Chapter Fifteen
REESE
Tristen holds the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
Muffled sounds hum through the phone, too quiet for me to decipher. His eyes grow wider the longer the conversation continues.
“Uh, huh. Yes, sir. I understand. We are not . . . I would never . . .” His lips pinch as he shuffles from foot to foot. “She will be back safe and sound. I promise.”
Brows squished together, he stares at the black screen and hands the phone to me. “He hung up.”
“What was all that about?”
“Apparently I need to be on my best behavior . . . or else.”
I swallow my laugh at his fidgeting fingers. “You know the bulldog. He’s more bark than he’s bite. Don’t worry about it.”
“Of course you’d say that. He didn’t threaten you with his power drill.”
“Aww,” I say, chuckling. I wrap my arms around his stomach and press my cheek against his chest. “I’ll protect you.”
Without hesitation, his arms enfold around me, strong yet gentle.
I relax in the comfort of his arms, savoring the ridges of his muscles against me.
His hands slowly graze over my back. An uncontrollable fire ignites in my chest, my joke instantly forgotten.
The rush of his breath fans my neck, and my own hitches at the wave of heat rising between us.
I’m torn between running from the intensity and diving straight into it, grabbing his shirt to plant my mouth on his.
But the longer his thumbs draw circles, the higher the chance of me choosing the second option increases.
“It’s all worth it for moments like this,” he whispers in my ear.
He trails his nose around the rim of my ear before tilting my chin up so my lips are hovering in front of his. My nerve endings tingle in anticipation, waiting for his mouth to capture mine.
“Have I told you how beautiful you are?” His voice vibrates through me, deep and throaty.
“Yesterday, I think.”
But I don’t want to talk about that. Or anything at all. Closing my eyes, I shift closer, but he moves back, keeping the space between us.
“Well you are.” His thumb brushes over my mouth, watching as shivers race down my spine. “I promise to tell you every day.”
“You don’t have to do that.” I lean in, straining for his lips.
“I want to. You deserve someone who treats you nice for once. Takes you out on romantic dates and—”
“Tristen.” I grab the front of his shirt in desperation. “While I appreciate that, can you stop torturing me already?”
“I aim to please,” he whispers, his restraint snapping.
I nearly faint with relief when his mouth lands on mine with a feverish passion.
Reasonable thoughts and the world around us fade away.
Before he can even think to pull away, I cling to him, throwing my arms around his neck and losing myself in the moment.
His beard scrapes my skin, like flint adding more sparks to the fire.
Never has kissing felt like this. Reckless, wild, and delightfully electric. Like leaping from a plane into the unknown and yet knowing I’m safe because Tristen has me in his arms. I trust him with my life . . . and my heart.
My what?!
I rip away from him, panting and confused.
Too fast. Can’t breathe.
With each gasp of air, the empty campground returns into view. Tristen mirrors my surprised expression. His chest rises and falls as he regains his composure.
What am I doing?
This didn’t feel like a simple one and done kiss situation. I’m already craving another.
I swallow nervously, shook by my desire.
“Holy smokes, Reese,” he says between breaths. His dark eyes greedily rove over my face, his hands still clenched on my hips. “Tell me you felt that too.”
My emotions are too wound up to reply. To say I lost control would be the understatement of the century. In fact, I’m still at the brink, ready to cannonball off that plane again into his arms.
Forget the camper, forget my obligations, forget everything that isn’t Tristen.
But were those my dark thoughts or something new directing my consciousness? I don’t know anymore. Whatever it is, it’s too much.
I close my eyes to force myself to focus. Then I do what I do best and shove those confusing emotions deep inside of me. Lock them up tight in my Pandora’s box so they can’t escape.
Control. I need to find my control.
Misinterpreting, he swoops in for another kiss, but I leap from his grip in a mild panic.
“Reese?” Tilting his head, he reaches for me.
I take another step back, not trusting myself.
Space. I need air.
“Gotta get back to work.” I point over my shoulder like he doesn’t remember the ginormous motorhome I’ve been fixing. Before he notices, I shove my trembling hands in my pocket.
“Are you okay?”
I force a bright smile and backpedal away.
“Oh, yeah. I’m great. Great.” I clear my throat, wondering why my tone won’t match my words. “I’ll get nothing done today if you’re out here distracting me.”
“Oh.” He rubs the back of his neck. For a moment, he looks like he wants to argue but he deflates instead, his arms going slack by his side. “Okay.”
Good or bad, my emotions always seem to ruin everything. I feel too much. I feel too little. I’m angry. I’m sad. It’s a balancing act I can’t seem to master.
Especially when Tristen sends me off-kilter with one kiss.
Stopping my retreat by the back bumper, I catch the faintest hint of a pungent odor. I inhale again, sniffing around like a bloodhound under the motorhome. Oh, no.
“Do you smell gasoline?” I ask.
Tristen sniffs the air dramatically. “No? Should I?”
“Most cases, it’s not a good sign.” Squatting down, I scan the path of the fuel line. “This better not be another leak, Gary . . .”
“I thought we liked Gary?”
“That remains to be seen.” My poor bruised knees complain as I crawl under the motorhome, landing on every jagged rock possible.
Rain puddles soak through my denim, and mud squishes between my fingers.
But I keep searching, determined to not disappoint my brother.
A suspicious dark spot puddles near the middle of the camper, shimmering with chemicals on top. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
A tiny spot in the hose steadily drips gasoline through a weathered crack and splashes silently into the oversized puddle below.
Compared to the transmission leak, this one is a walk in the park to fix, especially since I packed a replacement hose in my suitcase.
In about thirty minutes, I have the new piece installed and cinched tight with a brand-new hose clamp.
When I get back to Rocosa, I might have to do a more thorough check so Des doesn’t have any surprises like this while he’s on the road.
I scooch out from the underbelly to signal for Tristen to start the engine again. Instant relief rushes over me when the engine roars to life.
“You did it. Now we are back down to one leak,” he says.
I swipe a glob of mud off my pants and stretch my cramped back. “I’ll have to figure out the transmission leak when the auto shop opens tomorrow.”
“Are you sure there’s nothing I can do?”
“Right now, no. I have a pretty big hunch of what it could be, but it’s a soggy mess to crawl around under there. We could lose screws and bolts if we’re not careful. Maybe it will dry up some by tomorrow.”
He nods, still watching me carefully.
“You hungry? I can make some lunch if you want.”
“It’s probably for the best after the quality of the eggs this morning.”
“Right.” He hesitates for a second then heads up the steps inside the camper.
I take the moment of solitude to plop onto the picnic table and gather my thoughts.
My lips tingle at the memory of our kiss.
That wasn’t our first kiss, but something about it flipped a switch inside of me.
One moment it was lighthearted and sweet, the next the floor dropped, and I was plunging into the unknown.
Is this a good thing or bad? I comb my fingers across my scalp, unsure of the answer.
Three days ago, I was ready to deck him for just looking at me.
Now I’m tracing my lips, swooning over a kiss.
Allowing myself to contemplate dating has been the furthest thing from my mind since my failed online date last year.
My quick attempt to be normal resulted in meeting a creep only interested in how fast he could get me back to his place.
Yuck. It makes sense why my AA sponsor recommended at least a year before dating to prevent relapsing.
I’m well past that now, but the fear still lingers.
What if I rush this and doom our relationship from the start?
Tristen isn’t some guy I met online or in the club. He’s family and important to me. I want to be serious and see where this can lead. But how do I know when the time is right? How do I know when I’m healthy enough to try? I still have mood swings and anxiety attacks when I’m overstimulated.
What if Tristen doesn’t want to wait? He has a budding career in California. Where do I fit in his life in LA? Or is this him passing the time before he leaves?
Am I strong enough to survive being left behind or would it lead to a relapse?
My head snaps up, horrified. I’m terrified to find out. I shoot to my feet, already knowing where my decision lies. I pace back and forth, preparing myself even though I know the answer. My throat swells as I hold back the tears, my hands vibrating at my sides.
It’s for the best.
Before I ruin things. Before I become too attached.
We should stay friends.
I kick the rear tire, hating that phrase with every fiber of my being. It’s like winning the lottery and throwing the golden ticket away. But as my granny used to say, “Medicine never tastes great going down, but you’ll appreciate it later.”
Just friends, I think again and again, forcing my brain and heart to get on board.
I just have to figure out how to tell Tristen. I hazard a glance at him through the kitchen window, the proficient way he moves around and focuses on his task. For years he’s protected me. Now it’s time for me to protect myself.