And I knew
I couldn’t do it. So, I slapped some butterfly bandages on my wounds and I left
the house. But only until he left for his job the next day. He was killed on
that haul. The truck jackknifed, there was speculation he was drunk, but the
life insurance paid out and I became Matthew’s legal guardian.”

He started walking. Without another
word. I stumble-ran a few steps and caught up with him. I reached out and put
my hand in his. I knew there was the chance he’s reject me, but I did it
anyway. I felt his fingers stiffen but then he took my hand and we walked.
After a moment Lucas said “I don’t want your pity.”

“Good, because you don’t have my
pity.”

I stopped and tugged, forcing him to
either pull free and keep going or stop and face me. He stopped. I stood on
tiptoe and kissed him. I didn't say I was sorry, I didn't try to analyze. I
simply kissed him and kept kissing him until his tense lips softened and he
pushed his hands into my hair, cupping my head, holding me tight, he took over
the kiss and blissfully bullied my tongue into submission. I pressed myself to
the hard warm length of his body, soaking up his heat, feeling the rigid planes
of his muscles. Lucas broke the kiss and we turned back to the trail.

I started to shake from the cold. It
was too much. Too much emotion and turmoil, too much had happened and my body
felt like I’d been creamed by a car. A physical manifestation of my confusion
and worry and hope for him to…what? Love me?

Yes.

At the top of the hill the land fell
away in a steep slope that eventually leveled out to the shores of a lake.
“Here is the last place I felt like a kid,” he said. "Matthew and I came
here right before they contacted us about dad. We drank pilfered beers and
tossed rocks. Fished a little, blared music, shared the girl who lived about a
mile up the road."

I laughed, shaking my head. “Even
then?”

“Actually, that was the first time.
And I want you to know something. It’s not every girl. It’s not every time.
It’s more about this weird power thing we have. He thinks the power lies in
being the young one–me needing to care for him. I think it comes with being the
eldest, the provider. I’m not blind to the fact that lots of people would frown
on what we do. But we only do it if it’s welcome. And I know it’s strange to
some folks, but no harm, no foul.”

“No harm, no foul,” I said. “Right.”

“You’d be surprised at how many women
want—”

“Um, no I wouldn’t,” I said and
smiled. “But look out there and realize that Matthew is a grown man now. You
don’t have to care for him. You can have things for yourself and he can care
for himself. You taught him how, right?”

“I don’t know.”

“You did.” I turned away, putting my
back to the wind that seemed to be whipping right through me. I had started to
shake. The tremors were unsettling but I didn’t want him to see.

He did anyway. “Hey, what’s this?”

“I have no idea. I’m just so tired. So
cold. It’s fine. It is snowing after all. Cold is a pretty normal way to be.” I
laughed but the chills that wracked me so suddenly made him frown. He felt my
head.

“You’re warm. Not burning up but
warmer than you should be. Let’s go, let's get you home.”

Lucas took my arm, the other hand
resting at the small of my back as he piloted me down the path back toward the
cabin.

“I feel like an ass,” I said, my teeth
chattering.

“You’re sick.”

“I’m weak, is what you mean.”

“No. I mean you’re sick. And probably
exhausted. It might simply be exhaustion. You’ve had a bit of a…week. As my
favorite teacher in grade school used to say. Mrs. Scully was prone to saying
it’s
been a week
when it was only Tuesday,” he said.

My heart panged like a guitar string
breaking. His tone said me that Mrs. Scully was the closest thing in Lucas’s
mind associated with a mother. “It has been a week,” I said, a shiver working
through me with a vengeance.

He wrapped an arm around my shoulder
and hustled me along. I’d be a liar if I didn’t admit I liked his coddling
attention. That I liked that—maybe, just maybe-- he was regretting making me
sleep alone last night.

“Yes, it has. And some of yours has
been due to me. I’m not good at emotions. Especially mine. It’s complicated.”

“You mean you’re complicated?”

“I mean
it’s
complicated. Life.
Things that make me feel–or hell–think, or question, or want…”

“Want what?”

“More than I should have.”

“You should have it all,” I said.
“You're brave and loyal. You’re kind.” My tongue felt too big and my brain felt
like it might float right out the top of my head. I tried to go on. “You’re
strong like no one else I know. And you're handsome.”

“You okay?”

I could hear the mushy quality of my
words but couldn’t seem to sharpen them. I gave him a nod and the world swayed.
“Fine, fine,” I insisted. I would be fine. “You’re funny, too,” I barreled on,
my tongue tripping over itself, my words smashing against one another and I
felt him stiffen next to me, on alert. “I mean, you could cut loose once in a
while and really laugh. But in your own way you are fucking funny,” I said, the
last word coming out
fenneh
.

“Ember?”

“And I think you should catch me now,”
I said, my voice going wispy and my knees buckling. Then I was falling,
falling, falling toward a field of white. But at the last minute I didn’t hit,
I had big strong warm arms around me. I sighed.

“Let’s get you home, September,” he
said.

“Let’s get me home,” I said. My world
was gray around the edges with little flashes of magic white light in the
center. My head hurt suddenly and I was cold to the core. “Let’s get me home,”
I said again.

“Jesus. I’m sorry.” His words were
soft and dark and full of pain.

Oddly I felt no victory in that
apology. I just wanted to make it better for him. I wanted him to get it, but I
couldn’t really form any thoughts beyond
cold
at the moment. I shook my
head but the world rocked.

“No,” I said.

“No what?”

Then the gray ate up the little white
bits and I was out.

Chapter 27

Had he tied me up! Really. Was this
the time for sex games? I struggled, and pushed and whipped my body around. It
was not lost on me even in my muzzy headed state that this was very much how
Lucas Crow had found me. And now here I was again.

I felt warm hands on my belly, sliding
to my hipbones, pinning me. But I was pinned to something soft and comfortable
not some horrid box. I felt his presence then. He’d pressed his lips to my
cheek and said, a smug smile in his voice “Stop struggling. It’s only your
sweater. I’m trying to get you in some warm dry clothes.”

I blew out a breath and then the panic
truly set in and I shivered with the rush of tears. I refused to make any noise
though. I could leak but I would not sob. He tugged once more and the sweater
pulled free of my snow-damp hair. “There. Now we can--” He paused, stone carved
face going from satisfied to confused. “Why are you crying? Did you hurt
yourself?”

I shook my head. “I’m not crying,” I
said and a wave of cold washed over my bones. My body jerked and trembled and
Lucas shook his head, annoyed with me, or just in general.

“September, you are crying.” He dried
my breasts and my arms and my neck with a soft towel. He tugged the new red
thermal over my head and pushed my arms in the holes. Then Lucas unbuttoned my
sodden jeans. When the shiver overtook me, he dropped a throw blanket over my
naked skin while he dealt with my jeans.

“No I’m not. It’s snow.” I turned my
face to the wall, not helping him with my jeans and not fighting him. I was
suddenly too tired to do either one.

He stilled and sighed mightily.
Wearily if you must know. “Ember, look.” He dipped his fingertip in the silent
trickle of upset leaking out o my eyes and then chuckled. “I know you’re
stubborn but snow is not leaking out of your eyes. Why are you crying?”

“I don’t know.”

“Yes, you do.” The jeans were off and
the towel was back on my skin. My skin felt hot and then instantly cold and he
pulled a warm pair of sweats on. His. He seemed to know somewhere in his
stubborn male self that his clothing would be more comforting to me than mine.

“Tell me.”

Instead I changed the subject. “That’s
rather advanced, you know.”

He dropped to the sofa next to me,
brown eyes slightly golden in the early afternoon sun. “What are you talking
about? Are you delirious, woman?”

“The sweatpants,” I said. “They’re
yours.”

“They were closer.”

“You’re lying,” I said, wrapping my
own arms around myself. “You knew that your clothes would make me feel safer and
more cared for than my own. Offer a girl your jacket if she’s cold is
Women
101
. Dress her in your clothes if she’s sick or injured or sad is
definitely
Women 102
.”

“I think your fever’s spiked,” he
laughed.

“Who taught you that?” I pressed.

He was getting pissed. I could see it,
but at least I’d stopped crying.

Lucas grabbed my foot and I yelped but
then he slipped my foot into one of the bulky wool socks he’d bought me. “No
one taught me anything. I put you in my sweats because I did. There is your answer.”

“Why?” I pulled my foot away. “Tell
me.”

He stared at me, mouth open, plump and
kissable and yes, annoyed. I almost laughed.

“Because I did.”

“Tell me,” I said. I leaned in close
and when he reached for me, I yanked myself back. I was blazing hot, I was
freezing cold. His big hand clamped down on my wrist and trapped my racing
pulse under his thumb. My nipples spiked and goose bumps raced across my skin.

“You must be high,” he said. “You’re
provoking me.” His jaw set with a mix of amusement and anger.

“Are you scared to tell me?” I
prompted.

“There is no reason."

“You’re afraid,” I said. He pushed my
hair back off my forehead.

“Ember,” he tried to be gentle.

“It’s okay that you’re too scared to
tell me,” I said. Dead silence. This tactic would work.

“I am not scared.”

“Tell me." I had learned my
interrogation techniques from kindergartners it seemed. “Tell me, tell me, tell
me!”

His jaw clenched in anger and then
“Because I wanted to!” he boomed. His voice bounding off the exposed beam
ceiling like some blind winged thing. I reared back but he held me tight. My
body raced with chills and then my nipples spiked again. I felt the fever
everywhere. “ I wanted to put you in the goddamn sweat pants because…”

His hand still wrapped around my
wrist, he yanked and I yelped but then he pressed his lips to my pulse point
silencing himself. “You what?”

He shook his head, licked my skin. I
hummed. The fever was in all of me. Heat under my arms, a molten lust between
my legs. My head felt full of cotton and heat and my body craved him in the
same way I craved water. “No,” he said.