22. Now
22
NOW
Brooke rolled out her sleeping bag over the mattress pad overlapping Jack’s and tried not to bump into him. Again . Rain pelted down on her tent like they were directly beneath a waterfall, bowing the thin orange material and making the space feel even smaller than it was.
She sat cross-legged at the far side of the tent while Jack unrolled his yellow-and-teal sleeping bag on hands and knees. She wasn’t sure if it was his gray T-shirt stretching over the rounded muscles of his shoulders and hugging the tops of his triceps or the thunder rumbling ominously in the air that sent a shiver down her spine.
The anticipation of sleeping next to Jack buzzed in her veins and mixed with the memory of his deep voice rumbling over the words, I was in over my head long before that… Her brain went completely haywire.
If the thunder and lightning didn’t destroy her composure first, she’d spend the entire night overanalyzing those words.
Maybe, against her better judgment, she was hoping some thing would happen between them tonight. But is he hoping that, too?
Brooke longed for the days when she didn’t examine the consequences of her reckless actions but was old enough to know that following that line of thinking to its logical conclusion was more treacherous than crossing the Quiraing.
Brooke rubbed at her sore shoulder, trying to loosen the muscles and the chokehold the thought of Jack’s lips had on her.
“Do you want me to…?” Jack asked. He gestured to her hand clamped on her neck.
Brooke’s eyes flashed to his. Do I want you to…trail your fingers over my skin, kiss up my neck? “Rub my shoulders?”
Under the light of the headlamps, Jack’s cheeks darkened and she wanted to run her thumbs over the blush. “I didn’t mean like that.” He tipped his chin down, his damp, wavy hair falling forward and sending a wave of his tea tree shampoo to invade her senses. “You look uncomfortable.”
If he meant uncomfortable from this longing to sink her fingers into his hair and breathe in the familiar smell that conjured the feeling of being young and free, roaming the streets of Edinburgh, and stealing kisses in clubs and alleys, then yes. She was uncomfortable.
“I’m fine.”
Jack dug a flask from his pack and took a deep sip before passing it to her. She took it, pressing her mouth against the metal warmed by his lips. She didn’t mean to hold his gaze. He watched her swallow, his eyes clinging too long to her mouth, and a fire spread out in her chest that wasn’t from the burn of the whisky.
Thunder ripped across the night, raising the hair on the back of her arms, and she took another pull from the flask. Maybe she should be grateful for the storm—it couldn’t be worse than this will-they-or-won’t-they she was engaged in in her own damn mind.
Lying down next to Jack was a fraught activity, but so was sitting here, ogling the cut of his arms. Brooke slipped into her sleeping bag and zipped it up.
Jack lay down beside her and she shifted away, bumping into the wet wall of the tent and having to scoot toward him again. The rain fell so hard it sounded like a rushing river. Brooke tried to remember how diligent she’d been reapplying the seam sealant. Skye was nearly a rainforest for how much precipitation fell, but had she been thorough enough to turn this thing into a canoe? Because that seemed like where the night was going.
Jack shifted against her thigh, seemingly making the same calculation that closer together was better than absorbing the dampness from the side of the tent. “Sorry,” he mumbled.
“It’s fine.”
He rolled onto one elbow and propped his cheek in his hand. His bicep flexed in that position and Brooke struggled to pull her gaze from his golden skin and that space against his shoulder where she used to rest her head. He reached above them and clicked off the headlamp, plunging them into darkness. “I mean about the tent.” His voice was sharing-secrets-in-the-dark low and suddenly the satiny nylon of her sleeping bag felt like a deliriously weak boundary between them. “That was stupid of me.”
“Hmm? Oh, it wasn’t your fault. It was the wind—which I plan to make the villain of Mhairi’s story.”
Jack’s deep chuckle flitted across her skin.
Lightning flashed, illuminating the tent, and Brooke tensed, counting one, one thousand…two, one thousand before the boom rumbled through the ground.
A primal surge of adrenaline shot through her, an instinct to take shelter, especially when her normal definition included four walls and a sturdy roof. Brooke readjusted her pillow and cinched her sleeping bag under her chin. She hated that she was still so affected by storms but at least Jack already knew and she didn’t have to pretend to be brave.
If she’d been alone, she would’ve curled into a nice little ball, but there was barely enough space for her and Jack in here, their mattress rolls overlapping under her. Maybe they can serve as rafts.
She shoved the thought of their tent being flooded down the hill out of her mind. They were in a campground. If it got too terrible, they could hide out in the bathroom.
Thunder clapped again and Brooke pinched her eyes shut. Her body was responding as if an emergency alert was coming over the radio when the greenish hue of the sky conveyed Fuck around and find out . Her heart practically vibrated. She took a deep breath in through her nose, held it for a count of four, released it.
Heeding some instinct to not turn her back on the storm, Brooke rolled over. In the darkness, the hazy outline of the orange material rippled from the rain beating against it.
She couldn’t calm her racing heart. Couldn’t stop the barrage of memories.
Brooke could still feel the numbing rain above tree line soaking through her shirt, seeping beneath her backpack, goose bumps breaking out across chilled skin. She stared into the dark sheets of rain, a never-ending deluge obscuring even the closest peaks. Her dad yelled over the noise of the rain from too far away like they were getting swept apart in a riptide. “Crouch down, Brooke! Only touch the ground with your shoes!” She squatted, tucking her arms against her chest.
The thunder boomed and she clapped her hands over her ears, tensing against the possibility that the next lightning strike would sear right through her. Her hair stood on end from the electricity in the air, buzzing with a physical weight. Rivulets of water, bubbly white, rushed by her hiking boots. Adrenaline pumped through her heart but she was frozen in place.
Jack touched her arm and Brooke flinched, but it brought her back to her body. She clenched the material of her sleeping bag in her fists to remind herself where she was. Jack had always had a gentleness about him—a quiet strength that felt like a refuge drawing her in—but especially out here where she’d give anything to fall into his arms and let him weaken her fear for a bit.
Lightning flashed twice, so bright she could make it out through the nylon above her, shooting in diverging directions. Brooke whimpered, her breathing quick and shallow. “Will you hold me?” she asked.
“Of course.”
Jack unzipped Brooke’s sleeping bag like an evening gown, sending shivers skittering over her skin. They were so close he barely had to shift to bring his body next to hers. His fresh, earthy scent enveloped her and the heat of his chest immediately seeped into her muscles like a soothing balm. He slid his hand inside her sleeping bag, hesitating for a moment like he wasn’t sure where to touch her, before his hand wrapped around her forearm, warm and reassuring.
She suddenly felt more grounded, and she blew out a long breath.
Lightning splintered over the roof of the tent again. One, one thou—
Thunder cracked directly above them, the ground trembling, and Brooke turned into Jack’s arms, burrowing her face against his neck. She balled up the material of his shirt against his chest in one fist and slipped her other arm around his back. He cupped her head and held her tightly against his shoulder.
She tensed when the thunder rolled again and Jack readjusted, sliding an arm under her. “I’ve got you.” A ghost of a kiss brushed her temple and her heart stirred.
The storm raged, a never-ending dance of light and sound. Brooke focused on the rhythmic caress of Jack’s hand up and down her back. She matched her breath to the motion, slow and deep, soaked in his heat. This wasn’t as terrifying as being all alone. He always made her feel stronger and braver than she was.
The next clap of thunder was farther away and Brooke pictured the storm moving fast, taking its ferocious energy elsewhere. She listened to the steady thump-thump thump-thump of Jack’s heartbeat under her ear until hers slowed to a normal pace. He’d always had this calming effect on her—the feel of his arms around her a refuge that quieted her anxious brain.
Brooke relaxed a bit, releasing the clench of her shoulder muscles. She wanted to thank Jack, to tell him she didn’t need him anymore, but she couldn’t quite form the words.
The lightning faded to flickers, the thunder only a grumble in the distance. Brooke’s muscles loosened, and Jack’s hand stilled in the middle of her back, but she couldn’t move away.
They fit the same way, her head into the slope of his shoulder, her hand to the curve of his chest. She’d been exerting so much effort fighting the bond between them, the invisible bands that always pulled them back together, and it felt so good to give in, to let herself snap back into place.
Even as the rain faded to a dull pitter-patter above their heads, Jack didn’t move away. She might’ve thought he was sleeping with how still he held himself, but as she let go of his shirt, smoothing it over the hard muscles of his chest—so slowly she wasn’t sure he’d notice—his arms tightened around her.
“How do you still make me feel so damn safe?” she whispered, tipping her face up and accidentally grazing his nose with hers.
His exhale fanned her cheek and his hand slipped from the back of her head to her neck. “Because I care about you.”
He pressed the gentlest kiss to the corner of her mouth, lips soft and tentative. It didn’t feel like an invitation or a move. It felt like a pinkie promise.
Tears welled in Brooke’s eyes at the intimacy of the touch, at that familiar spinning sensation she’d had the first time she’d fallen so fast and effortlessly.
It turned out telling herself she didn’t want Jack didn’t make it true. But she wasn’t sure she trusted either of them enough to begin again.