A Moment of Bliss (17 page)

“You can't wade in,” Roark called out. “You'll never make it. You've got to jump off the little fishing dock over here.”

“Wonderful.” She stomped over to the dock and reached the end of it before she realized she was alone. Roark was still in the clearing, messing around with his pack. “You're dawdling again,” she yelled.

“Gimme a damn minute!” he shouted back, then continued to mutter something lost to the breeze.

She shivered as it blew, but she was so fired up it'd take a lot more than a little cool air to chill her out. Taking her anger out on Roark wasn't fair, she knew that, but thinking of her shitty excuse for a family did this to her. Getting to know the wonderful people surrounding Roark, the tight family and thoughtful friends, didn't help matters. Once again, she was small and helpless, worthless and resentful. Her past shouldn't have this effect on her. Not anymore. For years she'd been angry, at them, at the world, but she was over that. She'd moved on and her past didn't matter.

But being around Roark and his family meant seeing their affection, regardless of how they picked at one another. She'd witnessed Roark's concern for them and it brought the bitterness of jealousy along with the pain of loss.

She had no one, and something about the way Roark asked, so careful and caring, wanting to know more about her, she wondered if she should tell him why.

No.

It didn't matter. In less than two weeks she'd be gone. He didn't need to know all about her. Sure as hell didn't need to know about her family. No one did. She wasn't that girl anymore and she never would be.

“Okay. Ready.” Roark stepped onto the dock, headed toward her. Even in her anger-fueled haze, she recognized a hell of a sight when she saw one.

Maybe because she was angry, and had pissed him off a good bit too, Roark stalked along the dock. His cock lay heavy between his thick thighs, his long strides showing off the rise and fall of every muscle, the broad shoulders blocking out the clearing behind him.

“We'll go on the count of three. On your mark.” Roark grabbed her hand and held it.

She flinched, tempted to yank away. How could he bicker with her one second and want to hold her hand the next? This was when the yelling should begin, tempers becoming more venomous by the minute until everything got ugly. That's how things worked where she came from.

But Roark's hand was warm, his touch solid, and when he looked over at her, his gray-blue eyes weren't stormy. They flashed, but not with anger.

Madison swallowed down the flash of panic and opened her mouth.

“One . . . ?” he offered helpfully.

She blinked, knowing she either had to jump in right now or end up scream-crying about her history. “One . . . two . . . three!”

The water hit her like a wall. A big, cold, wet wall. She broke the surface, cursing like a sailor, and realizing this was
exactly
what she needed to snap out of the past.

“Jeeeeeeeeeeeesus that's cold!” Roark yelled beside her, treading water.

Once she was done cursing at the lake, she turned to Roark. “We're both friggin' nuts. I hope you know that.”

His head tossed back, he was laughing so hard he could barely stay afloat, let alone respond.

She fought not to laugh at how ridiculous he looked, almost drowning because he found this moment that funny. So she splashed him. “This was a stupid idea.”

“I swear, the wrath is rising off of you like steam. This idea was genius.”

“A
re you sure you want to start a splash war?” Roark wiped his eyes from the sheet of cold water she'd sent his way.

“No! You're just
so
proud of yourself.” She splashed him again, and swam toward the dock.

He swam after her. “Are you cooled off now?”

“Yes. But as you might recall, I wasn't fired up until
after
you planned this little adventure. Can we get out now?”

He smiled at the way her wet hair clung to her face, her mascara a big black smear under her eyes. This version of Madison, unkempt and a little imperfect, was captivating in its rarity.

“Yeah, we can get out now. You did your first polar plunge. Of sorts. High five.”

She eyed him suspiciously before slapping her hand against his. They both reached the dock's ladder and held on.

“There was no ‘of sorts' about it,” she insisted. “I legitimately plunged. Fair and square.” She splashed him one last time before climbing out.

He wiped his eyes and caught a great view before following her out. “Nah, a legitimate polar plunge is anytime from November to March.”

They both hurried down the dock to the blanket he'd laid out, the stack of towels and extra blankets sitting on it.

“November? Do people want to die of hypothermia?”

“There are places off the coast of Canada where they ocean plunge in the dead of winter. It's all about warming up after. Hence . . .” He held his arm out toward the extra blankets and the little fire, already burning.

“You brought all this?” Madison wrapped one of the huge towels around her, using another to dry her hair.

“It sure wasn't the skinny-dipping fairy. I had the stuff in my duffel.”

“That's why you were dawdling.”

“Yes. While you were riding my ass, I was making sure our warm-up plan was in place.”

She fixed the towel over her hair, the other one around her, and grabbed a blanket. “And now I feel horrible for nagging you.”

“Eh. I'll let you make it up to me.”

Madison shared a smile with him as she sat on the blanket. Roark scrubbed at his hair, one towel wrapped around his waist, the other covering his shoulders. He reached inside the olive duffel bag and pulled out a bundle of firewood, laying the pieces of log over the fire, along with more newspaper for kindling.

“I brought plenty of blankets. You can go ahead and get under them,” he said.

He poked at the fire with a stick until the logs were set up the way he wanted. Once the fire reached a good roar, he crawled onto the quilt and sat beside her, pulling Madison and the pile of blankets closer. She shivered a moment, huddling in, waiting for the fire and their body heat to warm them up.

“You think you're pretty smooth with these moves, huh?” She leaned her head against his shoulder. “Finally all toasty warm, yet naked under a bunch of blankets.”

“I don't know if ‘smooth' is a word that'd ever be used to describe me. Transparent in my ulterior motives, maybe?” He drew her closer, leaning his head on hers as they watched the fire grow.

He didn't know how long they sat there like that, but it was long enough for the fire to lull him into a hypnotic calm, making him brave enough to broach the subject again. “Do you not talk about your parents because that makes life easier? Pretend the past doesn't exist so then maybe it won't?”

Her sigh was still heavy, but it held less edge than before. “You're not going to let this go, are you?”

“You didn't let me off the hook about me and Dev. And I'm not really known for letting things go. Sorry.”

She shifted against him. “I'll say this. I want to talk about my parents about as much as you want to talk about your relationship with Devlin and Trevor.”

“That bad, huh?”

“Worse.”

He nodded, rubbing his jaw against her hair but not pressing her for more.

Maybe she felt comfortable because of the campfire, or maybe she was secure being so physically close, surrounded by a cocoon of blankets. He didn't know why, but for some reason, Madison finally opened up, and her story fell out.

“My father left right when I hit an age when I
really
needed him, and he never looked back. I think it finally got to be too much for him, on top of my mother being . . . well, she wasn't maternal to me or faithful to him. But he was all I had and . . . he was gone.”

Roark nodded, afraid to speak and stop her from sharing.

“Or maybe he figured I didn't need him anymore. Like I was old enough to get by and he could get the hell out of a bad marriage. I don't know. And I don't know why I'm even telling you that much.”

Roark stared at the lake in front of them, the glassy surface looking serene and perfect, but cold underneath.

“So you've basically taken care of yourself since he left?”

Madison nodded, her head shifting beneath his chin. She wasn't going to do any more talking about herself. She didn't come right out and say as much, but he knew. If he wanted to fill in the blanks, he'd better start guessing.

“Were you completely alone after he left?”

Her weight against him grew somehow heavier, but all the more welcome. “I wasn't out on the streets or anything. Mom kept a roof over our heads, but . . . it wasn't because of me. We moved around, depending on who she was dating at the time. I was just in the way, but I suppose I was lucky. None of them ever laid a hand on me. My mom or her boyfriends.”

Something inside him roared at what she said. Not just the truth of her words, but that she said them with such composure. He wanted to attack the injustice of what she'd gone through, fix the wrong that was her youth. But she held no more rage against her past, just wearied acceptance. It made him want to fight for her.

“I bet you got a job before you were even legal,” he said, trying to fill in the blanks, knowing she wouldn't.

Madison hummed an affirmative.

The differences in their pasts, but the harsh similarities, curled a knot of pain in Roark's chest. He thought of his own parents. They never abandoned him and his siblings, but for as much as they were around, they had completely checked out of providing any sort of nurturing or emotional support.

They made sure the Bradley kids had a roof over their heads and food in their mouths, but Honeywilde's roof offered more stability than his parents'. They had nice rooms growing up, but if they wanted someone to hug them and tuck them in at night, they'd better do that for each other. If they wanted peace away from the battleground of their parents' marriage, they knew to stay away from them.

Madison, as distant as she could be, had given him a window into her life. The least he could do was open the door to his. If it was too much for her, he had no doubt she'd let him know.

“My parents were around for our childhood, and stayed married until I was in college. Though . . . I don't think they should've. To say their marriage was rocky . . .” He shook his head at the memories. “Gross understatement. I'm pretty sure they resented the hell out of each other by the end, but they stuck it out.”

Madison eased away from him, turning to look him in the eyes.

“I can't say we were better off that they did. They were around, but miserable. And they weren't there for us. If that makes sense. I was the one nagging everyone to do their homework, brush their teeth, go to bed at night. My parents stayed up working and arguing. Mostly arguing.”

“Is that why the inn didn't do well for so long?” she asked.

He nodded, swallowing hard. “It started then, all the way up to when they split. My father finally gave up and left Honeywilde to us kids. Said it was what his dad would've wanted. Regardless, it was the wisest business move he ever made.”

She leaned against him once more.

His childhood was dysfunctional, his family life tumultuous, but he'd always had his brothers and sister. Even when things were at their worst, he knew he had Dev, Trevor, and Sophie to take care of. He had a purpose, people who needed him and loved him. Madison had been all alone. She had no one.

“I'm sorry.” His words were muffled into her hair.

She sat up again, pulling the towel off her head and looking a little affronted. “What are
you
apologizing for? You weren't the one who was a crap parent. Besides, it taught me how to be independent. I wouldn't be who I am today if I hadn't realized I had to take care of myself because no one else would.”

“But you should've had someone to rely on.”

She shifted farther away, her green eyes seeing way too much. “Oh yeah? Who did you have to rely on? I don't mean take care of; I mean who took care of you?”

He had to laugh, because even without him saying it, Madison knew they weren't so different. “Back then? The inn staff, occasionally. Sometimes Sophie, maybe even Devlin. On a good day, Mom was up for dealing with the inn and taking care of us. She'd eat dinner with us and stuff. On a bad day . . .” He shrugged. “All she could manage was keeping herself together. Never mind four kids.”

“Then why have four kids?” Madison clamped a hand over her mouth. “Sorry . . . I know that's harsh, but seriously.”

He'd wondered the same thing himself, many times. He was thankful for his big family, but he'd never understood why his folks thought having more kids would help. “I have no idea. I'm glad there are four of us now though. I can rely on Dev when he's really motivated. When Trevor was here, he was our outdoor rec guy, and I can always count on Soph. She keeps me on track, and when we start wanting to kill each other, she stops us. She's little, but she can be scary.”

“She's definitely a paradox. And she looks nothing like the rest of you.”

He leaned away to see if she was joking. She wasn't. “Sophie isn't my biological sister. She's adopted.”

Madison blinked at him. “Oh.”

“I'm sorry, I assumed you knew. Everyone in town knows our story; I forgot you might not.”

“That explains the difference.”

“She jokes and says she is literally the redheaded stepchild.”

Madison smiled, but shook her head. “Then I
really
don't get your parents. If three boys was too much, why adopt another child?”

Roark took a deep breath, instantly back to being seven years old, when this tiny, fiery four-year-old girl came to live with him. Shame weighed on him, remembering his first, entirely selfish reaction.

“I don't think they had much of a choice; guilt being their overwhelming motivator. My folks were Sophie's godparents, our moms were best friends. When her parents died, my parents didn't want her going into a home or to live with an elderly aunt. They'd talked about being guardians for each other's kids, so . . .” He shrugged.

Why anyone would want Roark's parents to be the back-up parents for their kids was beyond him, but it'd made Sophie family, and that much had always felt right—once he'd gotten past that initial resentment.

“I remember the day she came to live with us. She was so small and scared; I thought she'd drown in a family as big as ours.”

“I can't imagine her scared of anything.”

“It took some time, but she came into her own. I never had to worry about her the way I did my brothers.”

“But I bet you still did.” She gave him a knowing look.

He shrugged it off. “Nine times out of ten, if I had to corral my brothers into doing their homework or coming inside to eat, she was right by me, fussing twice as loud, even if she was guilty right along with them. I think she liked bossing them around.”

“I'm sure she did.” Madison laid her hand on his leg and shifted closer to lean against him again.

Her hair was still damp, but the roaring fire and their nest of blankets kept them warm. He didn't care how late he'd have to work tonight to make up for the time spent here. The extra hours were worth it for the small window into Madison's world.

“Sometimes, back then, I wanted to be an only child,” he said. “Even prayed to be alone for a day or two, but I've never been alone. I was certainly never alone like you were. That wasn't fair to you.”

She turned the topic right back on him. “Wasn't exactly fair on you to have to raise three kids at the ripe old age of prepubescence.”

“Eh. I survived. Anyone else would've done the same.”

She shifted her weight against him, pinning him with a flash of her green eyes. “No. Not anyone.”

“Yeah, but—”

“No. You didn't have to take care of them, pretty much raise them, when you're only a few years their senior, but you did. It's such a . . .
you
thing to do. Taking responsibility, getting stuff done, looking out for the people you care about. Trust me—that is not something just anyone does. It's what
you
do.”

Madison wasn't going to come right out and say she respected or admired him, or anything that telling and bordering on the emotional. But she didn't have to. It was there in her unwavering stare, the vehemence in her voice.

Roark wanted to kiss her for it.

So that's exactly what he did.