24. Chapter 24
Chapter twenty-four
Lucy
“ I don’t see how this is going to work.” Lucy eyed the hammock with its sagging pleats of cloth then sized up her large soon-to-be bunkmate. There was no way they would both fit in that tiny strip of fabric.
“The only way it wouldn’t is if you weigh about two hundred and fifty pounds, which I highly doubt.” This time his perusal of her body was purely for analytical purposes. “This baby is rated for four-fifty, so unless we use it for a trampoline, it’ll hold.”
“But . . . will we fit?”
“There’s more room on the inside than it looks on the outside,” he assured her.
This earned Jonathan a wide grin. “So, your hammock is a Tardis?”
He cocked his head to the side. “A what?”
Lucy waved a dismissive hand. “Never mind.” Crushing fatigue made Jonathan’s Doctor Who education seem momentarily unimportant. She had too many things to worry about just then. Like sharing a bed the approximate size and shape of her fallen sleeping bag with a man who had been increasingly making her blood boil. “How do we get in? Same time from either side?”
“I’ve never actually shared a hammock. But I think the best option would be for me to climb in first and stabilize it, then you roll in after me.”
“It’s as good a plan as any, I suppose.”
Jonathan nodded then proceeded to undo the buttons on his pants.
“Woah, buster! What are you doing?”
Pausing, he looked down at his hands then back up at Lucy. “You wouldn’t think it, but that thing traps body heat like crazy. It’ll feel like a sauna within the hour, especially with two of us in there.”
“Is this some elaborate scheme to get me out of my clothes?” She felt no urge to temper her indignation.
The molten amber of Jonathan’s eyes settled on hers, pupils expanding. “Trust me, sunshine, if I were trying to get you out of your clothes, you would know it.” The husky timbre of his voice sent tingles up and down Lucy’s back.
This is a bad idea.
What other option did she have?
“Fine, but you better keep your undies on.”
“That’s the plan.”
The suggestive moment passed, and with a sigh, Lucy deliberated about what to remove. Surely it would be prudent to keep her pants on. And her sports bra. But everything else would be redundant in covering the important bits. Looking up from unbuttoning her shirt, she noted that Jonathan had turned away from her, most likely to provide a modicum of privacy. It all felt ridiculous, seeing as how they would be pressed up against each other in what amounted to an oversized sex swing. By the time her boots were untied and off, Lucy was shivering so much that she was actually eager to get into the hanging sweatbox.
Jonathan skillfully shimmied his way into the hammock. Once settled, he smiled. In the dim light, Lucy could barely make out his white teeth and the mountain range tattoo that danced across his collarbone and shoulder. He was so sexy. And she was so anxious about doing something embarrassing.
“Permission to come aboard?” She hoped the joke disguised her nerves.
“Granted.” That smooth-as-molasses chuckle was lethal. “But, you’ll want to climb in and lay opposite me. Head at each end.”
She regarded his suggestion and tumbled in, careful not to let a knee—or hand—land on any of his more delicate parts. After some Olympic-worthy gymnastics, she finally found a somewhat comfortable spot.
“Why is this the best position?” Lucy’s nose crinkled. His bare toes were precisely what one would expect from a man who’d worn hiking boots two days in a row without showering. Long gone was the fresh scent of fabric softener, though the cedar and bug spray scent lingered, mingling with the musk of sweat. She could only imagine what aromas she brought to the table.
The waning glow from the last bit of fire did little to disguise Jonathan’s perturbed expression. He began ticking the list off on his fingers. “First, it balances the weight. Second, it puts our shoulders, the widest part of our bodies, at either end. And third, it’s not like you’ve been walking on rose petals all day. Your feet stink too.” Jonathan reached up to secure the rain fly and mosquito netting that made up the top half of the cocoon, blocking out the stars and dwindling embers in the process. Lucy could barely see her hand two inches from her face.
“Fine, fine. I’ll quit complaining.” She settled in, marveling at how comfortable the setup actually was. It cradled her back and was warm enough to chase the chill from her bones. She wouldn’t be making the swap from a tent anytime soon, but as far as backup sleeping arrangements went, this would do.
Prickles on her right side called attention to where Jonathan's muscular thighs, hip, and torso met hers. It wasn’t the first time that they were in each other’s bubble, and Lucy felt the same charge as each time before. There had been an awful lot more physical contact than she’d anticipated going into the whole backpacking excursion. A lot more danger than she’d expected too. And while she wasn’t necessarily complaining about the former, she knew to proceed with caution all the same.
Craning her neck, she squinted at Jonathan. Once her eyes adjusted to the dark, she could sort of make out the large outline of his form. His hands were braced behind his head, elbows splayed to either side.
He startled her by breaking the silence. “Yes?”
“Um.” She paused, hands fidgeting together. “Never mind.”
“What is it, Lucy?” His inflection was more word-of-caution than a question.
She hesitated, unsure if proceeding was wise.
Curiosity triumphed. What was the worst that could happen?
“What happened to your wife?”
“What do you mean?” Jonathan asked softly but with an unmistakably sharp edge.
She bravely forged on. “You said she passed away.” She paused again, giving him time to offer a response, but when none came, she continued. “It’s just that I told you about Brodan dumping me and thought you might want to share your baggage too.” Her hollow chuckle bookended the sentiment.
Silence, as tangible as the hammock they laid in, hung in the air. She shouldn’t have brought it up. The love of his life was taken from him too soon. Lucy had no way of knowing what that kind of loss felt like. No one she had ever known had died. All four of her grandparents were alive and well. Her dad’s dad still ran marathons and participated in those muddy obstacle races, for goodness’ sake. The worst grief she had ever felt had been because of breakups, which seemed inconsequential at that moment. Convincing Jonathan to spill deep emotional trauma when she barely knew him was wildly selfish. She was acting like a jerk trying to open that wound.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have pried. Forget it.”
“No.” The throaty reply hung heavily. His rigid silhouette relaxed slightly. Lucy could make out the motion of him scrubbing a hand down his face. With a pensive sigh, he continued, “It’s fine.”
Lucy held her breath, almost unable to handle the quiet that followed. It stretched on for an eternity. She would have thought he wasn’t going to say anything further, but the way his feet started to twitch and fiddle together hinted at the opposite.
“It was the beginning of the rafting season four years ago,” he began with unmistakable sorrow, “and me and my guides were out doing practice runs on the Wenatchee. It was my friend Zac, my wife Cynthia, and me in a raft with a few new hires. We came to an especially technical part of the run, a really risky spot with two routes to pick from. And I chose the wrong one.” His tone became embittered as regret dripped from each word. “We flipped, and Cynthia lost her helmet. She must have hit her head on a rock because by the time I got to her, she was already gone.”
Jonathan cleared his throat and crossed his arms, making it clear that was all he was willing to offer. She hadn’t noticed a welling tear until it trailed down her cheek. She brushed it away, the emotion thick in her throat. “Jonathan, I . . .” What do you even say to someone who experienced something like that? Losing a person you love is one thing, but to see it happen? Fuck . Lucy wouldn’t survive it. The only words she could manage slipped quietly from her lips. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.” He let out a heavy breath. “As I said, it was four years ago. I’ve moved on.”
Lucy wanted to drop it, especially since he announced that he had “moved on,” but she couldn’t help herself. “If you’ve gotten past it, why do you still avoid the rivers?”
“Because it’s not a part of the job I particularly enjoy.” He was defensive yet trying to hide it by being curt. “Besides, I have enough guides working for me to handle those excursions.”
She found it hard to believe that he simply didn’t enjoy it. He was doing a poor job of convincing her that his delegation was anything other than classic avoidance. Usually, Lucy would let something like that go. She’d bow out of the conversation, allowing the other person to save face, but the new version—Lucy 2.0—was braver.
“Bullshit.”
“Excuse me?” Jonathan’s voice was equal parts shock and bluster. The whites of his widened eyes were just barely visible in the dimness of the hammock.
“I call bullshit,” Lucy repeated. Who was this bold woman calling this guy out, especially given their proximity and reliance upon one another? Royally pissing off her guide might prove to be disastrous, but the brave new woman she wanted to be took over. “I think you have unresolved trauma.”
“Pfft. Trauma, sure.” Jonathan’s feet started that twitchy wiggle thing again.
“Yes, trauma.” Lucy was amazed at how good it felt to soldier on in the face of the confrontation. “Did you ever go to counseling? Therapy?”
“Of course not.”
“No one made you go?”
“Made me go? Why would someone make me go to therapy I didn’t want?”
“To support you.” Lucy was getting agitated. “ I have so many people in my life that would drag me, kicking and swearing, to the next available support group if I’d been through something even half as impactful. That’s what you do for those that you love.”
“They did support me,” Jonathan growled. Lucy winced but wasn’t surprised; she was poking the bear after all.
But she wasn’t done.
“How? By letting you bury your feelings instead of helping you deal?”
“No. By picking up the slack when I shut down completely!” His anger was palpable. The hammock radiated with the heat generated from it.
Lucy felt her ears redden and instinctively shifted slightly in an effort to add distance between them. She wasn’t afraid but felt the urge to give him space. After selfishly prodding him—all in the name of proving she could be something other than a meek doormat—she hadn’t considered that how he processed his wife’s death really was none of her business. They weren’t friends. They weren’t lovers. They were just two unlucky souls lost in the woods together. He was keeping her safe and making sure she returned to civilization in one piece. He didn’t owe her any more than that. Yet, here she was, prying into his personal business like she had any claim to know it. She opened her mouth to apologize, but Jonathan held up both hands.
“Look.” His voice and anger cooled. What remained was tense exhaustion. “When Cynthia died, I went catatonic. I didn’t speak or eat for days. Eventually, I got to the point of doing daily necessities: getting out of bed, eating, showering, and making decisions about her funeral. But I couldn’t face the real world. I sure as hell couldn’t face work. So, I hid away. And while I moped and processed alone, everyone else handled the business. Even friends that didn’t work for me pitched in in some way or another. They all rallied and divvied up responsibilities. Without their help, my family’s business would have crumbled. I owe them everything . And no, they didn’t make me go to counseling. But that does not mean they weren’t there for me.”
Lucy let that sink in. She’d insulted his friends and family by insinuating he lacked a support system or that what they provided him was insufficient. She had spoken with blind arrogance and put him on the defensive, which was far from her intent.
“I’m sorry I pushed. And made assumptions. It really wasn’t my place.”
“It’s fine. I can tell you weren’t trying to start something. You’re too kind for that.”
Why did his assessment make her feel worse? She wasn’t trying to fight, but she was being nosy. It was hard not to be, given their current predicament. But the more time she spent with Jonathan, the more she wanted to know about him. Their acquaintance was lengthier than initially intended, extended because of a landslide that could have spelled disaster for them. But Lucy was starting to think their time together would still be too fleeting. She wanted more. More time. Just more of him. She let out a pensive sigh, cataloging the slew of mixed emotions swirling in her head.
Jonathan laid a heavy hand on her shin. The contact blazed through her pant leg, and heat spread rapidly up her thigh.
“You’re dwelling.” He soothed; any negative tone his voice once held had evaporated. Left behind was an amiable warmth. “That’s far from what I want. It’s true I lost my wife four years ago. And it’s also true that no one made me go to therapy. But I worked through it the best way I know how and have moved on. She will always be a piece of me, but it’s something I’ve learned to live with. Each day is a gift, and I do what I can to cherish that. By taking life one day at a time.” He gave a supportive squeeze. “You hung in there today, despite losing all your stuff. We made great time, and if we focus on tomorrow and really hustle, we could be back to town by nightfall.”
“That’ll be good,” Lucy let out breathlessly. She had one more day left in the forest with Jonathan. Disappointment butted heads with relief, though the battle was weak because of her fatigue. She’d figure out how she felt about things tomorrow after a night of rest.
He pulled his hand away, leaving a chill behind on Lucy’s leg despite the stuffy confines of the hammock. “Goodnight, sunshine,” he mumbled with a final ripple of consciousness.
Heat spread through her anew.