Burying Water

  “How’s your first rodeo?” The smell of mint hits me a split second after hearing his voice spikes my heart rate. Jesse slides into the bleacher next to me, his leg pressing up against mine from hip to knee.

  “Interesting.” My breath catches as he curls his arm around my shoulders, pulling my temple into his lips for a soft kiss.

  I guess Jesse has decided that we’re going public.

  He leans forward. “Hey.”

  “Jesse.” Sheriff Gabe’s eyes graze over his son’s arm but he says nothing else, turning his focus back to the bull pen.

  The crowd roars as the voice announces the second bull over the speaker and it charges out, this one bigger and bucking even more fervently. I should be watching the show and yet I can’t. I’ve lost interest. The entire event—whatever it is, ten seconds? Thirty seconds? A minute?—continues in the background as I absorb Jesse’s body heat against me.

  Amber’s not watching the rodeo anymore either. She’s now staring at us intently, her wide eyes skittering between us and her parents, then back to us, finally to settle on her brother, a mixture of shock and worry and hurt on her face.

  I probably should have said something to her. I just didn’t know how to explain it.

  Other than I’m falling hard for her brother.

  THIRTY-ONE

  Jesse

  then

  “Jesse?”

  My heart jumps at the sound of her voice.

  I haven’t seen or talked to Alex in weeks.

  “Hey . . . hold on a second.” A quick glance around the garage confirms that no one’s paying any attention to me. But Miller will bust my balls if he catches me on the phone. “Hey, Boone—I’m taking my break now, in case anyone’s looking for me.”

  He sees the phone in my hand and nods. “Got it.” We’re at least on regular speaking terms lately.

  A light drizzle falls. Not enough to soak me but enough to be annoying. “Hey. Is everything okay?” An image of her curled up in a dark corner in her house, bruised and battered, hits me and I grit my teeth.

  “Yeah.” There’s a pause. I hear the hesitation. “Can you meet me?”

  “When?” I check my watch. It’s three. “I have another couple of hours at work, but I can cut out if you need me to.” Miller can dock my pay. He can fire me. Right now, I don’t give a shit.

  “Tonight, then.”

  The white Christmas lights coiled around a fake palm tree ahead are impossible to miss. I pull off the road and into the parking lot of the restaurant, thirty miles outside of Portland. I know why she chose it.

  Her husband’s unlikely to find us out here together.

  I ignore the hostess standing at the door because I saw the Z8 parked around back, so I know Alex is here, somewhere. It takes a lap around the surprisingly large restaurant to spot her white-blond hair at a small table in a corner, concealed from the entrance by a giant Christmas tree.

  “Sorry I’m late,” I offer.

  She looks up at me, startled, and I instantly remember how much I like Alex’s eyes. I can see by the dark circles that she hasn’t been sleeping well. Her face wasn’t as drawn before, either. She’s lost weight. “Jesse.” It’s almost a whisper, it’s so soft. “Hey.”

  I want to kiss her. That wedding ring is staring back at me, though, and in my worn jeans and boots, there’s no doubt to anyone around that I’m not the one who gave it to her. I slide into the booth across from her and stretch my legs out to hug the outsides of hers. It’s cramped, so I have an excuse.

  She doesn’t pull away.

  “Have you been here a while?”

  She swallows, and her gaze drops to the empty sweetener packets covering the closed menu lying on the table. “Since I called you.”

  It’s after seven. That means she’s been sitting here for four hours. Something’s wrong. That much is obvious. “Where’s Viktor?

  “Out for business.”

  “So not much has changed.”

  She shrugs. “He hasn’t hurt me again.”

  “Yet.”

  “I haven’t given him a reason to.”

  What the fuck does that mean? I’m running a few scenarios in my head, and they all involve her doing things that make me want to scream. “And the tattoo? What does he think about the tattoo?” My voice is full of bitterness. I’m sure he’s seen it by now.

  “He liked it, actually.” She pauses. “I told him that I went out with a few girlfriends from school and we all got one done.” Her voice drops an octave. “I said it was a surprise. For him.”

  Well, now I’m just pissed. “It wasn’t for him, Alex. It was for you.” For us.

  Before she can speak, the waitress strolls by. “You thinking of ordering food, darling?”

  Taking a deep, calming breath, I answer “Yeah” for both of us, knowing that Alex probably hasn’t eaten. I may be angry, but I’m also starving. I had just enough time to race home to shower and change. I don’t bother opening the menu. “Can you bring me a burger? No toppings. And what do you have with blueberries?”

  The waitress sighs, looking at the ceiling. “Pie, cheesecake, mousse, ice cream—”

  I cut her off. “Good. Bring one of each. And a beer for me. Do you want one?”

  Alex shakes her head. I watch the waitress walk away and then return my focus to Alex, ready to push her. I need her to remember how happy she was with me.

  Because I was so damn happy with her, and now I’m miserable.

  “How’s school?”

  She shrugs. “I just finished the semester. But . . . I’m not going back in January.”

  “Alex—”

  “How’s Boone? And Licks? Are you going home for Christmas?”

  I heave an exasperated sigh.

  She reaches across the table to curl her fingers around mine, her eyes pleading with me. “Can we not talk about me for tonight? Please?”

  I want to argue. I want to demand that she tell me everything and promise me that she’s okay, even though I know she’s can’t possibly be okay with him.

  But I merely nod.

  Denial it is.

  The overhead lights are shutting off, a polite signal to get the hell out.

  “You ready to leave?”

  She shakes her head but stands, sliding her pink coat on over a short black dress. Damn, how I’ve missed seeing her long legs.

  I climb out of the booth and offer her my hand. “We don’t have to go right away.”

  She takes it and we exit, hearing the distinct lock of the deadbolt as soon as we step outside.

  “Come on, this way.” It feels so natural, Alex’s hand in mine as we stroll through the cold, dark parking lot, snowflakes drifting down from the dark sky.

  An invisible but palpable barrier between us.

  I did what she had asked. All through dinner, we talked about everything but Alex. I bit my tongue against the urge to ask her if he’s yelled at her, slapped her, touched her, been inside her. All the questions that have kept me tossing and turning at night for weeks, I kept in.

  I don’t think I can handle the answers.

  And every time I opened my mouth to urge her to leave him, I promptly shut it.

  When we reach my car, I pull open the passenger-side door and guide her in. Ducking into the driver’s side, I start the engine and rev it, hoping to quickly crank up the heat. I leave the lights off, though. I’m not ready to leave, either.

  “How are you liking the car?” She reaches forward and runs her fingertips along the dashboard.

  And I wish those fingertips were running over me again. Prickles run down my neck with just the thought.

  “Still love it,” I admit, turning the radio down before reaching into the backseat for the red-and-blue plaid blanket that I now keep there. When I start stretching it over her legs, her eyes light up. “I hate that I do, but . . . I do. It’s what I’ve always wanted.” Viktor found me a car with a solid engine and an interior in mint condition. “Found” being t
he operative word. Everything looks legit paper-wise. I’ll bet money that my father ran the VIN when I went home that first weekend, but I haven’t heard a word about it since. I can’t be certain that someone’s not missing a 1969 Barracuda. That’s the thing with these old cars—they’re not stamped with their VIN codes, so unless there’s some identifying marker on them, they’re as good as gone when a guy like Viktor gets his hands on them. Plus, with his legitimate car sales business, I’m sure he has the connections to get ownership documents created.

  “It’s okay.” She reaches out and grasps my forearm. “You’re happy with this car. That makes me happy.” She pauses. “Fuck Viktor.”

  I’ve never heard her swear before. It makes me smile. “Fuck Viktor,” I echo, rolling my head to take her face in. I find beautiful russet-colored eyes with a thousand questions swirling in them staring back at me.

  She pulls the blanket to her nose. “Smells like your apartment. Like the woodstove.”

  Like the night we curled up together in front of the woodstove, in the blanket, I want to remind her. But I don’t think she has forgotten. I sure as hell haven’t.

  The last lights on the restaurant shut down, leaving only one dim security light shining down on the side entrance. A moment later, the waitress who served us appears, pulling the door shut behind her and darting to her car.

  And we’re now completely alone.

  I can’t hold back anymore. “Are you ever going to leave him?”

  “Yes, I am going to.” Her gaze drops to her hands. “It’s just not that simple anymore.”

  “Yeah, it is. Pack your stuff up and file for divorce on grounds of his cheating on you.”

  “You mean like I cheated on him?” she whispers.

  “This is different and you know it, Alex. He doesn’t give a fuck about any of them. But you and me—” I cut myself off.

  Silence fills the car.

  “Why’d you want to meet up with me tonight?”

  Alex’s mouth opens to say something but she stops, as though she can’t get the words out. “I miss you so much, Jesse.”

  My gut tells me she was going to say something else, but it doesn’t matter. What she did say makes all the long nights lying in bed alone, bitter that she gave up on us so easily, disappear from my thoughts. It makes my heart start pumping and all my resolve vanish. I reach over and grab her around her waist with both hands, using my strength to lift her over the console and onto my lap, blanket and all. Not caring about Viktor or the ring on her finger or anything else except having this girl’s mouth on mine again.

  She doesn’t resist, climbing onto my lap to straddle my thighs, her dress sliding up around her hips. I bury my face in her neck, inhaling her scent. I’d kill to cover my pillows with it again.

  I don’t even notice the cold anymore, too focused on her as she undoes my fly. The hesitant girl from the hotel is long gone, and this one is tugging my pants and boxers down, her chilly hands warming up as they reach inside. I slide my hands under her dress to find the lacy tops of her nylons—the sexy kind that stop high on her thigh instead of going all the way.

  My favorite kind right now, because they mean easy access.

  And I can’t wait anymore.

  Hooking one arm around the back of her waist and shoving aside her panties with a finger, I sink into her.

  And let out a pained groan as she lifts her body off me. “We need a condom. Viktor refuses to use them, and who knows what he has been with.”

  “Seriously?” The guy not only fucks around on her but risks her life like that? Not that I should be talking right now because I was ready to go bareback with her, but at least I know I’m clean. I fish a condom out of my back pocket and throw it on in record time.

  She slides me into her again.

  And then I don’t give a shit about Viktor or anything else.

  I pull up alongside the BMW as Alex adjusts her clothes, wishing I could just take her home with me. “What now?”

  She pauses to take a deep breath. And sadness slithers back into her gaze. “Now . . . Have a Merry Christmas, Jesse.” Leaning in, she lays one last sweet kiss on my lips, before exiting my car.

  THIRTY-TWO

  Water

  now

  “The hummingbird.”

  “Good morning, Dakota,” I offer, placing her coffee down on the counter in front of her. I have no clue what she’s talking about.

  She waves a sheet of paper. “That’s your spirit animal.”

  “A bird?”

  She smirks. “A tiny, tireless bird who will fly thousands of miles to get to its nectar, who will appear dead at night, and then full of life in the morning. They’re the only birds who can fly backwards, did you know that?”

  I shake my head, transfixed.

  “In the spirit world, the hummingbird represents so many things—hope . . . persistence . . . miracles . . .” The passion in her voice is contagious, and I feel my own excitement swell. “Vitality . . . resilience.”

  There’s that word. The one Jesse wrote in my journal. The word that calls to me.

  “This,” she thrusts the paper out, “is what I see when I look at you.”

  My jaw hangs open as I take in her creation—a medley of swirls and pen strokes, the detail intricate and precise. It’s a black-ink sketch of a hummingbird in flight, only its feathers are curled to form droplets of water.

  In a word, it’s beautiful.

  “Dakota. This is . . .” I can’t stop staring at it. “It’s incredible. Thank you.”

  “You should get it right here.” She taps the back of my left shoulder.

  I nod. “That’s exactly where I’m going to get it.”

  “I think Jesse will like it.”

  I feel her steady gaze on me and I hazard a glance to see the small smile she hides behind a sip of her coffee. I haven’t admitted anything to her about Jesse and me yet.

  “I picked up dinner at Poppa’s last night and overheard Tina talking about how the sheriff’s son and the Crazy Tree Quilt Lady’s cousin were seen cuddling at the rodeo.”

  I blush. Of course. This town really does love the sheriff’s son.

  She flashes that alluring smile. “Surprise him with a tattoo. I know a great tattoo shop in Bend.”

  I begged for the darkness to swallow up the pain and it listened, wrapping me in a cold embrace.

  “Tell me who the father is,” that voice—full of anger and hatred—demands.

  My baby. What’s going to happen to my baby? Panic ignites, somewhere deep inside me.

  “Tell me!”

  My mouth moves to form the words; the same words I’ve said over and over again. A chant. “Just some guy.”

  I feel pressure seizing my chin and cigarette smoke wafts closer. “Who is he?”

  “Just some guy . . .”

  “Come on . . . Did you really think I would let some guy fuck my wife and get away with it?” The glint of a blade flashes.

  “Just some guy . . . bar . . . just some guy . . . bar . . . just some guy . . . bar . . .” I whisper. I won’t give in. I won’t give him a name. The tip of the blade pierces my skin at the temple. I’m too weak to scream, even as I feel it slowly tearing into my face, the agony bringing tears to my eyes. I won’t tell, I won’t let anyone hurt him—

  “Wake up!”

  My eyes snap open to find Jesse’s face hovering over me, his hands on my shoulders, shaking me hard.

  I’m gasping for air.

  “You’re with me. Jesse. You’re safe.” He smooths his hands over my face, wiping away tears that must have sprung in my sleep. A worried frown mars his beautiful features. “You kept saying—”

  “ ‘Just some guy,’ ” I whisper through ragged breaths. “I think I just had a flashback.”

  Jesse’s jaw clenches. “What was it?”

  I shake my head slowly, desperately trying to grab on to the bits before they slip back into oblivion. “A voice. And a smell. Cigarettes. He kept as
king me for a name.” I reach up and touch my scar. “He wanted a name. He cut me because I wouldn’t give it to him.” Burying my face in Jesse’s bare chest, I inhale deeply, trying to rid myself of the acrid tobacco smoke that still somehow taints my subconscious.

  Did you really think I would let some guy fuck my wife and get away with it?

  I gasp. “I’m married. My husband did this to me.” I push away from Jesse but he grabs hold of my hands.

  “Do you remember why?”

  Why?

  Why?

  Why would my husband do this to me?

  Tell me who the father is.

  “Oh my God.” My stomach tightens. “Because it wasn’t his baby. I wouldn’t tell him whose it was.”

  Dr. Weimer was right. I had an affair.

  Jesse’s hands around mine slacken. Even in the pre-dawn light, I can see the deep frown. “Are you sure?”

  “Yes.” My palms find their way to my empty abdomen, a longing ache spreading through my chest. Somehow, I’m sure.

  Jesse scoops me into his arms and lets me sob against his chest. But I feel the growing tension in his body. When I hazard a glance at his face, I find him glowering at the ceiling.

  What must he think of me?

  THIRTY-THREE

  Jesse

  then

  I barely hear the trance music this time, though its steady beat throbs in my chest.

  I haven’t been back here in almost two months. The only reason I’m here now is because it’s New Year’s Eve and Boone said Viktor would be here.

  I’m praying that means Alex is, too.

  Boone hands me a drink, which I have no intention of touching. I need my wits about me, or I’m liable to do something stupid. Like kiss Viktor’s wife in front of him.

  We cut through the thick crowd of drunk, rich assholes, and I narrowly avoid a martini on the shirt and pants I bought for tonight. At first I felt like a chump at the store, but now that I’m seconds away from seeing Alex again, I’m happy I bought the tailored outfit.

  Except, she’s not here.

  I take in the table, spilling over with the usual guys and a few new ones, plus a slew of young, pretty girls, some of whom may very well be paid escorts. Priscilla is in the mix, attached to Viktor’s side, his arm draped over her shoulder, his thumb absently grazing the top of her tits that are practically falling out of a plunging neckline. He’s making no attempt to hide his philandering, which makes me think that Alex isn’t due to arrive anytime soon.