Chapter 22
Gray
I had emotions, and a lot of them—anger, relief, pain, and warring desire, all swirling together.
Betty kneeled to pick up my shotgun from the snow before hitching an arm around my waist and helping me find our way back to the snowmobile. She tucked the gun under her arm, and it hung there with a wobble as we walked, making me nervous.
It was obvious she’d never held a shotgun before. The impulse to show her how surfaced, if only I could persuade her to remain here and try. It wouldn’t hurt for her to learn in case she ever needed to use it on her own—or if she ever left and took it with her.
Letting Betty leave would be reckless, yet if it’s what she wanted, it wasn’t my place to keep her. After all, she wasn’t really mine, not if the last few weeks proved anything. Detaining her against her will was harming us and the relationship that could be.
However, a conversation was in order. I needed to be transparent with her so she could arrive at a well-considered and knowledgeable decision about what to do next. All I could do was have faith in her intellect and hope she’d approach the reality of our situation with an open mind.
I could see a small and blurry ball of golden-brown fluff through my tears, sitting on the seat of the snowmobile as we approached. “Is that Larry?” I asked.
She huffed. “Yes, little butthole. Did you know he sat in the tree getting fat and sassy while I hung from that rope you saw? Absolutely zero help.”
“Hung from the rope?” I asked, edge in my voice.
She chuckled nervously. “Yeah, it’s quite the story. You’re going to love it. I’d have gotten back sooner if I hadn’t literally been stuck hanging around for half the day.”
I didn’t have the bandwidth to understand just yet, so I didn’t push for elaboration.
“There are some things in that shed of yours that really should be thrown out. They give false hope,” she said. “So, contrary to your belief, there needs to be a trash pile.”
I had no idea what she was talking about.
“Hop on,” she said, waving Larry off the seat before helping me onto the back of the machine. “You, sir, can walk it off,” she said to Larry, swinging her leg over to straddle the machine in front of me.
I was surprised when she reached back, her hands finding my arms and guiding them around her waist. I obliged, taking the opportunity to wrap my arms around her as I’d longed to do. It felt good, and I soon inched forward to shield and warm her body with mine.
For once, she didn’t pull away.
The engine roared to life, a rumble I felt as much as heard, and the machine lurched ahead.
As we jolted over the uneven terrain, my grip around her became less rigid.
The wind whipped at my eyes and face, so I nestled my cheek against her shoulder blades, resting my head on her back.
I longed for her to let me hold her like this always, even when there was no need.
I was starved for this kind of comfort and affection.
We crossed the wide, open field in no time. It was probable that she could spot the jumbled snowmobile tracks I’d left last night, crisscrossing in every direction, fresh in the additional layer of snow. I wonder what she made of it, and if she could see just how much I cared.
I’d searched everywhere for her to no end. Tallulah’s den was genuinely my last hope. I would never have given up looking for her, though. I would have scoured the ends of the earth to find her if I had to, even if it meant starvation, hypothermia, and death.
I traced a line across her stomach with my thumb, unsure if she could feel it through her layers and jacket. I hoped she could. I needed to remind myself she was still with me, and I wanted her to know that I needed her to stay for so many reasons.
Upon reaching the forest, she eased off the throttle, following the deer path I’d widened through the underbrush the day before.
She wove through the dense undergrowth, the surroundings a verdant blur of green, brown, and white.
As we emerged from the trees, she eased us down the bank and halted by the river.
Betty killed the engine so we could talk. “How did you get across this thing?” she asked.
“Drove across,” I said, lifting my head from her back to speak in her ear.
She scoffed, leaning away from me to look me in the eye over her shoulder. “No way in hell I’m doing that.”
The alarmed look on her face made me chuckle, and I released her. “I had to cross a little way downriver. That way.” I pointed. “If you can follow the tracks to that point, then I’ll take us across.”
“No! You’re crazy. I’m not riding across with you. I’ll jump across,” she retorted. “Like I did before.”
I sighed. “It’ll be fine. Getting over the water is easy.”
She sat there, facing the river, arms crossed. “Fine.” She grumbled something inaudible before leaning on the handlebars and starting the engine again.
I relinquished my death grip around her middle, now gently slinging one arm around her hip as she guided the machine down the riverbank toward the small waterfall. She stopped when she saw the tracks leading into the water.
I squeezed her hip to get her attention before speaking in her ear over the engines’ din, “Okay, back it up to the trees for me, as far as you can. We need space to get up to speed.”
She looked flummoxed, but did as I instructed before climbing off the machine and switching places with me.
I blinked a few times to clear my teary eyes, just to be sure I was seeing straight. Reaching back, I grabbed her wrists as she had mine, guiding them around me. “Hold on tight!” I shouted.
She clung to me, her thighs tightening around mine. It was, without a doubt, the best feeling imaginable.
I gunned the engine, accelerating until we were speeding down the bank toward the river. As we hit the water, the machine gave a slight lurch, just as it had before.
I felt Betty’s grip loosen instantly as her legs fell away from mine. A scream cut above the sounds of the whirring engine, then a splash, and the snowmobile shot up onto the bank.
I winced and glanced back over my shoulder; afraid of what I’d find in my wake.
Betty’s head emerged from the churning, icy water, followed by a raw, furious scream, “Grayson!”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
She bobbed in complete bewilderment for a moment before her baser instincts took over and she swam to the bank. “Ugh!” she cried.
I dismounted and strode unhurriedly to the water’s edge, near enough that her image became clear through the hazy layer of mucus coating my eyes.
Her hair was dripping from beneath the helmet on her head; her clothes were heavy and sodden. She struggled to stand in the knee-deep water, slipping on river rocks, stumbling to her knees and swallowing more water before regaining her footing.
I reached out to help her, and her icy hand clasped mine. Her grip tightened, and with all her might, she yanked me forward.
“Fuck you, asshole,” she grunted.
I lost my footing on dry land and fell toward her. “Whoa!”
She stepped aside just enough that I landed face-first in the river. Hands scrambling for purchase on the slippery rocks, I sputtered for air before reaching out and grabbing her ankle, pulling it out from under her until she fell beside me.
She came up laughing and spitting water. “God, I hate you!” she yelled playfully, splashing my face.
“At least you won’t smell like a bear anymore,” I retorted. It was quite pungent, but still hadn’t kept me away.
The cold water felt good on my burning skin and eyes, and I couldn’t help but remain. This was the tension that needed breaking all this time, a literal shock to the system. My cheeks ached from smiling through the cold, and I could audibly hear her teeth chattering through her laughs.
“How can you possibly handle this!” she shrieked, standing and stomping out of the water, her soaked boots squelching in the mud.
I was huffing hard from the shock, splashing water on my face a few more times. “You get used to it.” I gestured to the snowmobile. “Come on, let’s go get warm.”
She crawled stiffly onto the vehicle without delay. The cabin was just a short ride upriver.
Leaving everything in the shed for now, we rushed inside. I checked the outdoor thermometer when I passed; it read in the twenties. Not too bad, but colder than it had been of late.
Inside, the fire had long since died, leaving the cabin as cold as the world outside.
Betty and I hurried to the dresser, playfully wrestling with our clothes as we extracted items. Our hands were so frozen that we dropped garments everywhere, unable to hold a firm grip.
We laughed through the pain, which probably also helped stave off the hyperthermia.
I felt like a teenager again.
She quickly peeled off the wet clothes. When she was down to her last layer, I turned away, giving her some privacy, though she didn’t seem to mind.
“Oh my God,” she gasped. “These dry clothes feel hot compared to my skin temperature,” she forced out through chattering teeth.
“Right?” I agreed.
I peeled my pants off, surprised to find a growing physical reaction below my waistline, despite the freezing cold. It appeared he was used to this kind of torture and a fighter for ‘standing up’ for what he wanted.
I cupped my erection and sidestepped into the kitchen, then fully shucked off my cold pants and underwear.
I pulled sweats on, realizing they made the situation more noticeable, so I tucked my erection into my waistband and hoped the elastic would hold.
Over my head, I pulled on a giant sweatshirt next, and it fell low. That helped.
Her wet clothes landed with a soggy slap near the fireplace. I caught a glimpse of her hair swishing around the corner as she bent to towel it dry. When she reappeared, she was swimming in soft, cozy clothes, hair wrapped in a towel. She looked sexier than I’d ever seen her.