Wanderlust (19 page)

“
Where are we
going?”

He reached under his seat and handed
me a book. “Got something for you.”

I touched the familiar
cardboard cover, traced the lettering.
Niagara Falls
.

Once the mere thought of this had
sustained me, small doses of hope. Now that I’d seen the real
thing, I couldn’t regret any of it. The falls were both more
beautiful than I could have imagined—and yet meant so much less.
They were rock and water, not meant to be anyone’s salvation. Not
like flesh and blood.

There was more. A manila folder was
tucked between the pages and sticking out from the sides. I opened
it. My breath caught at what I read. A full confession written in
Hunter’s hand detailing how he’d kidnapped me, the sexual acts we’d
performed in clinical terms, and signed by him at the
bottom.

Even more shocking was the letters
beneath them. Signed witness statement from Laura and James. A
small pain stabbed my heart imagining Laura’s horror and confusion
at learning the truth. And some man named Roger Wilbourne,
proprietor of a diner and gas station, who had seen a girl call for
help, who’d found three unconscious men on his property later that
day. Hunter had collected statements from them that were both
factual and damning.

The truck slowed to a stop.

I looked out the window.
The sign on the old building read Niagara Falls NY Police
Department. My stomach churned with revulsion.
No.

With an impassive expression, he
nodded for me to get out of the truck. To go into the station and
hand these documents over. The gesture took me back to that first
day at the motel. The forced casualness, the banked desire. He’d
claimed to want my body that night, but he’d really needed so much
more.

This wasn’t about right or wrong, love
or hate. If I sent him back to jail, no matter that he was stronger
now, he could get raped again.

“
I would
never
send you back,” I
said through gritted teeth.

He stared at me, gaze burning with
unnamed emotion. “What the fuck do I care if I go back? I can’t
keep you either way, so what do I care where I am when I’m
alone?”

I shuddered from some combination of
shock and want. We were standing in the water at the top of the
cliff, the water rushing around us, threatening to pull us
under.

“
Why can’t you keep
me?”

His expression was incredulous. “You
know what I did. How it was between us. Even if we don’t tell
anyone else, you know.”

“
I forgave you that night,
remember.”

He snorted, unbelieving.

“
You were a
priest
. Of all people,
you understand forgiveness.”

Something dark flickered
in his eyes, and in those shadows I remembered what he’d once told
me.
I didn’t scream, Evie. I
prayed.
And fallen over the cliff, crashed
into the water as fast and as deep as any person could do. It
wasn’t a surprise he’d become isolated and cold in the aftermath.
It was a surprise he’d survived at all.

“
Don’t you see? I can’t
ever be normal again. Never be the kind of man who can give you a
real home—”

“
I had a home. For twenty
years I was trapped inside one. Now I want to roam. With
you.”

“
I’ll never be the kind of
man who can be gentle with you, Evie. Not like you
deserve.”

He was talking about sex, promising me
more nights of bruising hands and forceful sex and sweaty, panting,
screaming into the dark.

I met his gaze. “I’m not the kind of
girl who needs gentle. You aren’t the only fucked-up person here,
you know.”

“
You shouldn’t talk like
that,” he said mildly.

“
And I was broken long
before we even met.”

“
You’re not broken.” He
almost snarled the words, his ferocity terrifying, compelling. “I
love the way you are. The way you’re terrified but do it anyway.
The way you stand up to me when you shouldn’t.”

I climbed over to him, throwing my
knee over and straddling him. His whole body tensed as if it had
been shocked, rigid instead of welcoming.

“
What about the way I
fight for us,” I whispered, “even though you’re trying to push me
away?”

In a rush, he grasped me to him,
sucking in lungfuls of air as if he’d been underwater, his face
buried in my hair. “Yes, that. God, Evie. Jesus Fucking Christ,
Evie.”

“
You shouldn’t talk like
that,” I teased, but then he was kissing me, consuming me, and I
was falling, drowning, battered and bruised by the rapids, never
wanting to surface. His hands were everywhere, fluid on my thighs,
my breasts—but not stopping there, never resting, just moving over
me as if making sure I was all there, as if taking inventory,
possession and never letting go.

A rap on the window wrenched us apart.
Outside, a police officer stood, implacable and severe.

Hunter rolled down the
window.

“
Everything all right in
here?” The cop directed the question to me.

Hunter tensed beneath my
thighs, as if I might say
no, actually,
I’m being held against my will
and then
hand him the signed confession.

“
I’m fine.”

One eyebrow raised. “You sure,
ma’am?”

I blushed as my vulnerable position,
splayed over Hunter’s lap, came to me. I must look ridiculous to
him, helpless to him, and I was.

“
Well, I am a bit
embarrassed.”

The cop hid a smile. “Yes, ma’am. Just
making sure.”

He headed back into the
station.

I watched him go as a rush of
exhilaration pumped through my veins. But when I turned back to
Hunter, the air rushed from the space. His eyes were rimmed with
red. His lips trembled.

“
You honor me,” he
said.

I swallowed. It wasn’t my fault if he
went to prison, wasn’t my fault if someone there hurt him. But the
truth was, it wasn’t mercy that kept me mute or stayed my
hand.

I’d found in Hunter a kindred, broken
soul. We didn’t fit in with the rest of society and never really
would—but neither did we deserve to be locked away or abused for
our issues. We hadn’t asked to be this way. All we wanted now was
to live in peace.

In his own fucked up way, he’d honored
me that day at the motel. He’d picked me instead of anyone, he’d
plucked me out of my nothingness.

I rested my forehead against
his.

“
Let’s go,” I
murmured.

His body released its tension,
reveling and accepting. “Where to?”

“
I have something to show
you.”

CHAPTER
FIFTEEN

Niagara Falls Ontario
Canada is known as the Honeymoon Capital of the world.

Hunter found us a hotel that had an
overflow lot for his truck, and we went back to Niagara Falls the
next day. We covered the same ground, the same tours, the same boat
ride, and I found it all the more exciting with Hunter’s sardonic
presence.

As we disembarked from the Maiden, I
asked the lady at the desk whether she knew of Sarah who worked
there.

“
She’d be new,” I
explained. “Just hired.”

The woman shook her head. “I don’t
think so. But I don’t run orientation, so I wouldn’t really
know.”

I hoped Sarah had taken the car and
gone home. The falls were beautiful, but I knew that any place
could be a cage if you felt trapped.

Hunter surprised me by stepping
forward. “Excuse me, do you have any trail maps for hiking in the
national park?”

“
Of course.” The woman
slid a glance down his body. “I’m guessing you’re looking for the
more advanced trail routes.”

I blinked. Was she
flirting?

“
You might say that. Just
looking for a great view.” He pulled me close.

The woman eyed his hand around my
waist then grinned. “Understood. You know, if you’re really
hardcore, there’s a whole route mapped out. They call it a
self-guided tour. You hike and camp on your own but the maps will
guide you as you go. It takes you all around the whirlpool and the
hotspots in the park.”

His eyes lit up. “That would be
perfect.”

Hardcore? Oh yeah, that was
him.

We wove through the crowds while
Hunter started ticking off all the things we’d need for the trip. I
was silent—speechless, really. Astonished at the easy way he donned
a solicitous manner with her. That was him, I realized. The old
Hunter who had gone to seminary school and counseled families. And
maybe the true Hunter still underneath all those rough, jagged
edges.

I was surprised, too, that the woman
didn’t see what he was. I supposed he looked handsome and rugged in
the waffle tee and faded jeans, with an ever-present layer of
scruff on his jaw. If she sensed any of his wildness, it only gave
him a more compelling edge. Something different from the dads who
emerged from minivans in the parking lot around us in polos and
khaki pants.

We found an outdoorsy store nearby and
loaded up on new clothes and gear, trying on clothes and making
faces at the ones we didn’t like. Hunter snagged me in one of the
dressing rooms for a kiss. As if we were a couple. The idea of us
as a normal couple was…quite frankly, terrifying. But also amazing,
and I suspected the two always came as a pair.

The world looked different in the
park. If the gorgeous view of the falls were the front parlor, then
the park was the family room—less impressive but more relaxing. It
was the same thing we’d done in the smaller waterfalls where we’d
stood in the water and looked down, although this place was much
more expansive and these rivers were miles away from the falls
themselves.

The ground we covered turned orange,
the skies grew vibrant.

We walked a hundred steps carved into
rock to reach the peak of a mountain, and the view had stolen my
breath. Or maybe that was because the air was thinner there, but I
felt rooted to the spot, indelibly planted into the ground,
connected to the earth in a startling and soulful bond. This was
the Niagara I had dreamed about, the true wonder that hadn’t been
commercialized.

Hunter was affected too. Some of the
lines in his face had eased, the russet glow painting his face with
wonder. But despite our auspicious beginning, he became
increasingly distant as time passed. Considering Hunter was already
so thoroughly contained, that was saying something.

He grew more pensive. Sadder with each
passing day. The physical strain of the climbs and the harsh
environment acted as buffers. It was hard for me to talk, much less
convince him to open up, but with every step, it became clearer I
would have to. We set up the tent and opened up the top. Sex
beneath the stars, murmured conversation about the vistas or
animals we’d come across, and then sleeping wrapped up in his arms.
Bliss, if I wasn’t sure something dark brewed beneath the
surface.

Now my whole body ached with newfound
activity. My throat was dry. Hunter held out the canteen without
looking over. I took a gulp and returned it to his outstretched
hand. He insisted on carrying the bulk of the gear.

I covered my eyes with my hand and
squinted at the trail ahead. As far as the eye could see, there
were shades of orange and yellow, golden rock and a blinding
sunset. Far in the distance I could see heavy clouds and the
slanted stripes of rain. There were a hundred different climates
here, flash floods beside a desert, but it had been a full day
since we’d met the river.

Dizziness distorted my vision. My foot
landed on loose pebbles, and I skidded down the incline a few feet
before Hunter’s firm grasp caught me. He set me right
again.

“
You okay?” His voice was
gruff, dry from the dusty air.

“
Yeah, I’m good.
Thanks.”

He grunted and continued
ahead.

His head bent low, skin beaded with
sweat. The start of a beard obscured his expression, but I knew his
mouth would be drawn tight, lips parched. We were both at the ends
of our endurance, though his physical strength far surpassed my
own.

The little safety class we’d taken
warned us that people still died here every year, and though I
doubted it would come to that, neither did we need a case of acute
exhaustion. We wouldn’t reach the basin with its shops and watered
campgrounds before nightfall, which meant another night of
camp.

We should bed down now so we didn’t
lose too much water, but Hunter seemed hell-bent on going forward,
like he was trying to get away from something. Or trying to drown
the darkness in exhaustion.

He shortened his strides for me, but I
still struggled to keep up. Unlike some of the other straggling
groups we sometimes waved to in passing, he and I stayed close,
within five feet at all times. It was a safety precaution, both
physical and emotional. He was my ship in a tempestuous sea. I was
the talisman he kissed before a storm. Even distracted and
discontent, he always kept me close.