Chapter 20Goldie

Chapter 20

Goldie

S ometimes the pursuit of what you want instead leads to what you need.—Gilbert Von Berger

I have no earthly idea who Gilbert Von Berger is or what he did to earn quotable status, but his words are my first thoughts when I'm roused by Clay murmuring my name in a fairly salacious way sometime before sunrise.

From one side of me, he has an arm slung over my shoulders. From the other side of me, Buck's arm is draped across my belly.

Why is two men for every woman not the standard? I wonder idly before whispering, teasingly, "What is it, sweet thang?" at Clay.

Then he lets out a little snort and I realize he's talking in his sleep.

Hearing a guy calling your name in his sleep is not a turnoff.

I go back to mulling over Mr. Von Berger's wisdom. What if the pursuit of what I wanted—to find my Bigfoot and make my documentary—did, indeed, lead to what I need?

After the mind-blowing close encounter of the lusty kind with Buck and Clay last night…I can't ignore the gnawing in my gut that tells me that despite what I wanted, this was what I needed.

I've gotten myself off before. I'm not a total prude. I'm obviously not a hardcore dildo collector like my bestie Winnie. I prefer my hands to toys, but nothing I've ever made myself feel came close to the explosive orgasms Clay and Buck drew out of me. I'm surprised we didn't wake everyone in the cabin. Hell, I'm surprised we didn't wake every bird in every nest on the mountain.

Perfection is not the absence of flaws, but rather the embrace of imperfections in the colorful threads that weave the unique fabric of our existenc e. I think again of that old favorite quote of Mother's third husband, Roy. Damn, there were some mega-colorful threads woven into the fabric of my existence last night!

But I can't think of Roy without thinking of Mother and her trail of broken marriages, including the last casualty, Clive. They were together eight years. An all-time record for her.

"Sometimes the pursuit of what you want leads instead to what you need." I mouth the words.

I wonder if my mother's relentless pursuit of what she wants—to be happily married—and her luck at stumbling upon men who fall fast and propose quickly, who practically race her down the aisle to become man and wife, has kept her from ever making it to what she needs. Whatever that is.

Are you alive, Gilbert Von Berger ? I wonder. What do you think?

It's just light enough that I can make out the silhouette of Buck's face. If I squint, the sweep of his dark lashes. Of course, they've all got thick lashes. For being so big and burly, he looks sweet, innocent even, as he sleeps.

For the first time in my life, I want something more than perfection. I want to be fucked. Forget fingers, forget tongues (actually, if I'm being honest, I really want to add some tongues), I want a man on top of me, his cock inside of me, breathlessly pounding his desire into me while I hold on to the headboard for dear life and cry out for more, more, because it doesn't seem like there could be enough right now.

Maybe that's even what I need .

What if there is no Mr. Perfect out there for me? What if there is no soulmate? What if my relentless pursuit for what I want is keeping me from ever getting what I need?

Buck is what I need. I woke up convinced of it. He's the perfect choice. I mean, since he's never actually gone all the way himself, he won't know if I'm a terribly bad lover the way one of the more experienced guys would. I will actually probably die if I'm bad in bed. I've never been bad at anything!

I can't fold my arms across my chest in resolve, because my arms are pinned down by Buck's and Clay's, but I firmly make up my mind.

I am going to ask Mr. Buck Bj?rnsson for his V-card, and offer him mine in return. Yeah, there may be some fumbling since he's had no practice, but I know without a doubt that man can satisfy me.

I snuggle closer to him. It takes a while, because excitement is shooting through me like fireworks. I no longer have to wonder when and how and if the perfect time will present itself. I'm going to make my own destiny. Eventually I drift back off to sleep.

When I wake back up, this time, it isn't to the sound of anyone moaning my name in their sleep—but to raised voices. Of course, the brothers rarely speak at a low volume. Unless they're putting active effort into whispering, like during our pillow talk last night, their voices boom.

But this doesn't just sound loud. It sounds…like an argument.

What the—?

I scramble out of bed and find a huge flannel shirt on the floor. Yank it on along with my underwear. Hurry out of the bedroom. Stand just out of sight, listening, because in order to ask the right questions, you need context.

Also…maybe I might hear something important, something they wouldn't say if they knew I was awake and right around the corner.

"What could she possibly want from us, Luke?" one of them asks, exasperated. It's Brooks. He has a smoothness to his voice the others don't, like some of the roughness has been polished off. Like a late-night DJ giving lovelorn callers consoling advice. "That collection of 1970s Playboys you keep under your bed in the attic?"

Okay, well, that wasn't something important I needed to hear.

"Luke thinks she's a Sasquatch hunter," Buck says.

But that was absolutely something I needed to hear.

"Goldie? A hunter?" another Bj?rnsson asks. Ash or Nash. They sound a lot alike and it's hard for me to tell without seeing who's speaking. He laughs. No, chortles. No, no, guffaws. "Now I've heard everything."

Before I can even process that, Grumpy Luke is speaking again. So instead of thinking, I bite my lip, shut off my whirring brain, and listen.

"Even if she's not…she's up to no good. I can feel it in my bones. And even if she's not, even if I didn't want her out as soon as she's healed up, do you really think she's going to want to just move up here on the mountain with you knuckleheads? She's got a life wherever she's from. A job. A boyfriend, probably. She'll get whatever she came for and then she'll rush off on her merry way. Leaving me with the pieces of nine stupid broken hearts to sweep up, no doubt."

I continue listening and I feel a tickle of sadness—where did that come from?--in the back of my throat because I don't really have a life where I'm from, or a job, or a boyfriend, but nonetheless, he's right. I am not the type of girl who could live off-the-grid.

Am I?

"She told us she's got no one. No real home. She's adrift and doesn't know what's next for her," Clay says. "So I don't think she's got anything to rush back to."

The part of me who poured my soul out to Buck and Clay during a very vulnerable and intimate moment wants to feel outraged that he tells all of them that without asking me if it's alright, but the part of me who built a career in reality television accepts that it's just human nature and lets it slide. Then all of me realizes that the Bj?rnssons are probably used to telling each other everything and I wouldn't want them keeping secrets from each other—not even mine.

"She sounded a little bit lost," Buck agrees. "I think she might stay awhile. If we ask her."

"Fine. Let me know what she says. If the answer is yes, I'll be moving out into the big cave 'til she's gone," Stupid Alpha-Bigfoot Luke says.

Wait, what?

I hear stomping feet, then someone mumbles something—of course, now's the time for them to not boom.

"He could do it. He's done it before," Lynx said.

Wait…what? Grumpy Luke has left and lived in some cave before?

More stomping feet. More stompy this time.

"And another thing—"

I don't hesitate. I don't want to hear what the other thing is. I have to stop this. I have to stop Luke from leaving. I've gotten used to, in my line of work, having to sit back and watch things unfold, for better or for worse, without interfering. I don't know why, but the pull to intervene now is overwhelming. I can't resist. I go in.

"What's going on?" I ask, trying to sound as casual as possible but my heart feels like a drunk hummingbird having a seizure.

"These assholes are going to help you live out your Snow White and the Seven Sasquatches fairy tale," Luke says to me, his eyes ablaze. Then he turns away from me and announces to his brothers, "I'm going to be in the big cave. Someone come fetch me when ya get to the unhappily ever after. And two words—Susie May."

Susie May?

I have no earthly idea why, but I'm tempted to go to Luke, grab the sleeve of his flannel shirt, tell him that he's not going anywhere until this is thoroughly hashed out—with my input, since I'm obviously at the root of this contention.

"Wait, what are you talking about? Who's Susie May? What's the big cave?"

I'm hoping The Big Cave is the name of some dive motel somewhere not far down the highway and not, actually, you know, a literal cave that's big.

Buck lowers his eyes but then raises them again, meeting my questioning gaze. "Susie May is the only girl I've ever loved. Lynx loved her too. She loved us both. But then she forced us to choose which one of us got to be with her. We couldn't."

"And it about tore us all apart, but apparently they want to try it again with you," Luke says.

What does he mean they want to try it again with me? Love? No, Buck said love, relationships, dating, those things aren't in the cards for them. But…

Am I stupid?

Of course they want to find love. Everyone wants to love and be loved.

The enormity of what I'd been about to do hits me like a sucker punch to the heart. I have no doubt Buck would have sex with me, if I asked, but I was so consumed with thoughts of my own virginity, I didn't even think to wonder why he's still a virgin, since it doesn't sound like any of the brothers have to endure a dry spell in the sex department, if they don't want to, from the way Clay had told it.

"Wait, what? I do not want to tear you all apart!"

"You won't," Clay tells me, firmly. "Because it's different with you. At least, I think it is? We all want to be with you. And we want you to be with all of us."

But they're arguing.

Because of me.

"Susie May thought it was weird, being with two of us, but you…" Lynx's voice trails off, uncertain.

My traitorous clit has something to say about that, the reaction fierce and instantaneous.

"Not all of us want to be with you," Luke barks, and my traitorous clit stops working altogether, I think. Maybe in a permanent way. "I'm going to pack."

My eyes feel huge as I watch him storm off toward the attic.

"He's bluffing." Clay's voice is assuring, but my eyes fill with tears. "You want us too, right?"

Luke's words come back to me, pounding loud in my head like an entire drumline. If you hurt any of them, and I mean any single one of my brothers, me and you are going to have a problem. Got it? They may not look like it, but my brothers have hearts that can break.

I've just been thinking Sex! Sex! Sex! but…they want me? They all want me? They want me to want all of them? In what way? Are they just thinking Sex! Sex! Sex! too? It doesn't sound like it, not if they're willing to let Luke, their fearless and grumpy leader, their brother, move out, even temporarily. Choosing me to stay over him.

That is not okay.

This is not okay.

I shake my head. "He doesn't seem like he's bluffing. I'm…this is not okay. I should be the one to leave. I'm going to leave. I'm leaving right now. You all tell him."

Without thinking anything other than Luke can't leave , without even thinking about my damned ankle, I clumsily hurry toward the front door and stumble outside, hobbling away from the cabin as fast as I can.

Brambles tear at my leg and branches rebound, smacking my neck and face as I push through them. My eyes burn, my cheeks damp from the tears I shed as I race back toward my campsite.

What was I thinking? I just swung into these guys' life, crashing in like Miley Cyrus's damn wrecking ball and…didn't really even give a thought to how my stay would affect them. Was that only forty-eight hours ago, that I landed on top of Luke in that mud puddle? It seems like weeks, even months ago.

And deep down, it bothers me that Luke wants me gone so bad he would leave himself rather than be in my presence. Part of me honestly thought that being grumpy was just part of his personality and he would come around, eventually. I would win him over. People like me!

But Luke thinks I'm a Sasquatch hunter. Is that why he hates me so? And if he's worried that I'm a Sasquatch hunter…does that mean he has a reason to be worried about Sasquatch hunters?

Could I have actually been right about my theory that they're half-Sasquatch?

It doesn't matter , I realize.

Even if they are…even if their father was the Sasquatch that saved me…there are reasons that Sasquatches remain hidden, just as there are reasons the Bj?rnsson brothers remain hidden. Even if I have the best intentions, did I really ever have any right to try to find and expose my hero from so long ago?

No. I did not.

I was selfish. Only thinking about what I needed. And now the Bj?rnssons are arguing. Because of me.

More tears blur my eyes and I realize…I have no fucking clue where I am. I should've made it to my campsite by now, and my ankle smarts something fierce, flares of pain shooting up my shin with each step. It's just me, wearing a flannel shirt that's eighty-five times too big for me, in the middle of the wilderness. I turn in circles, looking for something familiar. The brothers may know every tree by name, but they all look the same to me. Trunks and branches and leaves.

I think about calling out for help, but instead, I jut my chin out and forge ahead. Hopefully in the right direction.

Finally, after what seems like forever but was probably less than an hour, I see a flash of pink. My tent!

Thank God! I feel a surge of gratitude that the brothers set it up for me when they came to get my things to bring to the cabin.

Damn. I left my things at the cabin.

Oh, well. Nothing that can't be replaced, I guess.

I push through to the clearing, so happy I could cry at the thought of being able to lie down for a minute and rest. Forget my ankle. Yeah, it hurts like hell, but I'm in agony from the thighs down, every muscle in my legs jumping and twitching. I'm panting with exertion.

I don't want to lose any weight. I love my curves. But damn, I'm outta shape and I need to do something about that.

I stumble over and lift the flap of the tent. I'll just rest up and then I'll head back down the mountain, down to my car. Maybe I'll check into the Wilderness Haven place for a few days. Get pampered before I—

"There you are," a smooth voice says and I nearly jump out of my skin.