31. Rue #2
I open my mouth to disagree, but before I can, a new reality slides into place. One where River is clearly trying to extricate himself from Larissa’s arms. He’s not rocking her; he’s maneuvering as he tries to peel her off him. But she only cries harder and suctions herself closer.
“If only someone would rescue him,” Maya continues mildly. “Possibly someone who doesn’t enjoy seeing his hands on another woman.”
My sharp glance is met by a smile so serene it instantly disarms me.
“Is it that obvious?”
She nods and gives me a nudge.
I don’t think about it—I just go, jogging down the steps and across the courtyard.
When River catches sight of me, he gives me a look of such wretched appeal I almost laugh. Or maybe almost cry. I’m not sure which reaction I’m tamping down, only that my relief is extreme and my organs are back in their correct positions.
“Hey, guys,” I chirp. “I’m so glad you’re both okay. Do either of you need to see the nurse?”
Larissa stops crying and peers at me with a dark, teary eye. “No nurse, thank you.” She looks up at River. “Will you take me back to my cabin?”
His eyes flicker to me. “Uhh, I, um…”
I blurt the first thing that comes into my head.
“He would if he could, Larissa, but we have a plumbing emergency at our cabin. Both of our toilets overflowed this morning. Can you believe it? Poop water all over the place. I’m surprised you can stand being that close to him, honestly.
It was all over both of us when Kirk showed up asking for our help. ”
Larissa recoils with a cough that’s mostly a gag. “Oh. Oh my, I’ll just—”
She takes off toward the Lodge.
“Poop water,” River deadpans. “You couldn’t think of anything else?”
“Try this instead: ‘Rue, you clever woman, thank you so much for rescuing me from the octopus.’”
His eyes crinkle with humor. “I’ll thank you properly later. Can we get out of here before anything else gets possessed?”
“Amen to that.”
River grabs the crumpled foil from his burrito, tossing it in the trash as we leave the courtyard. I glance back to see Kirk hugging the hood of the golf cart. Maya and Dan look disturbed. Jae looks intrigued and a little amused.
When I catch Larissa watching me with seething eyes, I turn around fast.
“I think I made an enemy today.”
River hesitates. “So you know, I haven’t spent any time with Larissa. I’ve spoken to her maybe twice.”
“Good,” I say without thinking. My eyes widen. “What I mean is it’s probably a good thing you’ve kept your distance. Is this a regular occurrence for you? Aggressive behavior from women?”
His grimace is answer enough. I’m about to tease him when I catch his haunted expression. My mouth snaps shut.
“I hate this feeling,” he says gruffly. “I can smell her perfume all over me. She touched my ass, tried to rub my dick. My skin is still crawling. I couldn’t find a way to get her off me without hurting her.
I hate that women like Penelope and Larissa think I’ll trade my dignity for sex.
I hate that they’re conditioned to think their bodies are commodities.
And I really hate that women experience shit like this all the time. ”
Emotions quake my muscles. Shame for almost teasing him, compassion for the violation he feels, and fury. So much fury. I want to run back to the Lodge and confront Larissa. But I want to stay with him more.
“I’m so sorry, River. What she did wasn’t okay, and you deserve to feel not okay about it.”
The vehemence in my voice lifts the shadows from his eyes. “Feeling violent on my behalf, Princess?”
“Yes. I wish I’d realized sooner what was happening. I’m sorry.”
He smiles softly. “Don’t be. I’m okay. I also have a strong suspicion Larissa is about to find out what happens when you piss off the Animal Princess. Speaking of, you might want to tell Lenny not to chew her face off.”
I scoff in amusement, then pause. “I probably should. Not because I think she would. Just… in case.”
“Speaking of implausible events, did you notice the golf cart came to you?”
“It did not.”
He arches a brow. “It stopped right under where you were standing.”
“Are we seriously discussing whether or not a possessed golf cart has a vendetta against me?”
“Nope. We’re discussing the likelihood of Gilbert having a crush on you. Can’t really blame him. You were squirming on his seats quite a bit yesterday.”
I gasp and punch his arm.
River releases a wincing laugh and rubs the spot. “Damn. That’s the arm I fell on.”
“Sorry in theory, pleased in reality.”
He laughs harder, gazing at me with those sharp-soft eyes. Another layer of me peels away; another zero is added to the price I’ll have to pay. But it doesn’t matter right now. Not when his humor is fading to something even more dangerous.
“Will you hold my hand for the rest of our walk?” he asks softly.
I nod and reach for him. He reaches back, and our fingers entwine effortlessly. Palm to palm. Pulse to pulse.
As we walk through winking sunlight beneath the whispering trees, all I can think is that Teddy was right. The smallest choices really are the most powerful.
When we reach the cabin, River gives my hand a parting squeeze and beelines for his shower. A fog of melancholy tries to descend as he walks away, but I slap it down. Regardless of the dumpster fire my emotions are using to roast marshmallows, I have work to do.
After popping into my front room to make sure my laptop and headphones are charging, I head back out to retrieve my camping chair from the dome. Making the detour on our way back hadn’t been worth interrupting the dreamlike peace of our walk.
The comfy reclining chair is right where I left it, but my excitement is short-lived.
Kirk delivered it via golf cart for a reason.
The thing is ancient, a barely portable beast of metal and thick fabric.
I finally get it mostly collapsed, only to discover the carrying straps have long since frayed to threads.
I huff and puff my way back to the cabin and drag it up the stairs. To my relief, it’s a lot easier to expand than collapse, and it fits perfectly in the corner by my door.
In no time at all, I’m set up for success, my laptop on my lap and a writing playlist in my ears. One cupholder sags under the weight of my water bottle, and the other holds the final ingredient in my productivity formula: a bag of sour gummies.
I throw a few in my mouth, then open my manuscript and eagerly check out of reality.
I’m close to the final conflict. My main character just discovered one of her trusted allies betrayed her to the enemy.
She’s fled her would-be captor and is currently cracking bones in a high-stakes melee on the border of a sentient forest. Her love interest is about to arrive in a full-blown protective rage, but all he’ll find are a dozen dead bodies and evidence that she’s disappeared into the eldritch woods.
At some point over the next few hours, the part of my brain still functioning in the real world registers that I’m not alone on the porch. There’s a familiar presence nearby, silent and stable, comforting rather than distracting.
I’m so deep in the zone, I barely notice when my empty bag of gummies is replaced with a cup of apple slices. I simply munch my way through them.
Halfway through reviewing the complex choreography of the battle scene, my bladder’s demand reaches a critical level. Sighing in defeat, I rip my focus from a description of blood spraying across the main character’s face.
I save my work, then close my laptop and lower my headphones. As I tackle the perilous challenge of peeling myself off the reclining chair without dropping my laptop or peeing my pants, I hear the scratch of pencil on paper.
I look up and almost tip over.
On the other side of the porch, River sits in one of his kitchen chairs, a sketchbook in his lap and his legs propped on the railing. That alone is a lovely picture, but what makes my mouth go dry is the accessory perched on his perfect nose.
“Shut up right now.”
His head snaps in my direction, confusion furrowing his brow. “I didn’t say anything.”
“You wear glasses? How did I not know this?”
I sound belligerent but can’t help it. In no universe would I handle the sight of River Ashburn in nerdy wire-framed glasses any differently.
His forehead smooths, amusement brightening his eyes. “I only use them for reading and sketching.”
My gaze flickers to his open sketchbook, but it’s angled away from me. “What are you drawing?”
“I’ll tell you if you let me read what you wrote today.”
“Not a chance.”
“Same answer.” He smirks. “You can’t stop staring at my glasses. They make me look old, huh?”
My body temperature spikes.
“Not at all. They’re, uh… nice.”
I’m sweating. Literally sweating. And I can’t make my legs move, which means I’m still squatting over my chair like I’m about to take a dump.
River’s eyes roam my face and chest, both doubtlessly beet red. He sits up and drops his feet from the railing.
“Are you feeling okay? Dizzy from too much sugar?”
I laugh like a goddamn hyena.
“No way. Sugar is my middle name. Or it would be—I don’t have a middle name. Thanks for the apples, by the way. It’s hot today, isn’t it? And I have to pee. Super bad. I should also shower since I’m really sweaty. From writing an action scene, not for other reasons. Okay, bye.”
Desperation unlocks acrobatic skills I didn’t know I had. Laptop clutched to my chest, I spring off the chair and dart inside.