Текст книги "The Play"

Автор книги: Karina Halle

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Текущая страница: 14 (всего у книги 28 страниц)

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be in this area,” I tell him. I turn around but the look in his eyes grows molten and I immediately know what’s going on. The hairs on the back of my neck stand up, and a lone shiver slides down my spine.

“I don’t think so either, love,” he says gruffly, taking a step forward until my back is pushed against the gate. “But there are no dogs here.”

I bite my lip and wrap my hand around his neck as he presses against me, the hardness in his jeans digging into my hip. He groans quietly, lips at my neck, pushing me further into the gate. The bars hurt my back, but it’s a good kind of hurt. All the pain you get from sex is a fair trade, especially when it’s coming from Lachlan McGregor.

He puts his hands on my thighs and slowly skims his palms up, the hem of my dress lifting with them. They leave trails of stardust and heat then pause at my hips. He lets out a heavy exhale against my neck.

“No panties,” he murmurs. “Why do I have to leave you again?”

I swallow, my heart pinching. There is no room for anything except sex, especially here, especially now. “Because you’re a smart man who is going back to a promising career.”

“But how smart am I when I have to leave a woman like you behind?”

I shut my eyes. “New rule,” I tell him, my hand slipping to his jeans and undoing his fly. “We are never to mention the fact that you are leaving. From now on.”

He pulls back and stares at me, one hand dipping down between my legs, the other cupping my cheek. His lips are wet, parted, so entirely suckable, his eyes fraught with some wild emotion I can’t read.

“I’m not sure I can pretend that,” he says thickly.

“You don’t have to pretend,” I tell him, moaning softly as his fingers slide along my wetness. “We just won’t bring it up. Live in the now. Always now.” My hand finds the stiff, hot length of his cock, and I pull it out of his pants. “By the way, you don’t wear underwear either.”

He closes his eyes and hisses softly as I wrap my fingers around him. “Just trying to keep up with you,” he says, voice rich and raspy.

“I appreciate the effort,” I manage to say as he dips a finger inside me. My body seems to exhale from his touch, as if I need him in order to breathe. Everything aches for him, and I clench around his finger greedily, wanting more, needing more.

But this isn’t about me. I slide my hand over his cock, dragging the silk of his precum down his rigid, heated length. I want to unravel him. I want to bring him to his knees. I want, more than anything, to undo this man and leave him the way he’s leaving me, like a string pulled and a top spinning, over and over again, waiting for the fall.

His head goes back, mouth open. He lets out an elicit moan, the cords of his neck and the thick lines of his shoulders straining. Good god, watching him succumb to pleasure makes me happier and crazier than he would ever know.

Naturally I want to give him more. My hand works him expertly, knowing now just where to grip, where to twist, and judging by his quick breaths, I’m sure he’s close to coming. But he finally raises his head, his eyes unfocused as they roam over my face, fighting through a haze.

“Turn around,” he says, his voice so hoarse that it’s barely audible. “Please.”

I do as he asks. He pushes up my dress so it’s bunched up at my waist, and I bend over, grabbing the iron bars for support. It kind of feels like I’m about to be fucked in prison, like some kind of conjugal visit, and my deepest fantasies go wild. It’s not hard to imagine when you have a troubled, tatted beast of a man about to take you from behind.

His hands skirt my sides, over my hips, and down my thighs. I feel him crouch behind me, his fingers gripping my ass, and I try and sneak a look over my shoulder. He’s down on his knees and I can just see the top of his head beneath me.

I’m about to ask him what he has planned, but then I feel his face sink into me from behind, his hot mouth closing over me, his bottom lip sliding up over my clit.

Jesus. Being eaten out from behind? Yes, please.

He groans into me and I can feel the vibrations in my bones. I swell between his lips and he sucks me in his mouth like ripened fruit. I let out a loud gasp, my hands gripping the bars for dear life. It nearly knocks me off my feet.

“Love,” he whispers huskily, pulling back. He licks up the curve of my ass, my body exploding with a shower of sparks. “I don’t think I can ever stop tasting you.”

My mouth opens to say something but he dives, no, submerges his face back into me and I let out a low, guttural noise, like it’s being torn from my throat. I push my hips back into his mouth, a wild, uncontrollable need burning through me.

“Deeper,” I plead, so desperate for my release, my cheek pressing into the bars.

His tongue snakes inside me, then a finger, then two, and I’m thrusting back into him like a fucking animal. I know I must look like one of those wild, drug-high girls you see at a fuck-fueled sex orgy, but I don’t care.

I’m so close to coming.

I’m at the tip, looking over the edge, ready for the freefall.

Then he pulls back and I actually whimper in disappointment.

“You want more?” he asks gruffly, holding onto my ass. “Tell me what you want. To come on my tongue? Or to come on my cock? Both?”

“God, don’t make this complicated,” I whine, breathless and insatiable.

“All of the above, then.” He spreads my legs wider, my sandals scraping along the stone floor, and pushes his face back in, his tongue, fingers, and mouth absolutely everywhere.

I come instantly, my body a hair trigger. I’m a writhing, moaning, bucking mess of scattered nerves, my limbs dissolving like sugar. I’m barely conscious and I don’t know how I’m still upright. I feel him get up from behind me and hear the crinkle of a condom foil.

He grips my hips as he positions himself, and with one long, slow push he eases inside me. I’m so wet and ready that he glides right in. But oh, when he pulls back out, that slow drag hitting just the right spot, somehow I’m groaning for him all over again.

“Don’t stop,” I hiss as he plunges back inside, deeper this time, coaxing another unrestrained noise out of my throat. “Don’t you ever stop fucking me.”

“Jesus,” he swears, gravelly and low. “I’ll bury myself in you, if you let me.” Then he moves faster, small stabs of his hips pushing deeper and deeper while his skin slaps my skin louder and louder. The smell of sex, sweat, and musk fills the room.

I’m completely overwhelmed. It’s too perfect. It’s everything, everything. I close my eyes and imagine what we look like to someone else, the ropey muscles of his arms as he digs his fingers into my hips, the raw, uninhibited fucking in this cold, dim and empty place, the sight of his thick cock sliding into me from behind, his heavy balls swinging against my inner thighs.

He leans forward, his fingers sliding down and finding the smooth, swollen face of my clit. He always wants me to come with him, so I know he’s about to unload at any moment. But for some reason, I hold back, as hard as I can, wanting to pay attention to the way he so beautifully lets go without losing myself at the same time.

Drops of his sweat fall on my back. He continues pounding me, his hips changing the angle until it makes me gasp for air, my back arching. His breathing is shaky and his muscles are trembling from the strain, but he keeps going and going, whimpering now, clawing me in desperation.

There’s a moment, a pause, a sharp intake of air, then the room fills with the sounds of his harsh, sharp grunts, the sound of him coming, a sound I love so much that it pushes me over the edge. It’s the signal of his undoing, and his fingers press so hard into my skin that I’m afraid I might break in two. I am breaking in two. I am stretched thin, a plate of fragile glass, and I am breaking and breaking and breaking as he pounds me from behind.

I can barely hang onto the bars. I can barely hang onto myself. Wave after wave of emotion slams through me, filling the blank spaces, the cracks, the parts of me that have shattered off into space. I can barely breathe, and the ache, the fucking ache, is no longer between my legs but throughout my entire body.

“Kayla,” Lachlan whispers hoarsely, leaning forward against my sweaty back. “Oh, love.” He rests his cheek on my shoulder blades and his ragged breaths rise and fall against me.

I close my eyes and will myself not to cry. It’s silly. Stupid. It’s just sex. It’s just fucking sex. But the emotion doesn’t go away. It sits on my heart, and I can’t tell what it wants from me. Are these happy tears? Sad tears? Why do I have to feel anything at all but release?

My fingers on the bars are beginning to slip, so I readjust my grip, and somehow that breaks the spell. Lachlan lifts himself off of me, and with a hand on my hip, pulls himself out. I take a moment to run my fingers under my eyes before turning around to face him.

He stands there, pants at his ankles, shirt bunched up, showing off his ink and glorious six-pack. He’s pulling off the condom and tying it at the end but I’m barely paying attention. It’s the look in his eyes that gets me, steals my breath. They don’t have the peace, the softness that he usually gets after sex. He looks haunted instead, like I’m a ghost before him.

I swallow, my mouth parched, and try to think of something to say, but words escape me. I stare at him and he stares at me, electricity built of unsaid words and unknown feelings thrumming between us. There’s nothing awkward or uncomfortable about it. It’s just us, doing what we do, trying to glean something from each other that we don’t know ourselves, forever locked in each other’s eyes.

Finally he pulls up his pants, comes over to me, and pulls me into a wet, passionate kiss, his lips pressing hard against mine, his tongue tasting like me, like salt, like sweat.

He holds my face with one hand, running his thumb over my lips, gazing at me deeply. “I’m sorry if that was a bit savage.”

I smirk. “The more savage the better.” And it’s true, because anything that could border on the sweet and sensitive, the emotionally-laden sex that is so often called “making love,” well, I don’t think I could maneuver that very well. After all, as savage as that fuck was, it still unleashed a torrent of emotions that I’m not equipped to handle. I’ve had a black heart my whole life, and it doesn’t know what to do with anything that could turn it whole and pink.

Noises come suddenly from behind the room’s locked door, and we quickly exchange a sheepish glance before we hightail it down the corridor, Lachlan flicking the condom in the trash can as we leave.

Once in the foyer, we pause, spotting the group still in the wine bar, laughing about something.

I look up at Lachlan. “We don’t have to join them.”

“Aye,” he says with a nod. “But we should. Come on.”

“Do I look like I just got thoroughly fucked?” I whisper to him.

He glances down at me and there’s a flash of a wicked smile. “Oh yes.”

“There you guys are,” Steph says as we approach the table, and it’s too late to even smooth down my hair. I know that my face and chest must be flushed. “I’d ask where you’ve been, but I don’t want to know.”

I give her a haughty smile and take my seat like a prim and proper lady. “Just getting some fresh air.”

Nicola snorts from beside me. “I think I might need to know where you’re getting your air.”

“Sweetheart, your air is just fine,” Bram says to her from across the table.

With the wine tasting over now, everyone is just splitting a couple of bottles. I hesitate to have a glass, already feeling quite woozy from earlier, but Lachlan surprisingly has one so I join him.

Eventually our stomachs start grumbling and we all head to dinner in one of the restaurants. Lachlan quickly stops by the room to get Emily since we learned you can have pets out on the patio, and we spend a few hours drinking more wine and eating as the sun goes down in the distance, casting a glow over the vineyards.

I breathe in deeply, enjoying the heat of the night air and the crickets that fill the silence. Bram and Nicola excuse themselves, Nicola saying she needs to call her mother and speak to Ava before it gets too late. Then eventually Steph and Linden leave too, hanging onto each other like two drunken fools.

“Alone at last,” I say to Lachlan who is sitting splay-legged beside me and puffing on a cigar that the waiter hasn’t said anything about. In fact, I think they purposely forgot we were all out here.

Lachlan lets out a small grunt, brow creased and deep in thought. I think he’s drunk, but it’s hard to tell. If anything, he’s gotten quieter as the night goes on.

“Are you all right?” I ask.

His eyes flit to mine. His stare is hard, flinty. “I’m just fine,” he says giving me a tight smile.

I swallow. “That’s such a girl answer.”

He blinks, intensity brewing like a thunderstorm. “Excuse me?”

Even Emily raises her head.

I lean back slightly, appraising him. Even though I was kind of provoking him just now, his mood switch is surprising.

Still, I refuse to be intimidated. We’ve passed too many bodily fluids between each other for that. “I said that’s a girl answer. You said fine, like everything isn’t fine, and if that’s the case, I just want to know what’s up.”

His dark brows lower, and it’s almost like he’s glowering at me. Still, he doesn’t say anything. He sticks his cigar in his mouth and looks away.

I sigh and put my hand on his shoulder. “Hey. You can tell me.”

He closes his eyes, his head leaning back for a moment. “Love,” he says, an edge to his voice. “I’m fine. I’m just…processing what’s going on.”

“And what’s going on?”

He shakes his head and leans over the table, pouring himself another glass of wine. I watch as he downs it. When he’s done, he wipes his lips with the back of his hand. “What isn’t going on?” he says. But there’s so much despair and bitterness in his voice that I feel like I’ve been backhanded.

I get out of my seat and grab his hand, tugging him to me. “Okay, the wine is gone. It’s time to go.”

He shrugs out of my grasp. “Go back alone then. I’m still smoking my cigar.”

He’s slurring a bit, so he’s obviously a bit drunk. He’s turning a bit Mr. Hyde on me.

I cross my arms. “No. I’m not going back without you.”

“Your loss,” he says, then laughs to himself as if he’s said something hilarious.

I swallow the lump in my throat. “It isn’t my loss.” I sit back down and stare at him imploringly. Ages pass. Finally, he puts out his cigar.

“Fine,” he says, none too happy about it. “We can go now.”

He gets up, a bit unsteady on his feet, and reaches down for Emily, but the dog is perceptive and growls at him, shying away.

He stares at her for a moment, frowning, like he can’t believe it. Then he rubs his lips together, his eyes beady and hard, and nods his head to some imaginary question.

“All right,” he says quietly. “All right.” He looks to me and seems to understand. “Do you want to take her? I don’t think I should.”

“Yeah, sure,” I say quickly, and grab Emily’s leash. She’s still staring up at Lachlan in confusion and he’s matching her stare. She knows that something has changed in him, and now he knows it, too.

Dogs with behavioral problems shouldn’t learn from people with behavioral problems. Now I understand it. Another piece of the puzzle that is Lachlan, carefully fitting into place. Funny enough that it has to be a dog to knock some damn sense into him and not me.

I grab hold of Lachlan’s arm but he doesn’t pull away. His gait is a bit awkward, but I manage to lead him around the hotel and all the way back to our room.

He goes straight for the bed, flopping over facedown.

I lock the door, turn on the lights, and let Emily off the leash before I go over to him and tap him on the shoulder.

“You can’t sleep with your clothes on,” I tell him.

He grunts. “Undress me then.”

“You weigh a literal ton,” I tell him, trying to reach underneath him to pull off his shirt.

“Hyperbole,” he mutters.

I smack him on the ass. “Just sit up, please.”

With a heavy sigh he somehow rights himself. I quickly manage to pull off his shirt, his chin dipped against his chest, before he falls back to the bed, creating a minor earthquake on the mattress. I roll him on his side and take off his pants, for once something entirely unsexy.

“How did you even manage to get this drunk?” I ask, even though I’m not sure he’s listening.

He swallows a few times, eyes still closed, and says, “I don’t drink much.”

“Right. The rugby,” I say.

“No,” he says with a slight shake of his head. “I just shouldn’t. I like it too much. I need it too much. Like I need a lot of things. Bad things. And then I’m useless. It’s ruined me before, you know.”

I pause at this information so casually coming out of his mouth, then I pull his pant legs off before untying his boots. “I see,” I eventually say.

“You want the truth, that’s the truth. I have many truths. That is one of them.”

I toss his boots to the ground and place my hand on his shoulder. “Well, thank you for telling me your truth,” I say earnestly.

But he doesn’t respond, and a loud snore escapes his mouth instead. Strange after everything he just did and said, I can still find him and his lips so damn kissable.

I sigh, getting into my t-shirt, and crawl into bed next to him, my back pressed against his back. “Goodnight,” I tell him, pulling the covers over both of us.

He’s fast asleep.

There’s one more day left.

CHAPTER SIXTEEN

Lachlan

I wake up feeling like absolute arse.

My first thoughts are of regret. Not just because of how I feel but because of what I might have done. I knew being around constant company and constant wine was a dicey gamble on my behalf, but I hadn’t wanted to say no. I hadn’t wanted it to seem like something I couldn’t handle.

But she knew now. She could see it, and when I told her, she hadn’t seemed all that surprised. That was both a good thing and a bad thing. A bad thing because I couldn’t be sure how obvious I was. A good thing because she acted like she wasn’t bothered by it.

Unless she was a good actress. It was hard to tell with Kayla. Part of her wanted to wear her heart on her sleeve, but the other part was always trying to cover it up.

The sound of the patio door sliding open is like a cheese grater to my brain. I open my eyes carefully and see Kayla stepping inside with Emily on the leash.

She sees I’m awake and gives me a soft smile while closing the door.

“Good morning,” she says gently, unhooking Emily from the collar. The dog immediately jumps on the bed, licking me on the nose. I want to move my head, but it hurts too much. Shit, I can’t remember the last time I was hung over, and my body is making sure I’m up for maximum punishment.

“Hey,” I croak, wishing my voice didn’t sound so weak.

I also wish she didn’t look so bloody beautiful, the light coming through the gauzy curtains, lighting her up from behind like an angel. She walks over to me, dressed in another sundress I want to fuck her out of, her hair pulled back in a ponytail with not a trace of makeup on her glowing, fresh-scrubbed face.

Something inside me bleeds for her. It’s a nasty cut in the heart, a slow, deadly leak. It pains me to look at her knowing I’ll be leaving. That pain outweighs the one in my head. It’s no wonder I drank last night. It wasn’t just about the peer pressure. It was about relieving the pressure in my chest, the one that has been slowly building, brick by brick, all week.

I swallow, licking my lips, as she places soft, cool fingers on my cheek. I close my eyes, breathing her in, letting her touch soothe me.

“How are you feeling?” she asks. I open my eyes to see her crouched down at my level, looking at me with those warm dark eyes of hers.

Tomorrow I won’t see those eyes of hers again.

How am I feeling?

I’m not fine.

But I couldn’t quite tell her that last night, when I was drunk and trying to erase the feelings, feelings I do not know how to handle. It has been years and years since I was with a girl that I remotely cared about, and even that scared me halfway to hell. It didn’t end well for either of us. I drank myself into a rehab center and she went screaming the other way.

This, whatever it is between us, wasn’t supposed to happen this way. I should be back at my flat, packing, making phone calls to Alan, our coach, making arrangements to meet with my brother Brigs when I get off the plane. I should be getting ready to return to my old life, the one I’d put on hold for six weeks.

Instead I’m lying helplessly in bed, lost in a woman I don’t know, wishing I could know her better.

What a bloody mess.

“You don’t want to know how I’m feeling,” I tell her.

“I thought as much,” she says, kissing me on the forehead. It works like a blast to my heart.

She gets up and goes into the washroom while I struggle to sit up. I need to wake the fuck up and push past this bullshit, or my last day with her is going to go to waste. When she comes back out, she hands me a glass of water and two ibuprofen.

“Take those, drink it all,” she says, and sits down on the couch across from the bed to watch me.

I do as she says, forcing it down while she looks on in concern.

“Tell me,” she says suddenly, pointing to the lion on my arm. “About the lion.”

My head jerks back in surprise which only makes the pain pound back in response. One eye scrunches up as I wince through it. “Now?”

She folds her arms. “I had to put you to bed last night. I think I’m owed an explanation.”

I frown at her. “I’m not sure my tattoo will answer your question. What is your question?”

“The lion,” she says. “When did you get it? What does it mean?”

“Why?” I ask her carefully.

“Because you’re always looking at it.”

My eyes widen and I’m hit with a wave of self-consciousness. “I am?” Fuck, I had never noticed.

“From time to time,” she says. “You may not be seeing it for what it is, but it’s one of the many places your eyes go.”

I exhale noisily. She’d sunken into my skin, just like the tattoo. I could open another page for her. I could give her another glimpse inside. She couldn’t throw it back in my face if I was leaving. The pages would just flutter to the ground.

“All right,” I say, holding out my forearm for her to see better, for me to remember. “This is Lionel. Not my dog. My lion. I got this tattoo when I was sixteen. I’d been living with the McGregors for a while by then, but…” I pause, wondering how I can explain such a thing to someone who has never gone through it. “When you grow up in a boy’s home, when you don’t have anyone to love you, to care for you, to think of you, then you cling to whatever is lovely in the world. Lionel was my stuffed animal, given to me as a birthday present. The very same day my mother gave me away.”

I reluctantly meet her eyes, but I’m surprised not to see any pity in them. She’s involved in my words, as if she’s living it as I had. I swallow hard and continue. “Lionel was what I truly loved and the only thing that loved me back. It was soft, you know, in a place that was very hard and very cold and very black. The lion gave me hope, even when everything seemed hopeless. Through many foster families who couldn’t…handle me. And sometimes, sometimes I couldn’t handle them. Finally the McGregors took me in, but…” I lick my lips. “Sometimes the good things have a hell of a time outweighing the bad. Demons follow you everywhere. All the time.” I tap the back of my head. “Mine are here, and they are dark and they are always looking for the weakness in me.”

You’re my weakness. You’ll bring them out again.

I close my eyes to those thoughts, pinching them together tight.

Kayla lays her hand on my arm, and I open them, taking in a deep breath.

“You don’t have to say any more,” she says. “I get it.”

I shake my head. “Nah. Nah, you don’t, and I’m glad you don’t.” I exhale sharply. “So, Lionel the Lion reminds me that there is good in the world. There’s always something worth holding on to. It’s just another word for hope, you know?”

She nods slowly. “I know.” She looks away briefly, her eyes awash with sadness. “Shit. Lachlan, you’re breaking my heart.”

I sit up straighter and put my hand on her chest. “No. There’s no breaking this thing.”

She looks up at me through her lashes, mouth twisted into a smile. “Let’s hope.”

Our eyes lock, and before I know what I’m doing, I’m leaning in, pressing her soft lips to mine, letting the feel of her, the taste of her, wash away the grime.

We kiss for a long time, a slow, lazy, desperate meeting of the mouths, and I find everything in my body stiffens, hot and tense.

But she pulls away, her dainty hand on my chest, and quickly runs her thumb over my brow. “I promised everyone we’d have lunch with them. We’re going to a winery.”

I frown, not wanting to see anyone but her and especially not wanting to go to a winery after last night.

She continues, reading my face. “Don’t worry, it’s not a wine tasting. Well, it is, but they’re already there, I think. I told them we’d meet them at the winery’s restaurant for lunch. It’s not far, and I heard it’s good food. Farm to table and all that.”

I groan and eye the alarm clock. It’s eleven o’clock. I can’t believe I even slept in that long. Usually I’m up at seven and raring to go.

She holds my hand and gives it a squeeze. “After lunch, I’m all yours. They all know. They don’t want to take you away from me.”

I narrow my eyes suspiciously. “They sound like good friends.”

“They know you make me happy.”

Her words are a fist to the gut, and they nearly leave me breathless.

I make you happy? I want to ask her, but I can’t. I don’t. I swallow her words down and pretend that they aren’t affecting me like a goddamn shot of vodka.

“Okay,” I tell her. “I’ll get ready.”

It’s not long before I’m dressed, Emily’s been fed and walked again, and Kayla and I are in her car driving to the winery. I have to admit, the day is absolutely brilliant, and the fresh country air is doing wonders to clear my head. I think the smog of San Francisco has started to clutter it up a little too much, and for a moment, my heart pangs for Edinburgh, with its quiet lanes and stone buildings and the slower pace of life.

I look over at Kayla as she drives, my hand at the back of her neck, my thumb rubbing against her skin. I could sit here for hours, as long as I can keep touching her. I wonder briefly, so briefly, just a flash, what she would think of Edinburgh if she could see it. Would she like Scotland? Would she see the country, the city that I see? Would she understand why its home?

But such thoughts are futile. They get pushed down into a locked box, and I stare out the window, watching sparrows dance in the blue sky and the endless curve of vineyards that stretch over the hills.

Soon we arrive at a winery composed of hay, rustic fences, and sprawling barns. One of the barns holds the restaurant, and we find my cousins and their women already sitting down, toasting each other with wine to something.

It makes me hold onto Kayla tighter. The four of them seem so tight-knit that I can’t imagine Kayla with them after I leave. Will she sit there, just happy to be on her own, happy for her friends, but forever the fifth wheel? Will she have someone else by her side, some other guy? One that she’s fucking, one that she maybe loves?

The thought of that nearly makes me sick. I have to stop, mid-stride, and throw my shoulders back to take in a deep breath.

“You okay?” Kayla asks, and I quickly nod, glad that no one else saw that.

“Just in time,” Bram says from the table, lifting his glass. “We were toasting to hangovers.”

“That seems about right,” I say, forcing brevity into my voice. I sit down and give them all a tight smile. My glass is filled with wine, but there’s also one with water, so I raise that. “Here’s to feeling like the dog’s bollocks,” I say.

“Here, here,” they all say. We all tap glasses, and I noticed that Bram is getting that sentimental look in his eyes that I don’t think anyone else ever notices except for me. I give him a sharp nod, not wanting to go down the schmaltzy road, then clink my glass with Kayla’s, who is also toasting with water.

I look deep in her eyes, the light in the barn bringing out the different shades of mahogany and teak. “Here’s to you, love,” I say softly, barely audible. “You’re quite the hangover cure.”

The corner of her mouth lifts in a soft smile and I impulsively lean over to kiss it.

Bram clears his throat, and I reluctantly look back at him. Maybe he can see in my eyes that I’m just daring him to say something, so he looks away, busying himself by picking up a menu. I can’t help but smirk at that. For all of Bram’s money and affluence, he’s still a bit intimidated by his younger cousin.

The lunch ends up going smoothly, and even though Linden was grating on my nerves yesterday, he’s more subdued today. Maybe it’s the hangover. Everyone has been turned down a few notches. Still, when the waitress comes by to take away our empty plates, I find myself sighing internally with relief. As much as I honestly do care for Bram and Linden, and I don’t mind Nicola and Steph, all I want to do is spend my last moments with the woman next to me. Little by little, I can feel that darkness creeping in, snaking black fingers that take hold of your brain, and I want to do what I can to keep them at bay.

Even though they seem to increase when I’m thinking about Kayla, she’s also the cure.

We all make tentative plans to meet later on at the bowling alley bar inside the hotel, even though in the back of my head I know I’m not going to show up. I’ll say goodbye to them in the morning. That will be enough for me.

The minute they leave and get in their cars, I grab Kayla’s hand and lead her along the peeling paint fence toward one of the barns in the background. Unlike the barns used for the restaurant and wine tasting, this one looks neglected.

“Where are you taking me?” she asks as I look around, checking to see if anyone is looking. From this angle there’s nothing in sight except hayfields and rows of grapes.