Resistance (12 page)

Chapter 12

Saturday morning I had the brilliant idea to see if Pepper wanted to hike Cascades Waterfalls with me. After a witty exchange of texts she said that Greta and
she would happily join me after their morning gym session. I called Hoot to see if he wanted to come along too so it’s not just Greta and Pepper picking on me the entire time. Hoot agreed and we all piled into my truck around ten a.m.

A little over twenty miles northwest of Blacksburg
are the Cascades, one of my favorite places to go and clear my head. It’s a beautiful spot. Normally I enjoy the ride on my bike, but today I’m taking the truck so we can all ride together. There is a picnic area by the river where you park that has bathrooms. I shell out the three dollars to park and we pull into a vacant space near the restrooms.

“The trailhead is at the upper end of the parking lot.” I nod towards the trailhead as I pull my hiking pack from the bed of the truck. Hoot grabs his bag and turns to Greta.

“You might need to hold my hand in a few tricky places
,” he says and waggles his eyebrows. I quietly chuckle and make a face at Pepper. We both know Greta won’t need help with anything. Pepper and Greta hit the restrooms before we get going.

“Hoot, man, you
gotta lay off Greta. I’m telling you, she could do serious damage.”

“I think she likes my sense of humor. Until she lays me out, I’ll stick to my tactics.”

I snort at him, rolling my eyes. He’s a great guy, just not so fast at learning how to talk to women. After the ladies use the restrooms we start on the trail. The weather today is perfect, seventy and sunny. Pepper’s khaki shorts and loose-fitting tank make her skin look even more tan than usual. I purposely walk behind her a step to take in the glorious view that is her ass. A few long, wispy strands of hair that have fallen loose from her messy bun curl in the light humidity. The trail follows Big Stoney Creek upstream, forking into an upper and lower trail. Pepper walks silently with swift, weightless steps, taking in the views before her.

“This place is stunning
,” Greta comments.

“So are you
,” Hoot retorts.

“Please, stop the drivel
,” Greta remarks, sending Pepper into a fit of laughter.

“Ouch, that was harsh
,” I say.

“Flattery is useless to me
,” Greta says as if that explains something deep about her.

“But nice to hear sometimes
,” Pepper chimes in optimistically. She pats Hoot on the back and winks. It’s adorable to watch her try and motivate him even though Greta is clearly rejecting the kid.

“Greta, you’re a tough nut to crack
,” Hoot says and then chuckles.

“I’m an acquired taste is all
,” she smirks. I grab Pepper’s hand and tug it gently until she pulls back from Greta and Hoot, falling into step with me.

“Are you having fun?”

“This place really is amazing. I love the sound of the rushing water. It’s really peaceful,” she answers.

“Good.” I grin
.

“You’re decent company too
,” she admits and smiles back at me.

“Just decent huh?” I ask. Her response comes in the form of a wink
.

When we finally cross the second bridge
, we’ve reached the halfway point to the waterfall. The trail follows the stream closely past beautiful cascades and pools. Pepper stays close, shoulder brushing my arm and occasionally taking my hand to help her across tricky portions of the trail. I want to grab her hand in mine or wrap an arm around her as we go but I know that I’m supposed to be friend-zoned so I don’t. I let her lead. Shared smirks, brushing limbs, and the peacefulness that surrounds us make me hard and I have to keep mentally picturing baby seal clubbers to stifle my raging hard-on. The sexual tension between us is palpable. Every casual touch lingers just slightly too long, every shared glance meaning just a little too much. She’d be a fool if she thinks I haven’t noticed her eyes wandering, following the movements of my muscles as we hike.

After the trails rejoin, they snake their way through the narrow gorge between high cliff walls
, winding through moss-covered boulders and cutting through rhododendron thickets. The roar of Little Stony is a constant companion as we climb toward the main waterfall. The trail clings more desperately to the steep banks of the gorge here. Raised stone walkways, held together with steel pins, make it passable. But the rougher the terrain gets, the more impressive the sights. And the more Pepper looks to me for help navigating the terrain. Her quiet nature and natural beauty draw me in with every step we take. Furious white water rips between boulders to fall, churning into a pool below. Up ahead, a small stream tumbles down the side of a cliff into Little Stony.

After passing an old stone building
, the falls come into view, a stunning climax to the trek we’ve just made. The base of the sixty-six-foot waterfall reveals lots of people relaxing and picnicking, just as we’re about to do.

“Pick a spot ladies and let’s have lunch!” I shout over the roaring water. The waterfall reigns in a bowl-shaped arena it has carved from the mountain. The rushing waters leap from the edge, cascading down the rock wall
, landing in churning turmoil in the pool below. The sight is spectacular. I’m hoping that Pepper thinks so, too. I want her to enjoy herself. I want her to see that she can have a life that’s full
and
inclusive of me. It doesn’t just have to be friends or fuck buddies.

Pepper plops down on a flat rock near the water’s edge and tucks her knees up under her chin while taking in our surroundings. Greta and Hoot are still bickering
good-naturedly but the sound of the water pummeling into the pool drowns them out. I set my pack down and crouch next to Pepper.

“Penny for your thoughts.”

“It’s really amazing. Like a little slice of heaven tucked away in the woods. Do you think the water’s warm?” she asks, staring at it longingly. A bead of sweat trickles down her neck. I reach out and wipe it away with a finger. Goose bumps break out along her skin. Her pupils dilate at her body’s traitorous reaction.

“Care to find out?” I ask
, still crouching next to her.

“What are you doing?” she asks carefully. Her mouth forms a perfect
“
O
” as I hoist her up into my arms swiftly.

“Checking the water temperature.” I laugh
and swing her up in a bridal hold and leap off the rock, clothes on, into the water. She pops up, still squealing and wiping water from her eyes. Looking around furiously, she spots me and swims over.

“You shit! It’s cold!” she says
, trying not to let the smile creep over her face.

“That it is.” I laugh
, swimming away towards the shoreline. She follows, climbing out behind me, her clothes saturated and clinging to her body, the white of her tank, sheer and skin-colored—it makes my heart race. Her perky breasts stand at attention from the cold water and a pale pink bra does little to hide her.

“Eh hem
…” she clears her throat, hand extended outward. I snap my eyes to hers, embarrassed that I’ve been caught staring at her chest.

“What?”
“Your shirt. There are kids here,” she says, eyes bugging out, alluding to her see-through top. I strip off my sopping wet black tee and hand it over. Her eyes linger on the ridges and plains of my stomach a little too long to just be friends. Although her six-pack totally rivals mine, she seems fixated on my naked upper half. I stretch, flexing my muscles and enjoying inflicting a little sexual-tension torture on her.

“Damn
, Sawyer, you’re making me look bad!” Hoot calls out on a laugh. He’s topless, propped up on his elbows, catching some sun. He does not have a six-pack, but he’s not pudgy either. He simply is firm with no definition. I snort and sit down on the rock next to Pepper. She looks adorable swallowed up in my tee. Her shorts are lying flat on the rock next to her, drying in the sun. When did she remove her pants?

“No pants?” I question.

“I think your t-shirt covers all my bits,” she says and chuckles. I stifle a groan as I lean back on my arms and tilt my face up to the sky.

“I am starving
,” Greta declares with a sly smile. “What’d you bring for lunch?”
“Well you’re in luck because I didn’t let Hoot pack the food,” I answer. “Otherwise we’d be enjoying a twelve-pack and some salt and vinegar chips.” Greta cackles and scoots closer to Pepper, leaning in and whispering something in her ear that brings a brilliant smile to her face while I rummage through my pack, pulling out our lunches.

We’re all packed up, full and mostly dry from our lunch at the waterfall. “Tradition states that the
upper trail be taken back,” I announce to the group.

“Says who?” Pepper questions.

“Tradition.”
“But that view was really pretty, why not do it again?”

“Why not try something new?” I push.

“New is overrated sometimes,” she says, looking away.

“The lower trail is definitely the more beautiful of the two but I think you’ll like the upper trail too. And new is really good sometimes
,” I say, nudging her playfully. Her lips turn up just slightly before we all start our trip back.

From its lofty perch on the side of the gorge, this trail gives a new perspective of Little Stony. The hike ends where it began
, at the parking lot. The girls scurry off to the bathroom to relieve themselves as Hoot and I toss our now empty backpacks into the bed of the truck.

“Think Greta will say yes if I ask her out?” Hoot asks.

“Maybe?” I shrug.

“She’s so
flippin’ hot. Like, I want to maul her every time I see her.” He smiles.

“So
, all two times?” I laugh. He punches my arm and laughs with me.

“It’s five already!” Greta declares in mock horror.

“It took three-and-a-half hours to do the hike both ways. But we also stopped to eat.”

“Felt like six but then I do
n’t do a lot of hikes,” she grumbles good-naturedly.

We pile into the truck, Greta and Hoot in the back and Pepper and
me up front. The drive is quiet and rather uneventful as everyone’s tired from a day out in the fresh air. Pulling into the driveway at home, Hoot files out first, helping Greta down and slapping her ass as she walks to her car. She glowers at him while Pepper and I laugh at their ridiculous antics. Greta pulls out of the driveway followed by Hoot, leaving Pepper and me alone.

“Need any help bringing anything in?” she asks
, hands tucked into her damp pockets. Her hair blows in the wind, sending it swirling around her face. She looks angelic. I fight the urge to tuck her hair behind her ears.

“Nah. I’m good
,” I answer, holding the empty backpack up.

“Ok
ay,” she says more to her toes than to me. I want to tell her to come inside. I want to take her in my arms and kiss her. I want to do a lot of things but I don't. I won’t. She wants to make the first move. So I’ll let her.

“Thanks for coming today. It’s better with someone else
,” I say. Her eyes meet mine, holding them. I feel like I have the world at my feet but I’m tripping over it somehow. I try to look away from her, from the need and want I see her warring with, but I can’t. Trapped in silent warfare, I wait, poised to strike if she gives me just the faintest of signs that she wants it. A faint scar runs the length of an inch near her temple, and another at the crook of her armpit. I want to touch them, kiss them. I want to know where they came from. She takes a hesitant step towards me and I war with my body to stay still.

“Thanks for a really nice day
, Sawyer,” she says, stepping into my space. She wraps her hands around my torso and squeezes. A hug. I let my disappointment out on an exhale and wrap my arms around her shoulders. Her arms linger around me just a little too long for friends. She releases me with a timid smile and heads to her car.
“Bye,” I call out. We talked. We laughed. We sat real close and held hands. By the time she pulls out of the driveway, I know I’m already a goner.

Chapter 13

Fuck. My head feels like it’s going to explode with pressure. My nose
is thick and swollen with mucus, my throat’s burning, and my chest is tight. Sick. As. Fuck. I hate being sick with a passion. I am a whiny baby. I want someone to dote on me and baby me. I roll to my side and grab a tissue from my nightstand, tossing it to the floor with a groan when it’s used. I sit up gingerly, wondering how in the hell a full-blown cold can develop in the course of twelve hours. I felt just fine yesterday. The house phone rings. Its shrill noise makes me cringe. I shuffle to the nearest portable and grab it. Who the hell is calling at seven thirty a.m.?

“What?” I snap into the receiver
.

“That’s mean
,” Allie scoffs. I drag a hand down my face and toy with my lip ring.

“Sorry
, baby girl, I’m sick,” I answer.

“You sound funny.”

“It’s the cold.”

“I want to come over today after school
,” she states.

“Tell your mom I’m sick and see what she says. I don’t want you getting an infection or cold from me.”

“I’m not weak anymore, Sawyer,” she says in a snit.

“Babe, you know what I mean. Stop splitting hairs and just run it by her first
,” I say sternly.

“Fine
,” she huffs and hangs up the phone. I take it back to the bedroom with me and fall into bed. I can still remember the first time Allie got really sick. I’d panicked like a new parent.

Allie was almost five and had a fever of 104 that Clara and I couldn't manage to bring down. We didn't know what was wrong. We’d finally rushed her to the Emergency Room. After a night spent pumping her full of fluids the fever broke and she was all
better. I snort a little at the memory of myself running around frantically, trying every known natural fever reducer Google had to offer. Clara had laughed at me and told me to start the truck because Doctors know best.

Two hours later I wake
up sweating in damp sheets. I sit up and rub my face. This is bad. I’m freezing yet sweating. I check my cell and have two texts from Clara, saying that Allie will pop in after school to check on me but isn’t to stay. After the kidney transplant we’re both still cautious with her when it comes to colds. One close call in this lifetime is more than enough. It’s hard to adjust to her being back to good health after watching her struggle for months to recuperate from her transplant.

A third text is from Pepper, bored at work, just saying hi. I type out a quick
“hi” back and toss the phone on my nightstand. I should brush my teeth. That always makes me feel better but I just don’t have the energy to get up and do it. Maybe I’ll just sleep until Allie gets here. I set my alarm for three thirty p.m. and bury myself under the covers again.

When I finally wake up it is dark out.
I leap out of bed and call for Allie on my way down the stairs. No one answers me. Crap. Wrapping my arms around myself as a shiver runs through me, I hit the landing and turn to the kitchen. Pepper moves silently between the sink and the stove, stirring something on the burner.

“You’re up
,” she says over her shoulder. I think I’m hallucinating. I must be. Shaking my head slightly, I close my eyes and reopen them.

“Pepper?” I sound like I’m underwater. Distorted and far away. She moves towards me, reaching a hand out and plac
ing the back of her hand on my forehead as I stare down at her concerned face. Her hand is cool and soft.

“Jesus, you’re burning up
,” she says. “Allie texted me from your phone. She said you were sick and sleeping when she checked in on you. I told her I’d stop by, too,” she explains.

“Allie was here?” I ask
, confused.

“As far as I know. How else would she text me from your number?” she
asks and cocks her head and pouts. “Why don’t you go lie down on the couch? I’m making some soup for you,” she states.

I try to shake the cobwebs from my brain but it proves
impossible. I feel so out of it. I tug the throw off the back of the couch and lay down with it. My lips hurt, my skin hurts. I hurt. It feels like hours have gone by when Pepper emerges with a bowl of soup.

“I hope you don’t mind that I came over
,” she says, setting it down on the coffee table.

“No, I just wish Allie had woken me up
,” I pout. I can’t believe I missed her.

“From what I gathered she didn't stay long, Clara was coming to pick her up. Something about paranoid parents?”
She waves her hand dramatically.

“For a reason. She had a kidney transplant. Two years ago now. We try to keep her healthy.” My sentence sounds gritty and a coughing fit racks my body. Pepper rushes to the kitchen and brings back a glass of water
.

“Thanks.” I lift the glass and chug the contents
.

“I’m glad I came, you are really sick. Eat your soup. It’s butternut squash bisque. I made it from scratch
,” she says and smiles. I reach for the bowl as she disappears in the house and I try to enjoy the fact that someone made me soup. Shuffling back into the room, she sits at my feet with her own bowl of soup and flicks on the TV. It calms me having her here, knowing that I’m not in this house all alone. I watch her easy, bright smile and feel my chest tighten with contentment.

“What do you like to watch?” she asks casually
.