My Fate for Yours Page 5

  “Where have you been?” Eamon asks.

  Tobin pulls in a breath. That should have been my first question too, but I’m too caught up on my own relief that Eamon won’t be worrying anymore.

  “The bigger question, is now that you’re back, are you ready to take off again?” Traive interrupts.

  “Huh?” Tobin says.

  “The band and I rented out this vacation house on the gulf, but those assholes couldn’t come up with the dough for their portion. How about we all head out there and celebrate your return?” Traive says.

  Tobin has a massive grin and is nodding already.

  “Jerry’s behind because of your sorry ass. No one’s going anywhere.” Eamon shoves a finger into his brother’s broad chest.

  I don’t know how I can afford this trip or how I’ll juggle it with my jobs, but I suddenly need out of here for a few days, so I say, “I think we should go.”

  Eamon’s eyes are on me intently enough to flutter my stomach for a moment before he breaks away.

  “I’m in.” Leslie grins.

  “Fine. In celebration of Tobin finally showing up somewhere without being drunk.” Eamon grins, finally relaxing into the idea.

  “My girl in a bikini, and a shitload of beer, that’s what I’m talking about!” Traive throws an arm around Leslie again.

  Eamon does a wide shrug, gesture thing. “Guess we’re all headed to the beach, but I can’t leave ‘til Friday. Someone…” He looks pointedly at his brother. “…has shirked at work and will be coming with me for the next couple days to help make up for it so we can take off.”

  “Sure, Ma.” Tobin widens his eyes, which earns him a smack on the back of the head from his brother, and I guess I’m about to join the group at the beach. If I can get off work.

  Eamon’s easy smile as he glances around our group makes me feel stupid for loving how it felt to wake up in his arms the other day. To kiss him in the cabin. Now I’m just hoping I can keep my shit together for a weekend. This group, these friendships, it’s too good to mess with. This is really the perfect opportunity for us to go back to whatever easy thing we all had before Delia bailed and before I told Eamon I loved him. I need for us to all be okay.

  ***

  I’m not sure why I’m in school to be a nurse when sitting with Mom in the specialist’s office in Baton Rouge is turning my stomach. Though, it’s not like I’d be treating her over and over.

  “There’s some buildup of scar tissue here.” He points to a screen shot from her MRI, and I stand to get a better look. I probably need glasses, but I’m not about to go in and find out. It’s just another expense we don’t need.

  I nod once I’m able to see it. Mama smoothes down her hair and tries to look stoic when really I know she’s seeing dollar signs and thinking about how different her life would be if she hadn’t gotten in that car.

  “What can we do about that?” I ask. “It’s so deep.”

  “Yes. And building around the main injury on your mother’s spine. I’m worried the pressure will keep her from making progress, and might even send her backward.” He blinks behind silver rimmed glasses, and all I can think is how is pale hair and pale face and pale glasses and white coat almost make him completely monochromatic.

  “So we’re talking another surgery then.” Mom’s voice is resignation. Not question.

  “Minor one.” He nods once. “She’ll be on the mend in a couple of days afterward, and likely feeling some marked improvement.”

  I stand behind Mama and knead her shoulders softly. “Don’t worry, Mama. I’m around.” And always will be. I will not walk out on her the way Dad did.

  Ma pats my hand and the doctor gives us a smile that looks practiced.

  I need to run. Or ride. Or something. It’s not like I can hide from any of this, no matter how much I’d like to most days.

  Mama chatters on about what books she’d like to order and what movies she has lined up to watch while we make the hour drive home, but I can’t focus. It’s too much to think about. She’s had about ten surgeries in the two years following the accident. Her sister flew down from Chicago once Dad left and stayed for a while, but since then it’s been me.

  How am I going to juggle taking Ma post-op and keep up with school and Carl’s and the doctor’s office and the shooting range, and Eamon…

  The problem is that I can’t keep up with it all. And more than ever I want to do the stupid thing and leave for the weekend. I need it bad.

  ***

  There’s something even about the simple act of lacing up my running shoes that helps me relax. It’s the familiar. The control. The idea that I’m about to do something solely for me. It doesn’t matter that it hurts at first. That my legs ache if I don’t do it often enough, and my lungs burn in protest. It’s still something that’s mine.

  The initial burn disappears after about five minutes and I relax into my stride, finding myself, once again, running on the tracks. It’s quiet out here. After a few miles, I’m at the trail to the motocross track and I jump off the tracks and start jogging through the dense foliage. As I get closer there’s the distinct sound of one bike. And it’s being ridden hard. The engine hits high and then nearly stalls, and then I hear the power kick back in again.

  I’m not surprised when it’s Eamon out here but my heart does a little flip it has no business doing all the same.

  Now I’m mad at myself for showing up where Eamon is while I’m a sweaty mess. He’s seen me this way a million times before, but it feels different now that we’re kissing half the time I see him, and I still have no idea why. He turned me down just a few months ago. Why now is he opening up? I have no answers; I only know that I really want it to keep happening.

  Eamon lands a jump just sideways, and normally this is something he’d easily correct, but his bike wobbles before falling on its side and sliding to a stop. I sprint toward him without thinking, but Eamon’s up and back on the bike in seconds.

  I can tell the moment he sees me because he shifts his weight and rides my way.

  I need to not worry about him. I have to stop myself from asking him what’s eating him up right now. Whatever he’s feeling is for him to deal with, because I know he’ll go running the moment I start asking.

  Eamon slides to a stop on the edge of the track and jerks off his helmet.

  God he’s gorgeous. Everything. His smile, his sweaty, messy hair, his eyes that have always shown me his mood-- only what I’m seeing in them now curls up my toes a little and puts an incredible tingling in the pit of my stomach.

  “What are you doing out here?” he asks.

  “More bad news for Mom. I had to get out for a run.”

  His brows twitch into the beginning of a frown before he relaxes. “I’m glad you came. Probably better I stop now before I break an arm or something.”

  “You mean break your arm again.”

  “Yeah.” He grins and sets the bike on its side, ripping off his pads and shoving them into his pack. He pulls out a Gatorade. “Thirsty?”

  “Dying.” I reach for it, twist off the top and let the orangey liquid spill over as I gulp it down.

  “Leave some for me, gorgeous.” He tosses the words out like nothing, but Eamon’s never called me gorgeous before. I can’t think of a single guy who has used those words with me.

  “What’s that face?” He grabs the plastic bottle and takes a few drinks, his eyes not leaving mine.

  I ignore his question because answering honestly would put weirdness between us.

  “That good?” I ask as I watch his neck pulse with swallows, and how I can see the veins in his muscular arms which leads my eyes lower, and puts the familiar ache of wanting more of Eamon.

  “I’ve tasted better.” He steps closer a hint of a smile playing at the edges of his mouth.

  “Oh, really?” I tease. I fold my arms across myself to try to steady the shakiness inside me saying this is leading exactly where I want it to.

  But he does
n’t let my arms stay crossed. He drops the drink to the ground, and his fingers gently grasp my forearms pulling them apart. “Yes. But I’m thinking I’d like to taste both tonight.”

  I breathe in and soak up every part of every second as Eamon’s tongue traces the line between my lips. I open my mouth as the touch and as the feel of him pushes through me so forcefully we’re once again standing, tangled, and it’s not nearly enough. I can’t imagine ever getting enough. And it doesn’t matter that I’m sweaty because so is he, and there’s something about the hot, moist air and his body that fuels me further.

  Eamon hoists me up, his hands pressing into my skin, and walks toward the bleachers like I weigh nothing.

  9

  Eamon

  I have no idea what the fuck I’m doing, but I can’t stop. She’s perfect against me. My hands on her ass is driving me insane and I’m scrambling to think if I have a condom somewhere in my pants or if I’m about to be really frustrated.

  Rachel sighs into my mouth as I set her down, and that’s normally a sign that a girl is ready to slow down but not her. Her teeth graze my lips as she starts another kiss, and her hands find their way up my damp t-shirt. Every cell in my body is 100 percent in this moment and wanting whatever she’ll give me. She’s so fucking familiar, but this side of her is so new, I can’t get enough. I can’t touch enough. I slide my hands under the small tank she wore running until I come to her stupid running bra which feels like it’s an inch thick and made of steel.

  I tease my thumbs under the front edge but can’t get in so I run my hand over the top of her chest, her nipples managing to press into my palms, even through the tough fabric. I run my hands along the top edges of her bra before realizing I’m not getting in there, either. This is like digging into my first bra—a puzzle and something that makes me feel like a kid. A beginner. This is Rachel; I don’t need to be putting on amateur hour for her. If anyone deserves better, it’s her.

  And the most perfect thing happens. Rachel laughs. “Damn running wardrobe.”

  “Damn something.” Only as I look at her face, her pinked cheeks and thick waves of hair, I can think of a few other places I’d like my hands and mouth. I push back gently on her chest until she’s lying on one of the bleacher seats and slide her tank up enough to expose her stomach.

  Women pay trainers for the body Rachel gets just by being Rachel. Working hard and playing hard. She moans as my lips touch her stomach, and it’s never been this addicting making a woman feel good before. I wanna do what I’ve always told Tobin to do and take my time, I just don’t know if I have it in me because right now I want to rip off every shred of clothing, including that damn steel bra and take her out here in the open. Every time my lips kiss lower, a small, pleasure filled noise laced with want escapes from her, and I want to do more. Hear her more. She deserves this so much.

  I run my lips to the top of her shorts, then tug them down a few inches. Part of me expects this to be the point when reality kicks in and she flinches away but instead her hips arch up toward me, just slightly. Enough for me to know she wants this as badly as I do.

  Pushing my fingers further down, I figure we’ll go just a bit further and I expect to feel hair but there’s nothing…just her.

  “Oh, god,” I groan. “Are you bare down there?”

  “Yes.” Only the word sounds more like a plead than anything else.

  I reach for the button on my pants when the distinctive whine of at least two bikes hit my ears.

  Damn.

  Rachel slumps at the same time my body tenses in frustration. She sits up and quickly slides away from me, pulling her tank down over her stomach.

  We stare at one another for a moment, and I wonder when it’ll hit both of us that we might be playing with something really stupid here, I just don’t know how to step away. From my friend Rachel. Before she can get the idea that I’m freaking out-- because I might be a little, I grab her around the waist and slide my tongue between her teeth.

  She wordlessly answers back immediately, kissing me hard, before standing, walking down the few steps and jogging the second her feet hit dirt. Like she knows as much as I do that we don’t want anyone seeing us together.

  “It would be a lot more fun to finish this in the shower,” I holler after her as two bikes come onto the track from the far side.

  Rachel spins to jog backwards and smiles her perfectly sexy smile. The one I didn’t realize was sexy until I couldn’t keep my hands off her. The girl I’ve known forever. A memory hits me hard and fast.

  “I don’t know. Do you wanna?” she asked as she nibbled on her lip. The smell of hay in my parents’ old barn tickled my nose, but I was suddenly staring at Rachel like she’d become some new, mythical creature.

  “I’d kinda like to know what to do.” I shrugged my scrawny eleven year old shoulders, way more eager for my first kiss than I wanted to let on.

  “Okay.” She shrugged too as she stepped closer and put her lips to mine.

  Feeling our lips together wasn’t really any different than kissing Ma. We both just stood there with our lips touching and noses stuck to each other’s cheeks. I wanted a tongue kiss. A real kiss. Like the prick of a kid I was, I shoved my tongue into her mouth and she jerked away, leaving me standing like a schmuck with his tongue sticking out.

  “I think you do it nicer. Like this.” She stepped closer, and that time my heart sped up and then raced as her tongue slowly slid between my teeth and started stroking mine.

  We kissed until our lips were swollen and when we both decided we’d practiced enough, she ran home like she always did.

  The next day she came over and we built bombs to set off near the lake because we knew the high schoolers were having a party that weekend. And we were just normal friends again. And, Rachel had given me a valuable skill that I was determined to use as much as I could once school started.

  The first bit of panic sets in at what I’m doing here. Because unless she’s suddenly the female version of me, this could completely blow up. But when I think about her relaxed face as she ran home after the barn when we were kids, and I hope it’s the same--I’m maybe worried about nothing.

  ***

  I’m driving Tobin’s truck because I hate ridin’ in the passenger’s seat if I don’t have to. Tobin’s got his window down, and his arm is resting in the sun. He’s quiet like he has been a lot of the time since Delia moved. Tobin’s staring off into a whole lot of nothing, and I know he’s thinking about too many things for one head to keep track of them all.

  “I been thinking,” Tobin says. His eyes stay on the side of the road.

  I want to say something about not wanting to talk about Delia because that’s all he ever thinks about, but I’m sorta hoping his thoughts are somewhere else.

  “The day Rachel slugged me.”

  It makes me want to grin like an idiot. I saw her from across the track walk up to Tobin and wail him without a pause. “What about it?”

  “You looked at her like...different.”

  Every thought I’ve had about her hits me hard and fast and I freeze. I know he’s my brother, and I should just tell him, but I can’t do it. Can’t listen to him try and lecture me on what I should or shouldn’t do, or try to tell me again, like he does, that it’s worth it. “‘Cause I taught the girl how to hit, asshole.”

  He opens his mouth to say something else, but I spot the Jeep parked on the side of the highway where I got the message to meet up with the owner.

  “It’s that--”

  I cut him off, “We’re here.”

  We pull off the side of the road onto a small clay drive and climb out. If it runs, it’s exactly what I want.

  “This is perfect.” Tobin slaps the side of the Jeep parked just off a random corner of highway.

  It is perfect. It’s exactly what I’ve been looking for. 1953 Willy’s Jeep, Army green, in running condition with two good seats, but still in need of some work, and I’m just the guy to do it. />
  “Hey. Sorry I’m late.” A tiny wisp of a sexy redhead gets out of a refurbished Mustang.

  “It’s cool.” Tobin smiles, and I want to tell him to go for it. For her. To not be afraid to let Delia go already.

  Her eyes float from Tobin to me in a way we’re both used to. Like she’s trying to decide which of us to try and tame. If she’s smart, she’ll go for Tobin, you can’t tame someone like me. I take a step closer and give her a smile, but all I see is Rachel. Rachel.

  “I’ll give you cash if I can get it for four instead of five,” I say.

  “I’d only take cash no matter what.” She smirks. “Forty five and dinner.”

  I know what to do in this moment. I give her the forty-five and take her somewhere ridiculously expensive for dinner where we can eat on the deck wearing whatever we want because it’s the south and it’s nearly summer. And after that I’d tell her we should take her old Jeep for one last drive. Then I’d pick up a six-pack of beer and a blanket or something from the house.

  We’d turn it into a weekend, just for the hell of it, and… I don’t want to. I want to see Rachel’s silky hair flying out behind her in the passenger’s seat, and the smile on her face as we drive.

  “Forty six and a rain check on dinner?” I ask. And then I feel like an ass for suggesting her and I actually go for dinner. What the fuck is happening to me?

  She gives me a smile like she’s thinking about it. “You got yourself a Jeep. And maybe a date.”

  Because I don’t know how to do anything else, I lean in and whisper. “I’ll be taking you up on the dinner sometime next week.”

  “You got my number.” She holds out her hand and I count the cash. “I’m Tawny.”

  “See you later, Tawny,” I say more out of habit than anything else.

  I swing into the driver’s seat and the engine of the old beast roars to life. I don’t do love, but this may be the closest I ever get to it.

  10