Twenty-nine years old, and some of those years had been wild, and he’d never experienced anything like Annie. Not once.
The physical reality of the connection they had on the phone blew his mind. Destroyed it. And he didn’t know how he was going to let her walk away from him.
How did anyone walk away from what they’d just shared? They couldn’t. He couldn’t.
One more day, at least, he thought. Fuck the secrets. He just wanted to test this thing between them as far as it would go. Find the red line and hold it there until they both fell apart.
When he stepped back out into the bedroom she had curled up on the bed, her knees to her chest, and when she heard him she pulled the blanket up over her body like she didn’t want him to see her.
“Annie?” he asked, worried suddenly that he really had hurt her. He’d been rough. And angry. Raw. Maybe— “I’m married.”
He blinked. “What?”
“I’m married, Dylan. That’s what I haven’t told you.”
ANNIE
My words echoed. In my head. In the room. Probably all over this damn mountain.
Get up, Annie. Get up. Get dressed and get gone.
What had happened between us on the bed had been the most amazing experience of my life. It was like we’d used our anger to make it all somehow better and worse at the same time. Beautiful and awful. That’s what we were.
And guilt was shredding me to pieces.
With shaking arms I pushed myself up off the bed. I could see him out of the corner of my eye, standing there in the doorway to the bathroom. His hand on the door frame like he couldn’t stand up on his own.
“I’m sorry,” I said, tears clogging my throat. “I’m so sorry…” A sob slipped out and I shook my head, gathering the duvet around me as best I could before slipping off the bed and heading for the door.
I had to get my clothes. Maybe…maybe he’d let me take the socks. It was cold. I’d leave everything else. The pajamas and the soft shirt. The robe. I’d leave it all. And I wouldn’t ask for one more thing. Except the socks and…Shit. I had no way home.
“I don’t…can I get a ride to a bus station or something? And I’ll need to borrow some money. I’ll pay you back—”
“Stop,” he breathed, as if he’d just woken up. “You’re married? Like right now, you’re married?”
I took a deep breath and forced myself to look at him.
He was naked and still braced in the doorway, as if his feet wouldn’t work. Sweat still gleamed on his chest, across those tattoos. His cock, so pink, lay against his leg.
“Yes,” I said. “Right now, I am married.”
He glanced away and wiped a hand over his face and head, making all the dark hair stand up.
“I didn’t have anything with me when you brought me here,” I said. I wished more than I could say that I could throw on some clothes, grab my keys, and drive out of there, but I was totally at his mercy. “I need help getting home.”
He let out a long breath and when he turned to look at me, his eyes were wide. “Home?”
“Back to the trailer park.”
“Get dressed, Annie,” he said. “You’re not going anywhere just yet.”
He went back into the bathroom and came out with my clothes, which he tossed at me. I caught them with one hand; the other still had a death grip on the quilt. “Go get dressed. We’re going to talk.”
In my bedroom I put on the sun-and-moon pants and the pink shirt. A pair of socks. I found a hoodie sweatshirt, too, and slipped that on, burying my ice-cold hands in the front pockets. Slowly the shaking stopped. The shock of telling the truth wore away, leaving me somehow stripped. I felt weightless somehow…impossibly sorry and deeply guilty, but a boulder had been rolled off my back.
I found Dylan in the kitchen, leaning back in the corner of the counter space. He was drinking a beer. He wore jeans and his inscrutable expression; otherwise he was naked.