24. thunderstorms

24

THUNDERSTORMS

DAY 19

Tiffany and Kinsey are gone when I finally wake up to a hot, bright tent and the sounds of clanking poles, scuffing shoes, and low voices. Yawning, I sit up and rub my eyes, then unzip the door and peer outside.

What I see doesn't make any sense. Callum and Declan are breaking down the other two tents, talking and laughing. Frank is crouched by the fire pit raking sand over the embers. I look around for Tiffany, Preston, and Kinsey, and finally spot them walking back from the direction of the hot springs. My embarrassment lasts only a second before memories of last night hijack my mind and body.

Covering my face with my hands, I try to shake the visions away. My legs over his shoulders, his mouth ravenous between them. All his slick, hard heat punching the back of my throat. His finger claiming my ass, heightening our pleasure as he propped me against the rocks and rode me from behind.

How at the end, he helped me get dressed with gentle hands, saying nothing, then gave me a slow, lingering kiss and sent me back to camp.

"You feeling okay?" asks Callum. "Tiffany said we needed to let you sleep because you were up all night. You're not sick, are you?"

My fingers part, exposing one eye. "Just had trouble sleeping," I mumble. "Why are we packing up? I thought we were staying two nights."

Callum's brows go up. "You must have been really out of it to not hear anything this morning."

Panic rising, my numb hands drop to my lap. "What are you talking about?"

Callum rakes a hand through his hair. "A jeep came out and picked Dr. C up just after dawn. No idea what happened. Frank doesn't know either. We're all worried it's his family or something. Declan said when he woke up Doc was on the satellite phone." He sighs heavily. "I don't think he's coming back, Mia."

White noise roars in my ears. "What do you mean, not coming back?"

"Declan overheard him saying something about Dr. Reynolds starting immediately." He gazes toward the horizon. "Shit, I really hope his kid is okay."

So do I.

But there's an insidious voice inside me that won't shut up, and it's convinced there's nothing wrong with Leo's son. Nothing at all. What's wrong is what we did. Who he let me see. What he offered and what I gave in return.

The only thing wrong is me.

Oasis finally comes into view, all the glass shimmering like a mirage in the afternoon sun. I don't remember the hike except for Tiffany forcing me to drink water from her canteen a few times. I don't feel the heat, don't feel the blister on my right heel. Don't feel resentful, confused, afraid, or crazy.

If there's anything floating through the white haze of my mind, it's resignation. Acceptance. Thanks to Leo Chastain, I've lost the ability to lie to myself. I shattered him—just like I wanted to—and it doesn't feel good at all.

I was wrong in worrying he'd blame me. I know that now. When Leo snapped out of his moonlight-induced madness, he likely choked on shame and self-loathing. No doubt he's taking 100 percent of the blame onto himself. It's who he is. I'd expect nothing else from a man who carries around guilt for his brother's suicide—which he had absolutely nothing to do with and no control over.

In his mind, he broke the most sacred rule in his book. He lost his precious control and jeopardized not only his career but my treatment.

Truth tastes like ash on my tongue.

It's my fault.

I did this to him.

"Hey, space-cadet."

I look at Declan, whose silent presence has been beside me for a while. "Yeah?"

"Whatever you're thinking, it can't be that bad."

A spike of misplaced anger shoots through me. "Just because we fucked a thousand years ago doesn't mean you know me."

Shock drops his mouth. "Whoa, what the hell? I was just being nice."

"Fuck, I'm sorry." Fatigue and hunger whiten my vision momentarily. "I don't feel that good."

"Want me to take your bag?" he asks.

We're close enough to Oasis now that I can see the single figure standing just inside the open front doors. He turns fast and disappears, but I know it's him.

I unsling the duffel from my back, then shimmy out of my backpack. "Yes, actually. Can you drop my bag at my cabin?"

Looking confused and concerned, Declan nods and grabs the bags. My body feels immediately lighter. Faster.

Fast.

I take off running, ignoring the shouts behind me. Closer… closer. My sneakers hit the asphalt driveway, but I don't slow. Not on the stairs, which I take in one leap. Not when the sudden shade and cool air of the facility shocks my system. The Fish Tank is empty now, but I know where he is.

I don't stop running until I'm at his door. Don't knock before I wrench it open.

"Leo—" His name stutters and dies in my throat.

A woman sits behind the desk. Leo turns slowly from the wall where he's removing the frames with his credentials. His eyes meet mine blankly, then veer to the woman.

"Gretchen, meet Amelia Sloan. "

Neither comment on the fact I'm panting, drenched in sweat, and covered in dirt from my run.

"Are you all right, dear?" asks Gretchen.

Dr. Reynolds, my new therapist.

It takes three tries for me to find my voice. "Yes, um… I heard you were leaving, Dr. Chastain, and wanted to say goodbye. I hope everything's okay at home?"

He nods. Distant. Professional. "Thank you. Everything's fine. My son had a severe asthma attack and was taken to the hospital, but he's okay now. Since Dr. Reynolds was arriving today anyway, I'm going to leave a few days early."

I shouldn't know he's lying, but I do. This man has never lied to me. Not once. Until this moment. I stare at him, waiting for him to look at me. But he doesn't.

My choices are clear: make a scene, or act like a mature woman who cares about other people, especially him, and doesn't want him to suffer. The way Dr. Reynolds is looking at me—with sympathy and compassion—makes me want to vomit. She clearly thinks I'm wigging out because I'm some wacko in love with my therapist.

She's right, but still… fuck her and her sympathy.

I swallow past a dry throat. "Okay. Well, take care. Thank you for everything." I stammer on the last word. To my horror, tears fill my eyes. Waving at the man who isn't even looking at me, I blurt, "Have a safe trip!"

I hightail it out of there, my sneakers squeaking rapidly over tile. I make it out the back door and as far as the pool. Without a second thought, I jump. Cool water takes me into its embrace, flowing around me, above me, inside me. It dulls the jagged edges of my pain.

Leo regrets what happened. I don't. He's running from the shame of it. I'm content to relive it in dreams for years to come. He surrendered to physical desire.

I surrendered my heart.

Does losing Leo hurt worse than the revelation of losing my child? Oddly, it doesn't. At least not in the same way. After all, you can't lose something you never truly had.