Two Weeks (37 page)

My senses have never been so heightened in my life. His musk is so manly and pungent, one of the most comforting odors I've known. Our skin seems to touch in tiny points of warm electricity. He looks as gorgeous and powerful as ever, his body just as sculpted as classic Greek statues. And I'm fully aware of every groan and grunt and word he says while we send each other into sexual bliss.

I'm too wound up to think straight, and I love it. I wish I could just vacuum-pack everything I'm feeling and take it home with me so I can enjoy it later, just as fresh as it is now.

The extensive caffeine dosage keeps me from passing out, and I think that frustrates Jackson—as usual. I come until I basically can't anymore, but I remain awake. He's absolutely relentless, doing his damndest to seize the moment in the most over-the-top way possible.

It's really incredible and it's clear I'm going to remember this night for a long time.

Finally, we wind down and cuddle together. I realize I'm definitely going to be naked until I leave.

We've both got a lot to say, but neither of us wants to talk and disturb the moment. But finally he does.

"It'll be okay," he whispers. "You'll find some hedge-fund guy or actor or something and live happily ever after."

"Oh, shut up," I say. "I'm tired of the super-professional guys. I mean, that sure as hell didn't work out for me last time. I wish I could just throw you in a suitcase and bring you back with me."

"It would have to be a giant suitcase," he says. "And you'd probably have trouble rolling it around. The wheels would probably break. And I don't think security would—"

"Okay, okay. You've ruined my little fantasy," I say, cutting him off. "The hot guy in the suitcase. You've proved that it can never work. Thanks a lot."

And then his stomach grumbles twice as loud as his voice just was. "I really need to eat something or I'm gonna get jittery. I chugged that energy drink and then we just dove in bed."

I laugh as he climbs out of bed and leaves the room, totally naked. "Are you putting on any clothes?" I call.

"No," he says. "And neither should you."

I shrug and hop out of bed to join him, hand across my breasts as I jog down the stairs. He throws some butter in a pan and cooks half a dozen eggs for himself. I'm still stuffed from my mom's epic dinner, so this is all for him.

"God, I could cook all day long if I had you to look at in the background."

I grin at him. "Maybe you should work in a restaurant."

He gives me a quizzical look. "I don't think it would have the same effect."

After the eggs are done, he douses them in hot sauce and wolfs down the pile. I watch in amazement as they vanish before my eyes.

He slams the plate down on the counter when he's done. "God, you're so fuckin' hot," he whines. "
And
you're leaving me. This is like torture. Isn't that illegal?"

I pause. "If we're both torturing each other, does that make it okay?"

"I don't know," he says. He looks over at the clock on the wall—it's almost two. "But I do know I've only got a couple more hours with you and I think we should go back to bed."

I'm okay with his suggestion.

We get back into our cuddling position, spooning with him behind me. He holds me close to his body and I feel so safe with him under the warm blankets. As soon as we settle down, I'm overwhelmed with emotion.

Tears quickly form in my eyes. "I'm so sorry that I did that earlier," I say. I fight back the urge to cry. "I didn't expect to...
feel
so much."

"Me either," he whispers. "I'm mad that I let myself get so carried away. And I'm also really glad that I did."

"It's the same for me," I admit. He said exactly what I was thinking. I turn and face him, raw and exposed, with tears and weakness. "I wish I didn't have to go." I kiss his lips with desperate, short, small kisses. Tears stream across my lips and tinge them with saltiness.

I feel hollowed out. Like a piñata with no candy.

Jackson holds me and doesn't let go. "You know, I could just keep you here and you wouldn't be able to leave."

"Maybe you should," I say pathetically.

His laugh rumbles through my whole body. "Yeah, and then I'll go jail for kidnapping. Great plan."

I laugh with him, the laugh cutting right through my sorrows, disarming them. It's nice.

We spend the rest of our time just like that, not moving, locked into place like we were made to fit together that way, two human puzzle pieces.

When it's finally time to go, I dress myself slowly, hating the feeling of any material against my skin. Wearing clothes reminds me that I have to go out in the world and leave Jackson behind. I have to leave him in Red Lake and go away.

Very few words are exchanged as I prepare to leave. I use the bathroom and drink a glass of water. The sun has yet to emerge and I can barely believe that I just spent the whole night awake. I never do all-nighters. This is a rare occasion indeed.

"So this is it," I say. I stare down at my feet again.

"Yep. This is it." I look up—Jackson put on a pair of familiar workout shorts to see me out. I'm really going to miss those shorts and the incredible body they clothe.

I hug him as hard as I possibly can, almost like I'm trying to squeeze the life right out of him and take it with me. Thankfully, he limits his own hug strength. If he really wanted to, he
could
squeeze the life right out of me.

"Don't forget about me," he says. "I might just be some loser from Red Lake but—"

"Shut up," I snap. "I was wrong about all of this. I really love it here."

"You made it better than ever," he says. "I never thought I'd feel this happy again."

I give him a long, good kiss, running my hands down his body. One last time feeling him up. We freeze and I don't want to move.

And then my alarm starts going off on my phone, incessant, shrill beeping. "Dammit," I complain. "I thought I shut that off." I wrestle it out of my purse and kill the noise.

Jackson smiles. "Let me know when you get home. Send me a text or call or something."

"I will." Tears stream down my face again.

"You did good,
Alligator
," he says softly. "Seriously."

I can't stop crying. "Shut up," I say, pathetic giggles breaking through the tears. "It's such a stupid name." Although Jackson is smiling, he doesn't actually look happy.

"It's fine," he says.

We both fall silent again as time crawls. At this rate, I'm never going to leave. I have to snap out of it.

I plant several more firm kisses on his lips and then I turn and walk out. "Bye, Jackson." I reach out and touch his hand one last time.

He stands there on the porch and watches me go. I'm unwilling to look back. I've got too much waiting for me. I can't delay anymore. My vacation days are pretty much wiped out and I don't want to lose my job—even though I want to stay.

I throw the suitcase into the backseat and open the driver's side door. I look for the bunnies one last time, but I don't see them.

"Ally?" I hear from the house.

Jackson's running right toward me.

What's he gonna say?
My mind goes absolutely crazy. He stops right next to me.

"Yeah?" I ask. The anticipation is killing me.

"You forgot this," he says, bringing his arm up from behind his back—it's my third energy drink.

Air rushes out of my lungs, and my breathing goes back to normal. I'm so nuts right now. "I'm definitely going to need it. Thanks."

Jackson smiles. "I thought so. Oh, and one more thing."

I cock my head toward him. I fight to keep myself under control this time. "Yeah?"

He leans toward me and lowers his head until his lips are right by my ear. "I'll probably never have this chance again, so I love you, Ally," he whispers. "Don't say anything back. Not yet."

He kisses me and then walks away. It's a kiss that shakes me like an earthquake.

I'm in a state of total disbelief. My heart is pounding. I'm drowning inside my own head, inside my own body. I hate this, oh God, I hate this. I wanna do this and that and everything. And I want my life to be perfect. And I just wanna be happy!

I tumble into the driver's seat and start crying my eyes out. I remember everything now. I
feel
everything now. His words repeat over and over in my head.

My hands finagle the glove box open and grab the complimentary travel pack of tissues that I never expected to find. I blow my nose and then crack open the energy drink.

I'm an absolute mess, both sobbing and chugging an energy drink at four in the morning.

When I finally get myself under control, I start the car with shaky hands. I barely get the key into the ignition. The engine roars to life and I watch the lights and displays come on. Needles bounce back and forth and then settle in the middle.

It's time to go.

Slowly, I back out of the driveway, terrified the whole time that I might hit one of the baby rabbits. But there are no victims in my headlights as I make my comically sluggish departure. If I don't pick up some speed soon, it's going to take me days to get to the airport.

There's nothing but the gray of pre-dawn as I pull into the road. I stare at Jackson's house one last time as I put the car in gear. I watch it disappear as I gently press the gas pedal.

Soon, it's gone.

Two Months Later...

Jackson

T
hings haven't been easy since Ally left. Like before, life is an endless routine of the same, day in and day out. Aside from Todd's reminders about my scheduling, the days blur into one another like fresh coats of the same color paint on the same wall.

I can't even tell I'm moving the brush anymore, but I am.

Every day I wake and roll over on my back, automatically searching for Ally like the loyal guy I am, hoping to see her hair splayed across the pillow, her calm and composed demeanor as she sleeps. I want her to be there every day, but she's not. She's somewhere else. She's safe—as far as I know—but not
here
.

Initially, we kept in better contact. But it started to fade, not because we wanted it to. It
had
to fade. I mean, we were keeping something on life support that would never wake up again. It was such a tough decision to make, even though it was so simple to understand.

I haven't heard from her in a couple weeks now, and despite her reassurance that it will "eventually get better," it hasn't.

I know from the death of my parents that it
will
eventually get better, that time will heal all wounds. I mean, it has to, right?

But this feeling has been like a vile monster, feeding on my heart. It sucks the joy directly out my body and replaces it with sickly melancholy. I'm numbed. The edges are dull. And the worst part is the fact that I don't want to discard the feeling yet, the feeling of genuine, deep love that I feel for Ally.

If you love something, set it free.

Yeah, so I did that. Now what? She's free, but I still love her. Every day I love her just the same. I still want to be a part of someone else—and that someone else is
still
Ally.

Maybe it was just our unusual circumstances that made us more vulnerable to such rich feelings. Would the feelings last if we were together?

As beautiful as love feels, I sometimes try to convince myself with rational arguments that it never could have worked in the long run. I invent scenarios and future me's that fail to provide financially, emotionally, or physically and leave Ally in a worse position than the one she started in.

In my mind, it justifies what happened, and little by little, it helps.

I think about calling her most days. I pick up the phone and I press her name in the contacts—but I always stop there. She's probably busy, and I can only assume she's doing well. I don't need to keep re-introducing myself into her life, re-opening a wound that has probably already healed.

I'm here, she's there.

In an attempt to improve my life, I've decided to sign with Todd, but it's a temporary, short-term contract. I met with a lawyer and explained my health circumstances. A modified contract was drafted, one that allowed me to do a short tour without a long-term commitment. In the end, it wound up being like mini-contracts for every fight. A day-to-day sort of thing. Todd was apprehensive, but I told him it was the only way we'd move forward.

So he said yes.

Todd has a five-day schedule worked out. I've never fought so many times in a week before, so I'm training harder than ever. It's the underground fighting circuit, and it's where every newcomer begins. Todd is certain that people will start paying attention to me immediately, and it will only escalate from there.

The plan is to hit Montreal, New York City, Pittsburgh, Chicago, and then head back home to headline one of the local fights. I'll start in unfamiliar territory and then work toward my home turf. Todd has a lot of faith in me, but I'm not paying attention to much other than my training. I'm just hoping I can get enough protein without having to spend a hundred dollars a day on chicken dishes at restaurants.

I email Ally and tell her about my plans. I send her a link to the page where all the videos and fight stats will be posted. As much as I don't want her to worry about me, I also want to show her that I'm actually doing something and not just rotting here in Red Lake. I want her to see that my fighting career has forward momentum.

But forward or not, it still doesn't
feel
like anything. I'm doing things, but I'm still numb.

As I prepare to leave for our micro-tour, something strange happens. There's a knock at the door and I saunter down the stairs. The guy standing there looks unmistakably like a farmer, one I feel I should recognize. His hair is short and tidy, his skin leathery and tanned. He's almost as tall as me and clad in dirty boots and jeans and a plaid shirt, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

The man, Doug Carpenter, my next door neighbor and old friend of my father, wants to expand his farming operation. He wonders if I'm interested in selling the house and land out here. His offer is quite lucrative, and it would leave me better off than I ever would have imagined.