Chapter 9
BINX
I ’m wearing my grippiest hiking boots, the ones that have saved me on more slippery rock faces than I can count, but it’s not enough. I dig my heels into the soaked ground beneath me, scrambling to gain traction, but my shoes only glide across the slick mud as I zip down the hill, faster and faster.
I throw out my arms, trying to find something to hold onto, but the plants I manage to grasp slide through my wet fingers or are instantly uprooted by the force of my momentum.
I’m really moving now, careening down the mountainside with a speed that would be exhilarating if I didn’t know it’s only a matter of time before I run into a tree or tumble off a ledge. I don’t know this area well enough to be sure, but it looks like there’s a drop off ahead. How big a drop off, I have no idea, but I don’t want to find out at twenty miles per hour.
A fresh rush of adrenaline dumping into my bloodstream, I roll over onto my side and then my stomach, wincing as my hip skims over a rock. But better bruised than broken beyond repair, and I’ll have a better chance at holding onto something if I’m using both hands.
I try clawing my fingers into the mud but realize almost instantly that that’s a losing game. The sudden downpour has made the top level of soil unstable. I throw out my right arm to catch the trunk of a tree, instead, but am quickly knocked loose as a smaller, uprooted tree, tumbling down the hill behind me, collides with my shoulder.
I curse and sputter, flailing my arms as I try to free myself from the tangle of limbs, but it’s no use. I’m trapped.
And then, I’m out of the mud.
I hit open air and time slows for a horrible, gut-wrenching second, electrifying every nerve in my body. Then, before I can brace myself, before I can do anything except utter a string of mental obscenities that are a sorry excuse for “last words,” I’m falling.
Thank God, I don’t fall far, but it’s still terrifying.
I hit the ground with a cry of pain, my breath rushing out of my lungs with enough force to leave me paralyzed.
I’m still on the ground, clutching at my chest beneath the limbs, fighting to suck in oxygen and assess my injuries at the same time, when suddenly Seven is there. He lifts the tree off me and tosses it aside like it weighs nothing at all, his soaked hair flying around his face as he moves.
For a moment, as I lie there in the mud, looking up at him, I can’t help but think how fucking gorgeous he is when he’s filthy and worried about me. But soon, the fact that I can’t breathe becomes my one and only concern.
I roll onto my side, attempting to struggle out of my pack—thinking that maybe getting the straps off will help—but it’s like my chest is caving in. My shoulders curl forward, no matter how hard I try to roll them back, and my fingers are going numb.
“Lie still. I’ve got you.” Seven crouches beside me, quickly freeing the clasp holding my straps together across the top of my chest.
In seconds he has my pack off and is running gentle hands over my neck and ribs to check for broken bones. I try to tell him that I’m okay—I just can’t breathe—but oxygen is required for speaking, as well.
All I can do is wheeze and panic in earnest as my brain begins to ache in my skull and the next inhalation refuses to come.
“In your belly, baby,” he says. “Breathe into your belly.”
He shifts on top of me, guiding my arms up over my head. Pinning both my wrists to the ground with one hand, he brings the other to press lightly against my stomach, just below my ribs.
“Right here,” he says, his worried gaze locked on mine as he gives my belly a gentle shake. “Breathe into my palm. Drop your diaphragm and fill your stomach with air.”
I try, I really do, but my ribs remain locked and the panic is becoming overwhelming. Silent tears stream down my face as my heart threatens to pound through my ribs, and for a moment, I’m certain I’m going to die.
I’m going to die from getting the wind knocked out of me. I’ll be a sad punchline in some medical journal somewhere, like those people who died from hiccups, and my family will never live it down. My mother will have yet another reason to be upset about my weirdness, her black sheep of a daughter who couldn’t even die in a normal way, and Wendy Ann will never forgive herself for her disastrous attempt at playing matchmaker.
Black fuzz creeps in around the edges of my vision and my arms go numb. I realize I’m losing consciousness, but before my eyes can slide closed, Seven’s face is inches from mine, whispering, “Breathe, Binx McGuire. You fucking breathe for me, baby. Right now. That’s an order.”
Then, he kisses me— really kisses me. His lips press against mine, firm and demanding, laying claim to my mouth with an intensity that sends a wave of shock zipping through me from head to toe.
Thank God, the shock wave is enough to set my body free. The vice around my ribs loosens with a spasm. I gasp in a breath, filling the hand Seven still presses to my stomach and then some.
I pant against his lips as he murmurs, “That’s it, there you go. You’re okay. You’re okay now, baby, I promise.”
He releases my wrists and starts to shift away, but I move faster. I curl my fingers around his neck, dragging him back into my arms, and for once, he doesn’t fight me.
He comes to me with a groan, kissing me even harder this time, his tongue stroking into my mouth and his hands suddenly everywhere. His touch is still gentle, concerned, but I can feel the hunger there, too.
This isn’t just fear, this is longing, passion.
He has to feel it, too. He just has to.
I wrap my legs around his hips and flex my muscles, drawing him closer, my hope bolstered by the rock-hard length behind his fly. I moan and lift my hips, thrilling to the feel of him pulsing against me through our clothes.
He wants me, he really does. He wants me and he’s finally done fighting it.
He grinds between my legs, making my breath rush out against his lips as we continue to kiss like we’re never going to get enough. I know I never will. Kissing him is even better than I imagined it would be. It’s the best thing I’ve ever felt, even while lying in cold mud that smells vaguely of earthworms.
“Fuck, Binx,” he rumbles against my lips in between frantic, hungry kisses. “You feel so fucking good.”
“I want you so much,” I say, shuddering as he continues to fuck me through our clothes. I haven’t made out like this since high school, but it’s indescribably hot. It doesn’t matter that we’re both still fully dressed and covered in mud and soaked to the skin, I can’t remember the last time I was this happy.
This relieved…
This is all I’ve wanted for so long. Just the chance to be this close to him, to show him how much he means to me.
“You’re the only one,” I continue, arching into his touch as he cups my breast though my shirt, squeezing tight enough to send another jolt of arousal rocketing straight to my core. “I don’t want anyone else. I’ll never want anyone else. It’s just you, Seven. Just you.”
He stiffens against me, and I instantly know I’ve said too much.
“No,” I insist, gripping the front of his shirt as he tries to pull away. “No, you can’t run away from me. Not now. Not when we’re so close.”
“We have to get back to the trail,” he says, his gaze on my shoulder, as if looking me in the eye is suddenly too much for him.
“No,” I insist, emotion making my chest tight again. “We don’t. We have to be honest with each other. This is more than attraction. This is something special. You’re my best friend, Seven. I love you.” He winces, but I force myself to keep going. “And you love me. And yes, it’s a friendly kind of love now, but it could be so much more. For both of us. You know it could. You know . So, please, stop pushing me away. I can’t take it anymore. It’s killing me.”
His wince becomes an expression of such exquisite pain that I wish I could turn back time and shove the stupid words back in my stupid mouth.
I know all about his wife. I know how she died, and I’ve heard enough from Bettie to know that it ripped Seven apart. He never fully recovered from the loss. The fact that they were separated when the crash happened piled another layer of guilt and misery onto an already tragic situation. Afterwards, he crawled into an emotional cave, rolled a rock in front of the entrance, and refused to come out for anyone.
Even Sprout doesn’t get the full force of his love.
I feel it when they’re together, how desperate she is to break through that final wall to the tender-hearted man inside. On an intellectual level, she knows her daddy loves her more than anything in the world, but there’s a part of her that wants more.
More of his time, more of his goofy smiles, more of the relaxed, easy-loving man I’ve only seen a few times, when the stars aligned to make him feel safe enough to come out of the prison he locked himself away in when his marriage ended in tragedy.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper, touching soft fingertips to his face.
“Don’t be,” he says in a rough voice. “This is my fault. All of it. I’m the one who should be sorry. I was trying to be better, to handle this the right way for you and me and Sprout, but…” He shifts his tortured gaze my way. “I can’t. I’m not strong enough. And I’m…” He swallows, his throat working. “Your mother was right to look at me the way she did yesterday. Nothing good will come of this. Of you and me. That’s why there can’t be a you and me.”
Tears spring into my eyes. “No, you don’t get to make that decision, not without me. What about that kiss, Seven? Are you just going to ignore how right that felt? How perfect?” I fight to keep my voice from wobbling as I add, “Kisses like that don’t happen every day.”
He sits back on his heels with his head bowed and his hands fisted in his lap. He looks like a penitent in front of some primal god, one who demands his worshippers show up covered in mud and pain.
This is hurting him, too. He’s hurting us both so much, and for what?
Why?
This is obviously about more than the age gap. But before I can try to get through to him again, another uprooted tree slides down the embankment. The rain is slowing, and the tree isn’t moving fast enough to do either of us any damage, but it’s enough to put the moment behind us as Seven grabs our packs, and I haul myself to my feet, hobbling after him toward a pond not far away.
By the time we’ve cleaned the mud off our clothes as best we can with leaves and silty water, Seven’s walls are up again. Gone is the man who looked at me like it was killing him not to hold me. In his place is the man people meet at the bar when he’s standing in for Bettie’s usual bouncer on summer concert nights.
He looks hard, unreachable, even a little dangerous…
But I’m not scared. I never have been, and I never will be. Seven isn’t a danger to good people.
At least, not to anyone but himself.
Is that the real reason he’s fought this thing between us tooth and nail? Because he doesn’t think he’s good enough for me? Because he thinks my mother was right to look at him like a wad of gum stuck to her shoe?
If so, that’s…insane.
And heartbreaking.
Because this man silently shrugging both our packs onto his back and shifting the straps until he’s managed to take on the load of two people without a second of hesitation, is so much better than “good enough.” He’s a devoted father who would do anything for his baby girl. He’s a son who’s always there for his mother, and a brother who drops anything to help when Nolan’s old Mustang is on the fritz or Greer needs an extra pair of hands to finish a roof installation on schedule.
He’s the hardest worker I know, driven as hell, and excels at anything he puts his mind to. He’s also the kind of friend who brings chicken soup and ginger ale when you’re sick, supports your dreams like they’re his own, and can’t rest until he knows the people he cares about are safe in their beds after a night on the town.
I live for his “Home safe yet, Trouble?” texts.
Maybe it’s crazy, but those four little words make me feel more loved than soliloquies from men I’ve dated before.
Seven is twice the man they were and so much better than “good enough,” but now isn’t the time to try to convince him of that. Now is the time to get moving before we lose anymore daylight.
“I can carry my pack,” I say, doing my best to hide the hitch in my step as we follow the curve of the pond around to an easier route up to the top of the ridge.
“No, you can’t,” he says, his words as distant as his expression. “You’re favoring your hip.”
“It’s just bruised, not broken or sprained. I just need to walk it off. I can?—”
“No,” he cuts in again without so much as a glance my way. “If you add weight to it, you could make it worse, and you unable to walk is the last thing I need. Two packs, I can handle. I can’t carry you and our supplies, and there’s nothing at the camp. I’m planning to stock some canned goods for the winter, but I was waiting until the kitchen renovation was done in the cabin. There might be a bag of marshmallows and chocolate from the last time Sprout and I made s’mores, but that’s it, and we can’t survive on that for three days.”
Survive…
The word gives me pause, and I fall silent as we start up the hill.
Is he really worried about survival? I mean, I’m not injured that badly, and he could always come back for our packs if I were. But then, what if he couldn’t find the bags again later? Or what if animals dragged them off to tear at the fabric until they got to the food inside? I guess it isn’t crazy to think that if we’re not careful, things could go downhill pretty fast.
It also isn’t crazy to see why Seven always jumps to “worst-case scenario” thinking. He’s lived through a lot of worst-case scenarios in his life, from his family almost losing their house as a kid, to Bettie’s traumatic divorce from his father, to ending up in prison for a crime he didn’t even commit, to his separation from his wife ending in her death and a traumatic injury to his daughter.
He hasn’t had a lot of experience with “easy” or even uncomplicated.
But I know it could be easy for us, that kiss proved it beyond the shadow of a doubt. That was the kind of kiss people write songs about, the kind you can’t believe is real until you’re lucky enough to experience one in real life.
Now that I have, I’m even more determined to fight for this, for us .
He can push me away for now, but if he thinks I’ll give up because he’s thrown up a wall, he’s got another think coming. I’m a rock climber. I can handle walls, and once we’re safe at his camp, I intend to put all my skills to use scaling Seven’s.
We are going to make it there safely. Fate can be a bitch, but not even the cruelest twist of her knife would give two people a kiss like that, then take them out before they could do more. I’m going to feel Seven against me again—properly, this time, with clean bodies in a clean bed—or I’m not the girl who named herself when she was just a kid.
He’s stubborn, but I’m way worse, and now that I have real evidence that he wants me too?
Well, he hasn’t seen anyone dig their heels in the way I’m about to dig in mine.
He thinks he’s seen obstinate from me, but he hasn’t seen anything yet.