Losing Track (Living Heartwood 2)

He nods. Then looks around, maybe seeking a topic change that doesn’t require any more questions.

“How much longer are you trapped here?” I blurt.

His eyes find mine quickly. “I’m not trapped. Why are you so judgmental?”

“Whoa, guy. I just meant to ask when your probation was up. That’s the commitment keeping you here, right? Maybe heading to South Dakota or somewhere else for a while would...” I trail off, stopping myself before I dig too deep. “Look, I don’t know your deal, don’t want to, but traveling has always helped me—I know it’s unwanted advice. Do whatever. But I think the druggies would survive without your motivational speeches. Maybe do something for yourself.”

A slow smile hikes the side of his face. “You don’t get it, do you?” He moves even closer, the water a thin barrier between us. “You’re new to the program, and right now, you don’t plan to stop using. You’re biding your time, doing what you have to, to get out. Then you’re going back to whatever life got you in there to begin with. You don’t know what it takes to stay clean, Mel. You can’t just hop on a bike and go. You can’t just turn your back on…” He clamps his lips closed. Gives his head a hard jerk.

My defenses shoot up. “Who’s the judgmental ass now?” I splash the water out of my way as I start toward the bank, like I’m clearing a path for my dramatic storm off. Hard to do in water. “You don’t know anything about my life. I can’t stand people like you; hardcore straightedgers. Sobriety peddlers. You’re worse than religious freaks.”

He grabs my arm, halting my retreat. “You’re right.”

I stare down at his hand, his skin hot on mine. Then look up into his face. “Ya know, you can be sober. I’m all for whatever works for you. I don’t care either way. But don’t push your beliefs on others as a way to keep yourself clean. Do it for your damn self.” I jerk my arm and slip out of his hold. “Because it’s more than rude. It’s creepy. Do you know that?”

His tightly pressed lips tip up into a slight smile. “I have been selling it a bit hard, and you nailed it, it keeps me in line. Reminds me every day not to slip. But if you ever try to quit, just walk away from the whole scene, you might find out why some join the sober loser occult. At least for a while.”

Licking my lips, I taste the lake water. I give his admission all of two seconds’ thought, because it’s all I need. I understand where he’s coming from…I just don’t want to be there. Which means I need to put some real distance between us now.

“Let’s get back to Stoney,” I say, nodding toward the shore. “I don’t want an infraction, or whatever the

y give you when you fuck up.”

I start wading through the water when he says, “Wait.”

Dammit. I can feel whatever shit this guy has buried weighting me down. Pulling me into the figurative undertow. I should have listened to that nagging voice and stayed to myself.

Still, I give him another second.

He moves in front of me, his towering height blocking my escape. “What does your tat mean?” His gaze lowers to my chest. To the words scrawled below my collarbone in my handwritten script.

From Pain Comes Strength.

I raise my eyebrows. “I think it’s pretty straight forward there, Boone. Kind of simple to figure out. What do you think?”

He lifts his hand from the water, as if he’s going to touch me…but hesitates. Hand suspended, his gaze trained on my chest, my breathing ratchets. Then he makes contact, slowly tracing his finger along the first word. Beads of water drip down my skin, roll between my breasts. A breath lodges in my throat at the feel of his finger—rough yet tender at the same time, his light touch. He works his way across, to the last word, and slips his finger beneath the strap of my bra. Moves it aside. So he can see the tat fully.

See me fully.

“I think,” he says, “you’re the farthest thing from simple to figure out.” His fingers skim down lower, over the swell of my breast, before he pulls away. Then he looks into my eyes. “I just don’t know where to begin, or if it’s too much of a challenge.”

Boone

Of brimstone and kiss

NO WORDS COULD BE truer. But I’m shocked as hell they came from my mouth.

Melody is caught somewhere between fascination and appall. I didn’t give her a compliment, and she’s smart enough to understand that. Most chicks would’ve blushed, smiled, accepted the words surface deep.

Not her. She’s clinging to the underlying meaning. Trying to unravel the mystery. That’s why I should leave her the hell alone. My first conquest to get back in the game shouldn’t be her; I should hook up with someone easy…not that kind of easy. Well okay, yeah, maybe. Someone who isn’t going to look too close. Who won’t painfully peel back the layers, dissect everything I let fly out of my mouth. It’s exhausting just being around her, trying to filter my thoughts.

I need uncomplicated.

That’s what I decide. I give her one last, longing glance, let my gaze sweep over her pale pink bra, her hard nipples peaked against the wet material, and subtly sink under the water to adjust my hard, aching cock.

The look she’s giving me nearly does me in, though. Almost makes me say fuck it and grab her, just to end the torment. I’m a livewire, strung taut and snapping, dying to press her body against mine. Just to get some relief.

Then, “You’ll never face a harder challenge.” Her words sink into me, to the marrow. She releases me from her penetrating gaze, and says over her shoulder as she begins to swim away, “Let’s leave it at that.”