Chapter Twenty-Four
Jackie
The outdoor showers at cenotes weren’t the best place for lingering, but Jackie couldn’t help herself, her mind skipping between indecision and knowing exactly what she wanted. Or at least, thinking she did.
Kissing Mitch had been like stepping into her old life for one blissful morning.
They went into the remaining cenotes, spending the most time in Boca three.
Early-afternoon December sun shimmered on the lustrous surface of blue water and hit their bare skin, soaking right through without the protection of the sunscreen.
Whenever Mitch raked his hand through his damp hair, Jackie was transported right back to college and had to remind herself to breathe.
With more people arriving, Jackie announced they should get back to the hotel, using the need to check on the preparations for tomorrow’s wedding as an excuse.
It wasn’t a lie, there was a wedding for sixty guests happening, but she was certain Rea had everything under control.
She was excellent, probably doing a way better job than Jackie could have done herself.
Jackie squeezed her eyelids tighter under the low-pressure showerhead. The water squirted over her head, streaming down her arms and back.
Mitch stood under the next shower down from her, moving his hands over his chest like he wanted to lather up invisible shower gel all over. He pushed his hands against his eyes, his mouth firmly closed.
Unbothered that someone might see her staring at him, Jackie hungrily took in every inch of his bare skin.
His teal swim trunks hung low on his hips, exposing the shallow grooves of his abdomen running down and disappearing beneath the fabric.
His back was to her, muscles flexing and exposing two dimples near his tailbone.
He pushed his fingers into his hair, separating the wet strands, washing off every trace of cenotes from him.
Then, Mitch turned, his eyes still closed, and the material of the swim trunks, much looser than his usual jammers, rode up on his left thigh.
The water running down Jackie’s spine turned to ice, freezing every single cell in her body. Her lungs imprisoned her breaths, the remaining air deflating from her as fast as Mitch pulled down the material, not realizing she’d already seen what hid beneath.
A long, rugged scar ran from the top of his thigh, finishing above his kneecap. It was thick, silvery-white and crisscrossed like it had been stitched up a while ago.
His hands moved down, resting on his hips and she dragged her gaze up to his face before he opened his eyes and caught her staring. He flashed her a brilliant grin and a pin of shame jabbed at her heart.
Where did he get that scar? What happened to him?
Jackie cast her mind back to the past few days, the nonchalant, well-practiced gestures of covering his legs from the knees up; every time his hands absentmindedly touched his thigh, in the exact spot where the scar was.
Busy with dissecting the hidden meaning behind it, she didn’t see him approach her until he stopped right in front of her, cupping her elbow.
“Ready to go?” he asked, all smiles and eyes lit up.
She swallowed, shaking off the unasked, unanswered questions. “Once we get in the car and go to the hotel, the cenote day is going to be over.”
“But there will be another day after that, and another one after that.”
A breath tore through her chest. She couldn’t really argue with that. Even though it was only going to be another week. “And what are we going to do in those days?”
It was safer not to bring up the fact a week was only seven days. Not a very long time at all. Though, compared to the past ten years, seven days felt like everything.
Mitch trailed a finger up her arm, lighting up her every nerve ending in its path. “We can figure it out.”
Her heart tripped over itself. Oh, how she wanted to let herself believe it. How fine it sounded. Long-lost lovers finding their way back into each other’s arms after years apart, conquering all the reasons why they couldn’t be together by sheer power of will and longing. What a perfect ending.
And what a tragedy that this wouldn’t be how their story finished.
Should she tell him? Lowering her burning gaze to his hopeful one, she couldn’t do it. But if she wouldn’t tell him, there was not even a shred of hope they would ever emerge from the Mexican bubble.
It was probably for the best. He’d go back home, to Oklahoma. Settle back into his practice, meet someone new again. Someone who could make him happy, the way he deserved to be. Someone who could give him children.
Yet … She was struggling to resist him, even though she knew there wasn’t really a happy ever after for them in the cards.
So, instead of replying, she tipped her head back, pulled him to her and kissed him. It was a short and sweet kiss, close-mouthed—the kind that people who thought they had unlimited time together shared.
Mitch smiled against her lips, dropping his forehead to hers for a split second. “I’m glad you’re on board with my plan.”
Jackie drew back, her lips pursed in a strained ghost of a smile. She didn’t respond, and instead, finding his hand with hers and lacing their fingers together, she led him back to the Jeep.
The drive back to the hotel seemed twice as long as the journey to Cenote Siete Bocas. Or did it feel like it, because her heartbeat dragged mercilessly as the scenery changed behind the windows?
Mitch switched on the radio but more static came through. “That’s unfortunate.”
She smiled, adjusting her grip on the wheel. If she focused on the road ahead, if she forced herself to forget what she saw on his leg, then maybe then she wouldn’t ask stupid questions.
“We’ll be back in range for radio signal soon,” she said.
He relaxed in his seat, flicking the brim of his straw Stetson over his eyes. “I don’t really want to listen to music. Was just looking for something to do with my hands, other than touching you.”
A stone of indiscernible emotion mixed with desire lodged in the middle of her throat. “That’d be distracting.”
He hummed under his breath, pushing both his hands into his thighs. “Likely, yes.”
Her chin jerked up as she forced her gaze not to stray. “I saw your scar.’’
Mitch stilled. He swallowed audibly, pulling a breath through his nose. “I was wondering when it would come up.” Resignation and sadness tinged his voice.
“Why were you hiding it?”
“I wasn’t. Not really. I hate looking at it myself. Reminds me of a very dark time in my life.”
A muscle in her jaw ticked, her gaze still firmly locked on the road ahead. “What happened?”
Mitch laughed darkly but it soon cut out. He didn’t say anything for a minute, like he was gathering his thoughts.
Jackie waited, her heart flailing uselessly inside her chest. They rejoined the main road leading back to the hotel but neither reached for the console to turn on the radio. The uncomfortable silence bounced between them like electric shocks pinging back and forth.
“It was stupid. I got drunk, got on a motorcycle and crashed into a wall. I was lucky I didn’t break my neck.
Thankfully, I’d drunk so much that I couldn’t go very fast or it would’ve been much worse,” he said slowly, weighing up every word.
His hand smoothed the linen material over the scar.
“I was young and thought I was invincible. I never got on a motorcycle again.”
Anxiety burned a trail down to her heart. “When was it?”
He cleared his throat, straightening in his seat.
“A long time ago. Years now.” He paused.
“That’s when I stopped swimming competitively.
I never got back to my baseline from before the accident.
And I couldn’t do flips. Whenever I come to the wall, I …
can’t do it.” He shook his head. “I don’t like talking about it. ”
Jackie considered that for a beat. It was an evasive response but given how many of these she’d given him herself, did she have the right to push for more? Probably not. Maybe he’d tell her another time. For now, this was enough. It had to be.
“I’m sorry,” she said.
He nodded in acknowledgement and turned his head to look out of the window. “The scar reminds me not to make rash decisions. And that there’s usually a good reason people tell you alcohol and vehicles don’t mix.”
“I have a small scar above my eyebrow from face-planting into a sidewalk when drunk in Madrid. Luckily, it healed well,” she tried to lighten the mood.
Mitch looked at her profile, his eyes darkened by the shadow cast by his hat.
Heat licked her cheeks under the weight of his searching gaze. “It’s my left side. You won’t see it from here.”
“I’ll have to look later.”
Jackie pushed her tongue into her cheek. “Not much to see, I’m afraid. At the time, it looked worse than it was. Lots of blood. I panicked, shouting I was bleeding out.” She shook her head, pink coloring the tips of her ears. “It was embarrassing and stupid.”
The corners of his lips turned up. “I can imagine.”
Jackie hit the blinker to turn onto the driveway leading up to Mexican Jewel. She worried her lip between her teeth, her heart thumping in her chest with every heartbeat.
Tell him. You need to tell him, an insistent voice crooned.
“I tied my tubes six years ago. That’s why I can’t have children,” she blurted out on a single exhale, before she could talk herself out of it.
Mitch didn’t say anything right away. His broken breathing filled the inside of the Jeep, like his whirring mind couldn’t find the right words. “Why?” he asked, his voice muted and uncertain. Like he didn’t think he had any right to hear her answer.
Her nails pushed into the leather of the steering wheel, the stitching making her palms itch.
She should stop the car—surely, she wasn’t a safe driver right this second, even though they were already on hotel grounds.
“It doesn’t matter. But I know how much you wanted kids.
I need you to know that it could never be with me. Even if—”
“Even if what?”