Chapter 9 Eden #2
flying leisurely overhead, the sun rising up over the water. Why did no one tell me fishing involves handling big gross dead insects?
“Here, sit down, chill out,” he says, which really pisses me off. I’m not being un-chill. I’m having a perfectly reasonable
reaction to a very disgusting thing. “I’ll bait your hook, and you can just—sit there.”
“Fine,” I say begrudgingly. On the one hand, this whole situation is embarrassing and excruciating in every way. But on the
other hand, if I had any other partner from the group, they probably wouldn’t bait my hook. I am supposed to be learning all these skills myself.
It’s classic Leo to take charge, and while that can be very bossy and obnoxious, I have to admit it has its perks.
Once he’s ready, we both stand up on the rock and Leo hands me my fishing pole. He shows me how to cast the line out onto
the water, using his as an example. It takes me a few false starts—my line gets tangled in the hem of my shorts at one point,
and I keep getting freaked out by the dead cricket dangling from the end of it, flinching when it swings near me.
“You have to kind of flick it,” he says, reaching over to put one hand on my pole.
I yank the fishing pole away. “I got it. I’m trying. Just let me try it.”
“All right, all right,” he says, stepping back. “Let’s see you give it another try.”
“Ow, dammit.” This time I flick too hard and the whole rod goes flying out of my hands, into the woods. I groan. Why is this
hard?
And once again, Leo is in stitches.
“It’s not funny.”
“If you could see your face, you would agree that it is, actually, very funny,” Leo gasps out.
I trudge back up the rock and wrestle my rod out of a bush, which is not fun at all but keeps Leo entertained.
Finally back on the rock, I let Leo stick another gross dead cricket on my hook since the other one got lost in the bushes.
When he hands me back my pole, I stand there for a minute or two, watching the river’s current glittering in the afternoon
sun. Do I really have it in me to try this again?
“Okay, fine,” I say with a sigh. “Just show me how to do it, then.”
He smiles gleefully, like he’s been waiting all day for this moment to show off. Setting his pole down carefully, he comes
up to stand behind me, then hesitates.
“Is it okay if I do the thing where I, like—”
“Hover behind me to show me how to hold my fishing rod?” I fill in, rolling my eyes. “Yes, it’s fine.”
So, he puts his arms around me, gripping the pole—and my hands—in his. Even though I said it was fine, I’m still overwhelmed
by the sensation of his embrace, the warmth of his chest against my back, his familiar smell of spicy sports deodorant, his . . .
Leo-ness.
He maneuvers the rod in a professional flicking motion and the fishing line flies out straight into the water, splashing silently a good twenty feet in front of us, just as it’s supposed to.
And with that, the moment is over. He lets go of the rod—and me—clearing his throat.
“Well, there you go. That should work. Just remember to wait for a tug, and be ready to reel it in if you catch something.
Which I wouldn’t hold your breath for at this hour, but you never know.” He looks at me. “You could get lucky.”
“I doubt that,” I say, focusing on the river and trying to collect my thoughts.
We stand there for a while in silence, side by side. It doesn’t seem like we’re fishing so much as . . . standing. Waiting for something to happen.
“So this is it?” I ask. “This is all there is to fishing?”
He looks at me with a raised eyebrow. “Did you expect more?”
God. Why does everything between us feel like it’s loaded with a double meaning?
I’m getting antsy with all this peace and stillness. I’m also getting restless about my sabotage idea, maybe even worried
I’ll change my mind. I glance downriver about forty feet from our spot, where I can see Jorge and his partner with their fishing
lines cast into the stream. And beyond them, JJ is helping Kiera with her tackle box, which makes me feel a little better.
I’m not the only one who needed help. I can spot a few more groupings, including one that’s upriver from us. There are enough
people in view of us that if Leo freaks out and does something embarrassing, they’ll see it. Even if my triumph only lasts
a few minutes, it’ll be worth it.
I slap my arm hard. “The mosquitoes are bad over here by the water,” I observe. “Are you getting bitten too?”
“Not really,” Leo says. “But you’re probably right. We should put on more bug spray.”
“Mine’s out,” I lie.
He reaches into his bag and pulls out the canister I slipped into it when he wasn’t looking. I glance away, a little nervous,
a little excited. My plan is working, and it came together so easily! I don’t want him to see the secret written on my face—he
could still know me well enough to suspect something. I turn to face the water, bracing myself as I wait to hear him start spraying
and screaming.
“Here, I’ll do you first,” he says.
“Wait, what?” I ask, swinging around to face him, but I’m too slow—he’s already squatting beside me, spraying the canister
at my shins.
I drop my fishing pole and start screaming uncontrollably as the pepper spray—my pepper spray that I disguised to look like OFF!—hits my bare legs.
To Leo’s credit, he backs off immediately, confused and alarmed.
“Are you okay? Eden, what’s happening?” he asks.
But all I can do is continue screaming while shaking my head. “It’s— No. It’s not. That’s not bug spray! Oh god. It stings.
It burns!”
I’m jumping around like a manic grasshopper, and before I know what’s happening, Leo rushes up beside me and picks me up in
his arms, baby-style.
“What! What are you doing?!” I wail.
“You need to get in the water and rinse off your legs,” he says confidently.
“No!” I hate river swimming. We were just contemplating all the fish we weren’t going to catch, and now I’m supposed to wade
in with them?
“Yes, Eden. If you want to calm the rash, you need to remove the stimulant as rapidly as possible,” he says, and while I gasp
from the pain, he carries me to the edge of the river and tries to dump me into the water.
But I’m so freaked out, I grasp his T-shirt.
He teeters and falls into the river with me.
We land in about three and a half feet of freezing-cold water. How does it have the right to be this frigid in summertime?!
Now I’m switching between moaning and hyperventilating less from the pain and more from the cold. Or maybe it’s both. My legs
kill. I can’t believe I almost allowed Leo to do this to his own legs. What kind of monster am I?
“Shh,” Leo’s saying. “You’re okay. You’ll be fine. Just let the water wash your legs.”
He fell away from me when we went down, and now he trudges over through the water. I can’t help but notice the way his now-soaked
shirt clings to his chest as he once again wraps his arms around me, this time not to show off his fishing skills but to reassure
me.
Despite everything, I lean into him. I can’t help it. I’m shivering.
But also, okay, there is part of me that has to admit—even after two years, and all the awful shit he put me through back when we broke up—that I still wonder what would’ve happened if things had gone differently.
Part of me that misses the idea of Leo, the idea of the boyfriend who comforts you when you’re hurt, and has your back when you’re at your worst.
Then I remember that Leo showed me his true colors once before, and I shouldn’t fall for this one modicum of charm. He’s still
the pompous asshole who broke my heart and made it seem like my own fault. And I’ll never, ever, forgive him for that.
I pull away from his arms, realizing my own shirt is also completely soaked through, and my bra (not an outdoorsy sporty bra
but a normal wire cup bra) is blatantly showing through my thin tank top. I wrap my own arms around myself just as JJ trudges
up to us huffily.
“What exactly is going on here?” she demands. “The rules were strict and clear. We do not enter the water except when instructed,
on water sport days.”
I’m about to tell JJ exactly where she can put her damn rules and regulations: straight up her—
“Sorry,” Leo takes over. “It was my fault. I left my fishing rod on the rock, where it tripped Eden.”
JJ tsks. “Leo, I’m surprised. You should know better. We don’t leave rods unattended.”
“I know.” He shakes his head like he’s disappointed in himself. “I’ve relearned that lesson the hard way.”
This seems to appease JJ somewhat. “Well, get yourselves out and gather your supplies. We’ll be hiking back to the parking lot in ten.”
She marches off and I sludge out of the water, clambering up the slippery, moss-covered rocks. I realize I’m barefoot.
“Oh no, what happened to my sandals?” I blurt out. Please tell me they aren’t floating down the river, and I’ll have to walk all the way back through the woods barefoot!
“I took them off your feet before I threw you in the water,” Leo says. “You didn’t notice? They’re right there.” He points
to a spot on the boulder beside our abandoned fishing rods.
“Oh” is all I can think to say. Because no, I didn’t notice him doing that. I didn’t notice anything except him carrying me,
and the intense, throbbing burn in my calves.
I look at my legs now as I gain my balance on the rocks. They are red and patchy and still feel like I put a curling iron
straight to my skin, or a fresh sunburn, but the pain is manageable enough that I can at least walk—or hobble.
“What happened?” Leo asks as we both squeeze out of our wet shirts and gather our stuff.
“I—I don’t know. So strange. I must’ve had a weird reaction to your bug spray. I’m gonna throw that stuff away,” I tell him,
and grab the canister back from where he dropped it, before he can question me further.
I zip up my backpack, regret filling every fiber of my being, then stand up and sling it onto my shoulders.
Leo comes over to me and hands me my tackle box. As he passes it to me, he stands close, looking deeply into my eyes, as if searching for an answer to something.
Does he suspect what I was trying to do? That I’m behind it?
“Eden,” he says, so quietly it’s almost a whisper.
A shudder goes through me. There’s something so intimate about the way he’s looking at me, and standing so close . . . I can’t
help but once again think of his arms around me, him carrying me, him comforting me in the water, and now, his hair and chest
dripping as he hovers . . .
“Yeah?” I whisper back.
“I just want you to know . . .” he says slowly, still gazing at me, almost like . . .
Well, almost as if he wants to kiss me.
I stand there, staring back up at him, waiting for whatever he’s about to confess.
“I just want you to know,” he repeats, a tentative smile twitching at the edge of his lips, “that you owe me big-time for
covering for your ass with JJ just now.”