34. Locke

I can feel that Maren is awake before she speaks.

She flinches almost imperceptibly, her breathing quickens, and her fingers curl against my tattoo.

After a minute or two, she whispers, "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," I lie. "I can't sleep. The wind's too loud."

"What time is it?" she asks.

"Almost three a.m."

She places her palm against my sternum. "Why is your heart racing?"

"That's my normal state around you lately," I say, covering the back of her warm hand with mine.

"Because you think you're addicted to me?" she asks slowly.

"If you could be in my mind," I say, "you'd understand."

"Explain it to me instead."

I pause, my fingers trailing over hers, racking my vocabulary for the right words. "Every time you so much as move an inch, my brain gets a shock, like you complete a circuit within me. My skin can't take it when the warmth of yours wears off, and I want to crawl out of it when another woman touches me even innocently. There's something explosive coursing through my veins when you're near, and you'll probably give me a heart attack eventually. When you talk, my muscles relax. And when you decide you don't want me anymore, I'll be so deprived of dopamine, Maren, you're going to have me wishing I wasn't in my own body." I chuckle. "Too much?"

"You know," she says, kissing the bottom of my ribcage, "I feel the same way, more or less. And I don't think I'm addicted to you. That's what happens to me when I like someone."

Her words hang in the air. Like. Or love? Do I want her to love me?

Every cell in my body crawls, responding to my question.

"My insides knot every time you step near me," she adds. "When you look at me with your deep I-want-to-eat-you expression, my blood pressure drops, and then when you show me your dimples, it races back, flooding my heart. I'd tie you to me if I could, in a non-creepy way. Maybe even in a creepy way. Definitely in a sexual way. And I want to take pictures of you every second. I want to consume every little piece of you, Locke. There is no ‘when I decide I don't want you anymore,' I promise. I will always want you." She mimics my chuckle. "Too much?"

This woman could never be too much. I'd take and take and take, guard every precious piece, and I'd never get tired of it.

"No," I say, "you're all-consuming. Hey, you want to go outside?"

She laughs. "In the hurricane?"

"Yes," I insist, throwing off the comforter. "It'll be fun."

In my black boxer briefs, I grab Maren by the ankles and throw her over my shoulder. She squeals and kicks the air.

She's in my white T-shirt, and I have no idea if she put underwear on or not, but I guess I'll find out fairly quickly when we step out into the rain.

No, I'll find out now. I slide my hand up her leg to her bare ass and smile. As soon as she wakes up tomorrow morning, she'll be rubbing this greedy pussy on my cock to wake me up—if she still wants me.

Downstairs, the back door takes extra effort to open against the wind, and when I step out on the porch, we're immediately pelted with rain.

"Ouch," Maren laughs. When I move to put her down, she shrieks. "I'm going to blow away!"

"I'd hold you through a tornado," I promise, but she doesn't hear me in the wind.

It howls and whips around the house, but I keep walking straight out, keeping her draped over my shoulder. The palm trees lean heavily to the left, and I'm careful not to step on the branches that litter the ground around the pool.

Finally, I reach the dock, and we're completely soaked. I lower Maren down to her feet, but she keeps her arms around my neck.

"It's chilly," she says. "Did you bring me out here for a wet T-shirt contest?"

"No," I reply. I needed out of the bed. I needed stimulation. I needed chaos. Something to make me not want to pull out my hair by the roots. I don't want to be able to feel anything, because I don't understand what I am feeling.

She stands on her tiptoes to kiss me before she steps back and holds her arms out by her side. With her head thrown back, she smiles at the sky. The wet fabric of her shirt clings to her breasts, just see-through enough, and her nipples peak in the cold.

"How do I look?" she screams over the wind, hair whipping around her face.

"Perfect," I whisper.

Maren looks back at me before she starts to twirl. Her cute little ass peeks out from beneath the hem of my T-shirt as it rises up her legs. "I can't hearrrrr youuuuu!" Her laugh carries across the water on a gust.

I wish I could be every single raindrop caressing her skin, carry her laugh around in a jar to hear it whenever I wanted—but maybe that's not obsession, maybe it's just the way I feel. Maybe it's love.

"I know," I continue. "You look like a force. Like you're happy. You look like a dream, one I never want to wake up from. You look like you're mine. I want to keep you all to myself because I'm selfish, but I want to show you off to the world at the same time because I'm lucky. You look like someone who deserves everything, someone I don't deserve. And you look like the woman I think I'm falling in love with."

Abruptly, she stops twisting and cocks her head to the side, like somehow she heard me, even though I know she didn't. Maybe she sensed it—my shift or the mood or my intensity.

What? she mouths, unsuccessfully pursing her lips to hide her smile.

"Nothing," I say, shaking my head. Droplets fall from the ends of my bangs, so I run my hand through my hair to push it back. The urge to tell her a secret I never thought I'd say out loud gnaws at my brain, but it's not a question of if anymore but when. Because I can't not tell her, even if it means she pulls away. All of my secrets are her secrets now.

I drag her into me flush against my body, wrapping my arms around her lower back. I tip my face down to hers and speak against the shell of her ear. "I want—need—to tell you something."

She peers up at me, eyebrows knitting together from her smile. "I like secrets."

"It was me," I let out. "I interfered with your reality show." Confusion replaces her smile. My body is on fire despite the rain, but the only way to put it out is to keep going. "I got them to agree to never show what happened."

Her jaw drops, and she blinks through the raindrops weighing down her eyelashes. "How?"

"Maybe threatened, maybe bribed. I'm a persuasive motherfucker when I want to be, but that's beside the point."

"Why?" she asks.

The same question I've asked myself a million times in the last few months.

I would never have done it if I hadn't been walking down the hallway that day and heard Russell's grating laugh coming out of the private lounge in the country club. They must have been the only ones in there, because it was so early in the morning, but I'd been up before dawn to practice.

"You want them to air that?" I'd heard his caddie say. I paused and lingered in the hallway outside the door.

"Why not?" Russ replied, still amused. "All publicity is good publicity."

His caddie laughed while pointing out the obvious. "That's fucked up."

I could almost feel Russ' indifference shatter out of the room, like his shrug caused a fissure across Florida. "Maren will get over it."

I'd known. We'd all known what he'd done. This is a small world—golf world. I stay out of people's shit, but this particular thing, I just couldn't. I couldn't live with myself, knowing I could stand up for her.

It took me all of three seconds before I made a rash decision and turned around. No one would ever know it was me, I'd make sure of it, but I also knew that over my dead body was that fucking saga going to air.

As soon as I made it outside, I had Graham on the phone to demand he give me the producer's personal phone number within the hour. Sometimes it's very useful to pay someone so much.

"I don't know," I tell Maren. "Because I saw me in you. I know what it feels like to be manipulated and used, and trust me, I feel insane now. I haven't been stalking you or obsessed with you, and this wasn't some elaborate plan to mess with you. I watched you for years bouncing around like light. I knew what Russell was doing, but I had no clue if you knew, and I wasn't about to get involved. And then he just stole it all from you. I wasn't about to let him make it worse."

She pauses, taking that in. Her face is coated with rain, but she doesn't bother to wipe it away. "And you cared?"

"Yes, Maren, I cared, but you never would've known if you hadn't asked me for help and came bounding into my life. I felt like I'd done my part, and I wouldn't even agree to help you until I realized I could get something out of it because I'm an asshole more often than I care."

Her wide, stunned eyes blink again rapidly. "Did you get Craig to stop filming me?"

I shrug. "All that took was a look. I suspect because he thought we were dating, which I had zero intention of doing. I would have died with this secret, and now—now, I'd die for you. I don't even know how I've gotten from point A to point B."

Maren bursts into tears, and I have no idea if they're happy or sad. Maybe I've reached my limit, shown my hand, that I'm too fucking much. I forgot what I'm good for—a boyfriend isn't one of them.

"If this is too much for you…" I start, not wanting to finish. However, whenever, this ends, I'll be in the same place: a hollow version of the man I used to be, using everything and anything to fill the void Maren will leave.

Then a laugh comes bubbling up, brightening her face. She jumps into my arms and wraps her legs around me. The rain and her tears mix together on her wind-blown cheeks.

"You'd die for me?" she breathes.

"Yes," I say with a laugh. "Of course, I would. We just established that I'm insane."

Her kiss is electric. "Locke, getting to know you has been one of the best—and most fun—times of my life."

Maren has destroyed my life as I know it.

Now— just say it, Locke.

But I don't. Because how do I say that?