Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit, my manic mind chanted. Fear arced through me as I pulled myself to my feet, turned and ran, tripping and sliding back down the hill, my thoughts pooling together in disjointed alarm, my stomach at risk of spewing its contents at any minute. My whole body was shaking. I'd never been so fucking terrified.
By the time I reached the lodge an hour later, I was breathing normally, and feeling like a complete and utter *. What kind of coward was I? Is that what a big, strong quarterback did? Weak, weak, weak. Not strong enough . . . Some far back corner of my mind screamed before I shut it down. I groaned. Sudden, intense nausea caused me to stop and draw in long breaths of air so I wouldn't lose the contents of my stomach. The headache was coming back again.
Weak, weak, weak.
No, it was okay. I just needed to get my thoughts in order, and the pills would help me do that. Maybe just one to take the edge off.
I imagined what I must have looked like running from that wild pig through the woods, and almost felt sorry for the paparazzi for missing that shot. Hysterical laughter bubbled up my chest. I was seized by it so violently I lay on the grass and literally rolled with hilarity. I stopped almost as quickly as I'd started, the laughter dying a quick death on my lips. Jesus . . . Jesus. Somebody save me.
CHAPTER THREE
Lily
I dragged the brush through my damp hair, angling my head toward the fireplace to help it dry more quickly.
I ran my hand up the bare skin of my leg, thinking about the girls I'd seen at the lodge at the edge of the woods—the ones who wore the tiny swimsuits and danced to loud music on the deck. I wondered what it'd feel like to be that comfortable in my own skin. I'd been too curious and leaned out too far. One of them had spotted me and they had all started shrieking and screaming and slipping on the deck as they clamored out of the hot tub and ran inside.
I'd wanted to laugh out loud, but I hadn't.
Then several men had come to the edge of the woods with flashlights. I'd just watched them from behind a spruce tree. I hadn't even had to work to hide.
Staring unseeing into the leaping flames of the fire, I wondered again about the man. He'd almost gotten himself speared by a pig today. If that low-flying bird hadn't caught his attention, he wouldn't have even known the pig was running right at him. I pressed my lips together, untangling a knot at the end of my hair.
Who in his or her right mind would leave someone obviously incapable of taking care of himself out here? Alone.
The man had spotted me a few times and I wondered if he would tell anyone about me? Would they believe him if he did? It seemed to me a case could be made that he was off his rocker. I'd watched him stumble around the lodge—I could see him outside on the deck and inside through the tall, uncovered windows, too. And he did a lot of yelling and ranting at no one in particular. And then the day before yesterday he'd stumbled halfway down the outside stairs before he'd caught himself and fallen on the ground half-moaning/half-laughing. I'd waited to make sure he could actually stand up before leaving. Yes, most likely, he was insane. I supposed there was some kind of irony in me pointing out his insanity, being that I was locked away in a mental institution and all.
But anyway, he was handsome; I'd give him that. More than handsome, beautiful even. Could men be beautiful? Well, he was. Evidently he knew it, too. He’d ranted about that a whole lot out on the deck by himself. I myself might have found him appealing if he wasn't so obviously crazy and useless. I shook my head, my brush running through the partially dry locks of my long hair, the rhythm and the fire putting me into some sort of mild trance as I thought about him.
What was it about him that made me so curious despite his obvious lunacy? I laughed quietly to myself. Okay, so, maybe he wasn't a lunatic, but there was definitely something wrong. The thing was, he wasn't only crazy, he was sad, too. He seemed very . . . alone, and not because he was actually living a solitary existence, at least for the moment. For some other reason I couldn't understand. But I could relate and perhaps that was why I was drawn to him. Yes, maybe that was it.
"Why is he so sad?" I whispered to the fire. It was late August, and the night was only mildly cool, but it was so drafty in here. So big, so cold. The warmth felt nice. The fire snapped as if in answer to the question I'd asked, a log rolling over suddenly and breaking apart, a small spark jumping out and landing on the rug at my feet. I used my brush to smash it out and then went back to brushing my hair, wondering where the man was right now—inside or outside? Howling up at the moon perhaps? I smiled to myself.
How long would he stay? I assumed the lodge in the valley was more a vacation home than anything, used primarily in winter when the ski slopes were open. Although why he wanted to vacation all alone during any season, I wasn't sure. I wondered again what the man who'd called out his own name—Holden Scott—was doing right that very second.
CHAPTER FOUR
Holden