The Bridge to a Better Life (24 page)

They couldn’t fight if they didn’t talk.

They couldn’t get back together if they didn’t talk.

He wanted to hit something.

Touchdown ran between them, almost like a peace mediator, panting away. All his buddies joked that the beagle was in better shape than all of them. Blake held back, letting Natalie set the pace like he’d always done. She worried her lip as she ran, making him all too aware of her breasts bouncing just a tad under her red sleeveless sports tank. Her slender arms had the curve of muscle and were dotted with freckles. Her legs were a flash of smooth white as she kept pace with him.

Thorn’s Peak pierced the ocean-blue sky ahead, and lemony rays of the afternoon sun touched the rugged landscape. The rock face of the awe-inspiring Great Wall curved along the pass. Bats and birds flew out of the tiny holes in the rock. He caught sight of a moose and her calf on the humpback-shaped ridge dotted with pines and conifers. The pass was fairly flat, but the incline was deceiving. By mile three, Natalie was puffing, her face tomato red. Her chin was set with pure determination now.

“You don’t have to grit it out, babe,” he said, throttling back even more.

Her eyes were cold and hard when she glanced over. “I can do it.”

His stomach burned. He knew that look. She was angry, most likely with herself. He settled back into her pace. By mile four, he wasn’t breathing hard, but she was nearly gasping. He slowed again.

“Shit. Fine.” She waved her hand. “Go do your thing. I don’t want to hold you back.”

Her words held an ominous ring. Some things never changed. Usually he’d run ahead. She’d walk. Then he’d angle back once he was ready, and they’d run home together. But this wasn’t about that.

“Let’s walk a bit,” he said, dropping his pace to a simple stretch of the legs.

She stumbled and went down on one knee. Hard. Touchdown barked in response to her pained cry.

He was kneeling beside her in seconds. “Here. Let me see.”

She sat down and grimaced at the blood seeping out of the wounds. Brushing at the gravel and dust, she bit her lip.

“Go ahead and shout. I know it has to hurt.”

She swatted his hands aside, which only pissed him off. He ripped off the hem of his shorts and dabbed at the wound.

“Stop coddling me!” she yelled. “I’m fine. Now, go ahead and finish your run. I’ll follow you at a walk.”

His jaw popped. “I’m not fucking running ahead.”

She put her hand on her knee, almost protectively, still gasping for air. “But you always run ahead!”

“I don’t have a quota anymore.”
I’m not in the NFL anymore.

“Keep going, dammit! Don’t stop for me. It’s only a little scrape.”

Anger shot up from his liver to his throat. “I’ll damn well stop for you if I want to. Spending time with you is more important than ticking off miles—even if you’re pissed off, even if you don’t want to be here. And I’m certainly not leaving you when you’re bleeding on the trail.”

Her lip wobbled before she bit it again. In those seconds, something horrible and ugly shimmered between them, something that reminded him of those last days they’d lived together.

He sat on the ground next to her. Dared to lower his hand to her calf to create one tenuous connection between them, a few scant inches from the Celtic knot tattoo on the inside of her ankle, the one he still hadn’t asked her about.

“How is it we’re farther apart today than we were yesterday? What happened?”

“I don’t know,” she said with an edge to her voice.

Her breathing was stabilizing. Touchdown was nuzzling her torso, giving her comfort, something Blake wished he could do.

“Yes, you do know,” he pressed, prepared to hear the truth at last. “Tell me why.”

Her gaze flew to his. “Because everybody thinks I’m crazy for ever leaving you! You’re the best guy on the planet. Everyone thinks so.” The hand she was using to prop herself up grabbed a fistful of soil. “You take your drunken ex-wife home when she drinks too much. You don’t screw her when she throws herself at you even though you probably wanted to.”

He felt sick. “I’d never
screw
you.”

“And to make it worse, you hold my head when I puke, put me in a nightshirt, and sleep in your clothes on top of the covers because I asked you to stay.” Her ice-blue eyes narrowed. “I asked you, didn’t I?”

His throat closed. “Yes.”

Her breath gusted out. “Oh, Blake.”

Touchdown lay down on the ground between them, adding to their fragile connection. Blake’s free hand stroked the dog’s belly. He couldn’t bear to mention he’d seen the black box holding her rings in the hope chest.

He made himself look into her eyes. Hers were wary and filled with pain. “You said you loved me.”

She hung her head. “I cut you like that, and yet you stayed?”

“You asked me to.” His heartbeat pulsed in the hand on her calf, as if coming alive through the sheer act of sustained touch.

“Sam pretty much called me a bitch for leaving you,” she whispered.

“He’d never do that.” His friend was brutally honest, but he wasn’t cruel.

“Don’t be so sure. And coming from him…well, it hurt. Even if it was true. I never expected him…”

“I’ve told you before, and I’ll say it again. No one’s opinion matters to me—not my friends or your family or the press. The only one that matters is yours.”
And you told me you loved me the other night.

“I’m so confused,” she admitted softly, so softly he had to strain to hear it.

He wasn’t confused. He knew what he wanted. But he could admit to his own weakness. “Well, I’m afraid. Being near you again, even sitting in this dirt beside you while your knee bleeds, makes me want to wrap you up and never let you go. I’m afraid you won’t let me.”
Again.
He left the words unsaid.

She scooted closer, her bottom spreading dirt out like a fan behind her. Touchdown ambled to the side as she set the side of her body flush against his. His hand curved around her calf, and when she didn’t protest, he kept it there, his fingertips tingling now.

Dropping the rag he’d given her for her knee, she laid a tentative hand on his chest. His breath seized in his lungs. She faced north, and he faced south, and even though they were positioned in opposite directions, they seemed closer than ever before.

Her trembling hand wasn’t its usual icy cold as it trailed up his neck, but each time those wary blue eyes met his, they would flicker away. When she cupped his jaw, he let his eyes close. She was touching him again, and her caress was this side of heaven.

Her fingertips traced his mouth next. He felt her scoot even closer, and then the briefest touch of her mouth slid across his lips.

He knew that mouth. He’d kissed it in the light. He’d kissed it in the dark. For years, it had been the first thing he’d sought in the morning, and the first thing he’d craved when he arrived home at night. His pulse thundered as he waited for more than a mere brush. Seconds ticked by. The wind ruffled his hair, making all the hairs on his neck prickle with awareness. She conducted another pass of his lips, but nothing more. His hand fisted in the dirt, like hers had earlier. He fought the urge to grip her calf.

God,
he thought,
oh God. More. Touch me more.

The pressure increased until she was sipping at his upper lip, the corner of his mouth, the fullness of his bottom lip. He locked his muscles, afraid to move, to startle her from this precious reunion.

“Why aren’t you kissing me back?” she asked with a catch in her throat.

A strangled noise rose from his chest. “I’m afraid to.”

“But why?” she whispered, her breath warm and fragrant on his skin. “I thought this was what you wanted.”

“It is…but I want it to mean something.” He squeezed his eyes shut tighter. “I don’t want this to be about me taking care of you.”

Her hand curled around his neck in benediction as her mouth kissed his chin so damn sweetly he felt tears pop into his eyes.

“Blake. It’s not because you took care of me.” She stopped herself from saying more, but he heard the words left unsaid:
It means something.

It was the permission he’d been seeking, the opening he’d prayed she would give him. He opened his eyes.

With her face just inches away, he could make out the fine, pale hairs on her soft cheek. His hand lifted. He watched it travel with the uncertain speed of a balloon in the air, unsure of where it was going. His fingertips finally reached for her face. He traced the curve of her delicate jaw, the line of her soft cheekbone. They traveled up, smoothing her brow.

This time, she let
her
eyes close, and a sigh gusted out of her, hanging in the air between them. His exploration continued. He reacquainted himself with the beauty of her face. His thumb traced the curve of her upper lip and then the bottom. Her mouth parted, and the knowledge that she was fighting the urge to suck his finger into her mouth like she’d always enjoyed doing turned him rock hard in an instant. That would be too intimate. Some touches were tipping points to new plateaus, and right now, they needed to keep to the flats. Cresting to a higher level would be too taxing, too stressful to this new connection between them.

His mouth settled onto hers with more pressure, and then they were kissing for real. Even though he’d kissed her thousands of times, this kiss felt like their first kiss. Filled with hesitation. Laden with unfulfilled promises. Heavy with questions. Burgeoning with hope.

Then her mouth opened under his, and she answered one of his questions. She wanted to take things deeper. He fell under her spell. His tongue slid into her mouth slowly, another question.
How far?
She answered by rubbing her tongue against his. They circled and danced, and he didn’t care that his lungs were screaming for air. He never wanted this kiss to end.

She inhaled sharply through her nose some moments later, struggling for breath, but still she didn’t pull away from their connection. Her hands cupped his face now, tracing his jaw with sweetness. The fingers he had around her calf slid up ever so slowly until he could grip her thigh.

Her moan crossed the short distance from her mouth to his, and he felt the vibration ripple through his body, down to the very nuclei of his cells. She slanted her head to the right, and he answered her silent request. The kiss turned wetter, the passes of their tongues swifter—until this time he was the one who groaned.

Time faded away. He lost sight of where they were, of the hard ground beneath them. All he felt was the rapid rise of her chest as she breathed into his mouth as they kissed. All he felt was the warmth of her skin, the curve of her breast against his chest.

They kissed and they kissed and they kissed until the light behind his eyelids darkened and the mountain air cooled. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he realized the sun was setting. The practical side of him said they were four miles from the car, and she was hurt. Darkness would soon descend, making the dirt trail more difficult to follow.

Another part of him wanted to gather sticks for her like the men of old used to do for their partners and build a fire for them. He could hunt down an animal to spit so they wouldn’t go hungry. And when their bellies were full, he’d make love to her by the light of the fire as the stars bore witness to their love.

She broke the kiss first but followed up with little pecks at his mouth, all the sweeter because he could feel her pulse against him, thrumming with desire.

“It’s getting dark,” she murmured, her voice all sensuality now.

He hadn’t heard that voice in so long, and he had the urge to find his phone and record it so he could play it later when they returned to their separate homes, separate beds.

He sighed and rested his forehead against hers. “I know, but I don’t want to leave.”
I don’t want to lose what we just found again.

“Neither do I, but even as tough and manly as you are, you’re no match for wolves and coyotes and everything else that goes bump in the night.”

For her, he would have pitted himself against all of that and more. His hand stroked her thigh one last time and gave it a gentle squeeze. Her muscles twitched in response, and her legs shifted restlessly.

“Wolves and coyotes are misunderstood. They’re not that bad.” What was he saying?

“Well, if we had camping gear, I’d feel differently, but we need to go.” She leaned away and pushed off the ground.

His arms came around her as he helped her stand. “How’s the knee?”

“Fine,” she said like he expected. She always said something was fine when he knew it hurt.

Still neither of them moved. Thorn’s Peak was a black spear in the sky now. Streaks of violet and turquoise covered the ridge. The sky above them was turning into a blanket of stars, shining like brilliant diamonds.

Tell me this means something,
he wanted to say again.
Tell me you won’t step back.

They started down the trail again. Her gait wasn’t natural, so he knew her knee was hurting. Touchdown trotted along the pass ahead of them—their little sentry. Blake’s eyes adjusted to the change in the light so he could make out the edges of the trail where sage and brush began.