Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 284(@200wpm)___ 227(@250wpm)___ 189(@300wpm)
She sits on the ground by the lake, staring into the water. I stand nearby, head on a swivel as I wait for her. I’m not going to let anybody sneak up on us. I’m not going to let anybody hurt her. I’d take a bullet before I allowed that to happen.
Minutes pass, maybe twenty. Finally, she stands and looks at me like she’s making good on her promise, as though she hates me. “I guess we should get going before you lose your patience and tie me up.”
I’d like to tie her up. It’s true, but not in this context. She’s agreed to come, though. That’s all that matters. We can deal with the emotions later. Or do what’s best, which is to let them die.
Yeah, like that’s ever going to happen.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Kayla
“Are we allowed to camp here?” I say.
Kai has his back to me, setting up the tent in the Colorado National Park. The gray of his shirt has flecks of sweat from hard riding and the work he’s doing now, the muscles shifting against his back, his arms bulging with each movement. I don’t think the physical exertion makes him surge like that. I think it’s the fact of us and the tension. There’s something he’s not telling me. I think he knows I’ve guessed something.
“A little late for questions like that,” he grunts.
I sit on a rock, looking through the tall pine trees to a small body of glistening water. The sun begins to set. I close my eyes, trying to think of some poetry about this place, about anything—something to mark this experience and burn it into my mind forever.
When I asked Kai if he wanted help with the tent, he just grunted. He’s been doing that a lot since Utah when I snooped and found the watch. I was almost hoping to find drugs or something bad, something that would justify demanding him to take me home. Not the watch, not another reason to love my big brother even more.
Whispering under my breath, I recite some morbid Emily Dickinson lines, dragging my mood into the gutter so I don’t get any silly ideas. My mind strays to home, to what’s happening.
There’s a mystery in my man,
In his sharp emerald eyes.
When he looks my way,
We could live forever,
Or die.
Once he finishes, he sits on a rock opposite, wiping his face with a flannel. I go to the bike and bring him a bottle of water.
“Thanks,” he says, taking it quickly, almost snatching it, not looking at me.
His wild hair has swept down his forehead, close to his eyes. Standing over him, I almost reach down and smooth it back into place, but I manage to stop myself. It would be easier if he didn’t always look so hot, his biceps gleaming when he reaches up, brushing his hair.
“Are you going to tell me what’s really going on?” I ask.
He stops drinking the water and replaces the cap.
“Well?” I say. “The fact you didn’t just say nothing’s going on or ask what I meant tells me I’m right. It’s not like I’d have to be a rocket scientist to figure it out.”
“Hmm,” he grunts.
“Hmm?” I snap. “Hmm? What does that even mean?”
“You’ve got a bad habit of putting me in awkward positions,” he says. “Are you hungry? We’ll have to eat a cold dinner.”
“Can’t start a fire,” I say as he stands and walks toward his bike, “since we’re probably not supposed to be here.”
He had to push the Harley most of the way, churning up mud in places and splattering the gleaming material with dirt. There’s no way a biker does that by choice, just for the sake of it. Earlier, when I asked, he said he wanted a change of pace.
“Hungry?” he asks, returning with the cooler bag.
After the picnic, we loaded up on meat and bread for the evening.
I nod. “Sure.”
We don’t say anything for a while, which is sort of becoming our thing. Lots of talking and then nothing. Silence as we wait for the other person to do the right thing. One of us should get angry, say something we can never take back, or do something unforgivable to sabotage this relationship.
Is that what this is? A relationship? I wish. No, I don’t. I can’t.
“Did you hear me before?” I ask once I’ve prepared some sandwiches.
He takes his. “Thank you, Kay.”
“You’re ignoring me.” I sit down, taking a bite from my sandwich. After washing it down with some bottled water, I say, “I think it’s because you don’t want to lie to me. Something’s up. Why did we suddenly change motels in Vegas? Why the secret lake in Utah? Why here?”
“Just leave it alone,” he snaps. “Accept it. You’re coming with me. That’s it. End of story.”
“Are we in danger?”
“Goddamn. You ask more questions now than when you were a kid.”