Another voice rose from the darkness, Rebecca’s, and I called out to her, relieved when she stepped into the dim yard behind Brayden and Ginger.
“Are you ready?” she asked me, her suspicious gaze roaming over the siblings before moving to Heathcliff and then me.
I started to leave, my feet moving cautiously backward when I suddenly paused, my gaze going once more to Heathcliff. “By the way, whatever happened to your Toyota?”
He looked at me. “My old pickup? It’s parked at my brother’s house. Why?”
The smile I gave him was a soft one. “I miss the wind.”
With that, I turned and walked away, my hand grabbing Rebecca’s arm. She was staring at Heathcliff’s friend, and I knew by the way her face was angled, she was looking at the tight shirt he wore over his stomach.
“Don’t look at the abs,” I hissed. “Just walk away.”
Turning, her feet joined mine on our trek to the catering van.
“They’re nice abs,” Rebecca hissed in return.
“Two divorces,” I murmured.
“Damn,” she replied. “Throw the bucket of cold water, why don’t you?”
We climbed into the vehicle, and as I was backing out of the drive, I rolled down the windows. Somewhere in the darkness, I knew Heathcliff watched, and I wanted him to see them down.
Sometimes starting over starts with a drive.
Chapter 26
I’d taken to running when I was in college, not because I thought I needed the exercise, but because I had a desire to feel the breeze in my face, my body tiring, exorcising things that wouldn’t go away otherwise. It was a good way to take off the stress, to strip away a bad exam grade, bad news, or disappointment.
The day after seeing Heathcliff, I ran, letting my feet eat the miles beneath me, my breath coming in pants. Breathe in through the nose and out through the mouth. The run stripped me bare, my thoughts playing over the conversation I’d had with Heathcliff in the yard, the morning humidity causing sweat to seep down my forehead and over my face, like tears.
My feet always sought the back roads, running them until I knew I couldn’t go any farther, and then, unlike most runners, I’d walk back, having pushed myself too far to begin with. I kind of saw life that way, I guess. Run, push yourself, but then walk. Take the time to notice the stuff you missed your first time through.
I was passing the creek, the proverbial summer hang out, when I heard the laughter. Stopping, I leaned over, my hands finding my knees, my chest heaving. The laughter grew and with it so did my curiosity.
Turning down the lane, I snuck among the trees, my feet quiet on the grass as I moved. The sound of rushing water met my ears.
“What’s with this place, Max?” Ginger’s voice asked.
I froze, my blood running cold at the sound of her voice, at the way she said his name. It shouldn’t bother me, but it did.
“I don’t know,” another voice broke in, a male one, and somehow I knew it was Brayden’s. “There’s a certain kind of charm in it.”
“It’s not Hell,” Heathcliff answered.
Brayden’s short laugh met his words. “You’ve got that right, brother.”
Ginger groaned. “I hate it when the two of you do that! Talk like there’s no one else there, like I’m supposed to understand exactly what you mean.”
“You didn’t have to come with me, Gin,” Brayden replied.
His sister snorted. “You know I did.”
There was something sad about her voice that touched my heart, a worry for her brother that made my dislike for her lessen. Tone of voice can reveal a lot about a person. Hers told me more than I wanted to admit. She loved her brother, but by the looks she’d thrown Heathcliff at Mams’ party, she also loved him. She loved him, and she’d been a part of his life during a time when I couldn’t be there.
I’d reached the edge of the trees, my palm resting against the bark on one of the wider trunks. Beyond, sand sparkled in the sun, the muddy water rushing over sandbags and logs, the area around the creek having been cleared by the Parkers, who owned the property, so that the locals could enjoy the swimming.
On the bank Ginger sat, her feet dangling in the water, wearing only a black bikini top and a pair of short blue jean shorts.
“It feels like hell here,” she grumbled, her hand fanning her face.
Heathcliff stood behind her, leaning against the tailgate of his black F150. It was down, an ice chest pulled to the edge. Brayden sat beside the cooler. Both of the men were wearing nothing except blue jeans, a longneck bottle in their hands.
My gaze went instantly to Heathcliff, my eyes widening. The tattoos on his arms were just the beginning, the scar on his forearm one of three. A line of scar tissue slashed his stomach just above his belly button, a smaller one starting near his hip and disappearing into his jeans. A tattoo was etched into one side his chest, a coil of thorns surrounding the words, Be Brave.
Brayden, who had his own fair share of scars, lifted the beer he held. “It’s a quiet place. I don’t know why you’d want to leave, Max.”
“Because there’s nothing to do here,” Ginger complained.