Chapter Twenty-Eight

twenty-eight

Jessie

I'm sitting on my bed, finishing my every-other-Thursday check-in call with my dad, which interrupted my morning cry-fest. Ever since the horrible dinner with Jack and Mary, I've been crying multiple times a day, tears spilling out of my eyes almost without warning. Luckily, my dad prefers regular calls, not FaceTime like my mom.

"Any luck on the job front?" my dad asks. Typical.

"I have an interview on Monday for a position at a summer camp in West Virginia."

It's a seasonal position, a supervisor for the female counselors, but the director said after the first summer he'd try to keep me on year-round. It's not Camp Chickawah, but at least I'll be doing what I love.

Still, the thought of working anywhere but here is what started me crying earlier.

"That's great!" My dad sounds excited; he must be very worried about me. "Have you thought any more about coming to stay with us for a while?"

"Um, I'm not sure—"

"—because we can put a futon in my office," he goes on. "It'll be fine—you won't be in the way."

"That's…very kind of you, Dad," I say, treading lightly.

While I appreciate his offer, I'm less than thrilled about squeezing myself into his family's space, like I did throughout my childhood.

The only place that has ever felt like mine is disappearing.

"Keep me posted," he says, and we say goodbye.

—

I head out into the morning sunlight and start down the path to the lake. But, almost against my will, I find myself veering onto the path that leads to the boys' cabins. To Luke's cabin.

This is what happens when your sexual awakening is Gerard Butler in the 2004 Phantom of the Opera film—you end up falling for the moody, artistic recluse who spends all his time in a dark hovel, hiding from the world. But if I'm going to visit Luke, I need to come up with some excuse. Maybe I'll ask him to join the backpacking group—we're leaving on the traditional overnighter today, one of my favorite events of the summer. Anything but the inexplicable fact that I miss him. My brain keeps replaying the memory of him holding me as I cried; his lips pressing against my jaw; his low voice saying I want you .

Why can't my brain replay the pure aggravation I felt when he pulled away? That would be smarter. That would keep me from doing what I am right now: walking up the stairs to his cabin and knocking.

The door swings open. I peer into the dark interior and see him sitting on the mattress on the floor, Scout curled next to him. His head is bowed, his shoulders slumped forward.

"Luke?"

He raises his head; he looks stricken. "She's gone."

My heart drops.

I walk over; my inclination is to put an arm around him, but I'm not sure he'd welcome that. He seems to have retracted into himself, his eyebrows drawn together, his mouth a grim line.

So I settle next to him on the mattress and wait.

"I knew this was coming," he says. His voice is rough, and he clears his throat. "She's been slowing down, sleeping more, not eating much. Yesterday she hardly moved. It's not a surprise."

"But it's still hard," I say quietly.

"Yes." He wipes his eyes. "I have a spot picked out. To bury her, I mean. She liked it by that stream north of here."

"That's a beautiful spot. Would you like some help?"

"I'll borrow a shovel from Mr. Billy and take care of it," he says. My mind fills with an image of Luke in the woods, all alone, digging a hole, and my chest constricts. "But maybe this evening you could come with me and…"

"I'll be there," I say immediately. The backpackers will have to go without me. "Would you like the rest of the staff to come, too?"

"I'd rather not."

I nod, honored that he wants me there. And grateful for something to focus on besides my own impending loss. Again, I feel that urge to wrap my arms around him, but I settle for pressing my shoulder against his. He doesn't pull away.

"You gave her a beautiful life, Luke."

A puff of air escapes his lips; when I glance at him, there's a sad smile on his face. "I know."

And he leans his forehead against my shoulder and quietly cries.

—

I wish I could stay with him, but I have work to do, helping the backpacking group finish getting ready, giving them directions to the camping spot. I spread the word amongst the staff that Scout died in her sleep last night, and a somber mood permeates the day's activities.

After the backpackers leave with Dot, I stop by Luke's cabin to bring him lunch. He's not there, so I leave him a sandwich and go back to my duties.

Later that evening when I return, he's sitting on the porch, staring into the middle distance. When he sees me, he rouses himself and goes into his cabin. He comes back out with Scout wrapped in a blanket and leads the way to the spot he chose. I stand to the side as he carefully lowers the blanket-wrapped bundle into the hole. Scout looks so small, and my eyes fill with tears.

Luke steps back, his forehead a knot of pain. I ask him if he wants to say anything, but he shakes his head, so I stand there, feeling helpless as he picks up the shovel and fills the grave with dirt, pausing occasionally to wipe his eyes.

By the time he's finished, the sun has set, and it's getting dark, the cool air nipping at my bare arms.

"We should get back," Luke says. It's the first time he's spoken since I arrived.

Silently, we head toward his cabin. I keep fighting the urge to hold his hand, to pull him into a hug—that's what I would want, in a moment like this.

I'm not sure why he wanted me here at all.

When we reach his cabin, I hesitate. "What can I do? Please let me do something."

He meets my eyes; he looks like his heart is breaking. "Will you…stay here tonight?" he finally says. "I'm so used to having her here."

My throat tightens. "Of course."

I follow him inside, not sure what I agreed to. Does he want me to sleep here? To stay up and talk? But he climbs into his bed, the one he made by pushing two twins together, hardly looking at me. There's the bed-slash-couch against the wall, but it's piled with notebooks and papers, so I go to the other side of his bed and pull back the covers. The light is off and it's pitch-black. I slip out of my shorts and bra before lying down and pulling the blanket over me.

Luke is already asleep.

—

When I wake, an hour or so before dawn, the darkness is less intense. It's raining outside, drops spattering on the roof and echoing through the cabin.

Luke is awake, too. He's on his side facing me, his arm tucked under his head. In the dim light he's fuzzy, indistinct.

"Hey," I say quietly. "How are you feeling?"

"Better." His voice is raspy with sleep. "I've been dreading this for months, bracing myself for it. So now that it's happened…I wouldn't say it's a relief. But at least it's over." He shifts his weight. "Thank you for staying."

I swallow, not sure how to take this. "No problem."

He exhales. "There is a problem, though."

"What?"

"I don't think I can keep pretending I'm not crazy about you."

His words hang in the space between us, the air thickening with tension until I break eye contact and shake my head, exasperated.

"What does that even mean?" I say. "You're the one who said you ‘shouldn't get involved with anyone.' You're the one who pulled away—"

"The other day in the woods?" he finishes, and I nod. Maybe my eyes are getting used to the darkness, or it's getting ever so slightly lighter outside, but I can make out his features now. The groove between his eyebrows. His pouty bottom lip. "Your friends needed you. And I assumed you needed them, too. It seemed wrong to kiss you when you were so emotional. But I wanted to."

I wanted to kiss you, too , I think. I want to kiss him now. But I'm wary; he could pull back at any moment.

Silence stretches between us again until he shakes his head and chuckles, almost to himself. It's nice to hear the sound, after yesterday.

"What's funny?" I ask.

"I'm remembering that first email exchange, when you said I couldn't stay in the cabin by myself—"

"You were so rude," I say, a smile tugging at my lips.

"I know. And you were unfailingly kind in return. I'm sorry—after I got your email about the adult camp, I became fixated on the idea of Scout having her last months here. I didn't want anyone else around to bother her."

I raise my eyebrows, surprised. "You said you ‘required privacy' for writing. I thought you were a pretentious asshole."

"I am an asshole," he says dryly, "but hopefully not the pretentious kind. I can write anywhere—I mean, I needed a place to stay, so coming here made sense, and I wanted my dog to be somewhere that would make her happy. Scout loved places like this, with trees and squirrels and lakes. I figured she deserved it after years of living where I wanted. So thank you for that. Really."

My chest warms. "You're welcome. I'm glad you came."

"Me too. And not just for Scout." He pauses, licks his lips. "Being here, spending time with you, it's been…"

He trails off.

I nudge him with my foot under the covers, grinning. "What? Terrifying?"

His eyes lock onto mine. "Yes."

A shiver runs down my spine. "Why?"

Outside, the rain has increased, wrapping us in a rhythmic cocoon of sound. He shifts toward me, and I feel his hand on my thigh, just above my knee, his fingertips grazing my skin.

"I was a fucking mess when I got here. My writing career, my divorce, my dying dog…I've been stuck in a self-pitying spiral—and here's this gorgeous, outgoing woman who is bound and determined to pull me out of it."

"But why was that terrifying?"

His fingers run up my thigh, stopping at the hem of my T-shirt. My eyes drift closed. His touch is featherlight, but somehow my skin is burning. Even though I'm tempted to roll toward him, I hold still, and his hand runs back down to my knee, his fingers curling around to stroke the soft skin behind it.

A sigh escapes my lips. My eyes are still closed—I'm convinced that if I open them, I'll see that sardonic smile on his face and realize he's toying with me. Trying to see how worked up he can get me before pulling away again.

His hand moves to my hip, gently turning me so I'm on my side, facing him.

And now I open my eyes.

"It's terrifying," he says, "because I could fall in love with you so easily."

I freeze. "Don't say that."

"Okay, I won't. But it's true."

Maybe it is—or maybe he's sad because he lost his beloved dog and I'm in his bed and he could use a distraction. But couldn't I use a distraction, too? I'm losing my beloved camp.

Like Luke said, everything ends—this moment will end. This summer will end, and we'll go our separate ways and never see each other again. So why not enjoy it while we can?

His hand strokes my thigh, and his eyes seem to darken as he looks at me, gauging my response. I hold his gaze and part my legs ever so slightly.

His fingertips move higher, until he's toying with the hem of my underwear. Heat pools there, right there, and I nod. Yes. His eyebrow quirks as he runs his hand across the fabric, then lower, until his fingers brush a spot that lights me up. I bite my lip, but a tiny moan slips out nonetheless. His lips twitch, like he's pleased with himself, and he continues circling, teasing, taking his time as the fabric goes from damp to wet to soaking. And then he moves my underwear aside.

At the first touch of his hand, my body tightens involuntarily, and he pauses.

"If you stop right now I will murder you," I say.

He grins—half-delighted, half-devious—as he strokes me, slowly dipping his finger inside, then pulling back out, circling, then doing it all over again. I'm slick and swollen, already so turned on from the weeks of tension building between us. I know it's not going to take much. Heat collects where he's touching me, radiating through me, building to a frenzy until my body tightens and spasms and I cry out, my head rolling back and my eyes squeezing shut.

When I open my eyes again, he's inches away, watching me. I'm shaky, a little dazed, but I manage a teasing smile. "What the hell, Luke? You gave me an orgasm, but you've never really kissed me."

Without hesitation, he leans in and presses his lips to mine. I respond instantly, opening my mouth, our tongues meeting, warm and hungry. We've been waiting for this all summer—these aren't soft, tentative kisses; they're desperate and heated, quickly turning rough. When he pulls away to catch his breath, I bite his bottom lip, growling. In response, he grips my throat with his hand, not squeezing, just holding me in place as he kisses my mouth, my jaw, my neck, scraping his teeth against my skin.

His free hand toys with the bottom edge of my T-shirt, and I lift it a few inches, hoping he takes the hint. He does, running his hand up to cup my breast.

"You're so soft," he murmurs. "I want—I need—"

He lifts my shirt up so he can lean down and put his mouth on my nipple, sucking lightly at first, then harder, making me squirm. Rain drums on the roof, echoing through the cabin. His other hand stays on my throat, gently pinning me down as he sucks and toys with me until I'm writhing. When he pauses, I take the opportunity to tug his shirt up, and he releases me so I can pull it over his head and off.

The sky outside is lighter now, giving me a view that takes my breath away: his body looks like it was crafted by a master artist. Perfect proportions, perfect symmetry, all lean and toned; my hands ache to touch him.

"You're so goddamn gorgeous, you could be on a salad dressing bottle," I tell him.

His eyes spark with mischief. "And you're so goddamn gorgeous, you could be a Barbie doll."

"Fuck you," I say, grinning.

"Yes, please."

I laugh, then put my palms on his pecs, slide them up to his shoulders, down his arms, across his abs. He closes his eyes and lets me touch him as his breathing turns ragged, until he can't handle it anymore and he grabs my wrists.

"Take off your shirt," he orders, his voice rough.

I obey, and his gaze sweeps over me, fiery blue. He pulls me against him, and the warmth of his skin on mine makes me dizzy. We sink into another deep kiss as we move together, nothing but our underwear between us as we thrust against each other. It's rough and dirty and so fucking hot I can feel another orgasm building.

"Why haven't we been doing this all summer?" he says, and bites my neck—not too hard, but enough to make me startle.

As punishment, I sink my teeth into his shoulder, making him yelp.

"Because," I say, "you were a dumb little dweeb."

He laughs out loud—probably the first real laugh I've ever gotten from him. He kisses my neck, then sucks hard enough to bruise.

"Watch it," I say. "You're going to give me a hickey and everyone will know what we've been doing."

"Oh, everyone will know. I am going to fuck you so hard you won't be able to walk straight."

"Promise?"

He yanks down my underwear, driving a finger inside me, making me gasp—then a second finger, and a third. I take it as long as I can before wriggling away from him; I have something else in mind.

I reach into his boxers and wrap my hand around him. His hips jerk and he hisses. "Fuck, Jess."

I tug his boxers down farther, leaning down to lick him with the flat of my tongue, then closing my mouth around him.

He groans but doesn't let me stay there for too long—soon he's pulling me up again, shaking his head. "I won't last. Not now. Not when I've been wanting this for so long."

"More dirty dreams?"

"You have no idea. Grab my wallet, will you?" He angles his head upward, toward the headboard, and I find his wallet there and hand it to him.

While he's looking inside, I pull my underwear off and throw it somewhere behind me. He finds a condom and gives it to me so he can take his boxers off. My hands are shaking so badly I can't open the package, and a mischievous grin sneaks onto his face as I fumble.

"You like watching me struggle?" I say.

"I'm just glad you're as worked up as I am."

In desperation, I use my teeth to rip the foil open. Luke lies back and I roll the condom on. Then I position myself above him and sink down, slowly. We both groan as he fills me, and for a moment I can't think, can't move, can hardly breathe. Almost unconsciously, I rock against him.

He grips my hips. "Give me a second."

I relax, leaning back to look at him. He's flushed beneath me, breathing hard, his hair messy. Totally unraveled.

Smiling, I motion to him. "I like this. You, at my mercy."

"Fuck yes I am." His voice is almost pained, the muscles in his arms and shoulders tense. "All those dreams I had? They don't compare to reality, not even close. My god, Jess. I could live a thousand years and never forget this. How you look. How you feel."

An unexpected emotion hits me, tender and sweet, making my throat tighten. His earlier words echo in my mind: I could fall in love with you so easily . My eyes prick with tears, and I blink them away. I do not need complicated feelings like that right now.

"You ready?" I say, a teasing lilt in my voice.

His eyes flash with heat. "Not yet. Come for me again."

I grin. "Yes, sir."

I begin to move, and he holds my hips as I grind in slow circles. It doesn't take long before heat is building inside me. He's watching me intently, making it difficult to breathe, so I close my eyes and disappear inside myself. I put my hands over his and move them from my hips to my waist, up to my breasts, squeezing and stroking as I rock against him, faster, faster. My body flushes white-hot and I cry out, shaking and gasping for air.

When I open my eyes, he's smirking up at me. "That's a good girl."

Then he rolls us over so he's on top. He parts my legs with his knee and drives into me roughly, making me whimper, but I tell him it's good, I want more, please don't stop. We move together, slowly at first, but quickly gaining speed. The rain, thrumming on the roof, vibrates deep in my body.

"We're doing this again," he says, panting.

My eyes widen. "When?"

"Tonight. In an hour. After lunch—I don't care. I need to prove I can last longer the next time."

"Deal," I say.

His hands find mine, lacing our fingers together as he rolls into me, his jaw tightening and the tendons in his neck straining until he finally tenses and groans and collapses against me. I wrap my arms around him and bury my face in his neck, inhaling deeply, trying to hold on to this moment as long I can.

But eventually, he rolls off me and goes to the bathroom. I go next, splashing water on my face before returning to bed. He pulls me against him, spooning me from behind.

Outside, the rain is slowing, the sky brightening. I close my eyes, sleep tugging me down.

"How many more days do we have?" he asks.

My eyes open as I realize what he's asking. "I guess…four? Unless you want to stay another week while the staff and I—"

"I'll stay," he says quietly. "And until then, you're mine, okay?"

Another surge of emotion threatens to overwhelm me, and I swallow it down. Everything ends , I remind myself. Nothing lasts forever.

"Okay," I whisper, and he holds me as we drift back to sleep.