Brit
My lungs are burning and sweat is dripping down my back.
It’s not even hot, the cool ocean breeze having drifted inward, weaving its way in through the trees, cooling my heated skin.
But it’s not enough to beat the exertion of the trail, especially at the pace we’re taking it.
Trey is a good running partner. He’s not as fast as me, nor in as good of shape—but then again, he’s not a professional athlete. Still, he’s dogged, determined to make it to the top of the trail even though I know he’s got to be feeling it intensely, has to be even more tired than I am.
“We’re almost there,” I manage to get out…and make it sound as though it’s vaguely encouraging (and not like I’m ready to throw myself off the steep decline to the left, if only to put myself out of the misery of this near vertical trail).
“Yup,” he puffs out, distance between us increasing.
But if I stop to wait for him, I’ll stop altogether.
And…we’re almost there.
Really.
I turn the corner—
And I’m there.
My feet slide to a stop, and I can’t help but stop this time.
Because the sight in front of me is awe-inspiring. Rolling hills dotted with large old-growth oak trees. I turn—chest still heaving, sweat still running down my back, between my breasts—and I see that view is surrounding me on all sides, a full three-hundred-sixty-degree panorama of nature. Not a house or power line in sight. No roads are visible—except if I maybe squint and study the far edges of my vision, I can see the narrow track that leads into this preserve.
A foot scrapes behind me, and—lungs beginning to recover—I rotate back to see Trey stagger around the corner.
“Sweet Jesus,” he puffs, moving toward me. “That was hell—” A long breath before he turns out toward the view and exhales again, clearly trying to slow his heart rate. “And totally fucking worth it.” He swipes his arm over his forehead. “Wow.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking pity on my quads and sinking down onto the rock that gives the Redwood Rock trail its name.
Trey sinks down next to me, groaning as he stretches his legs out in front of him. “Brutal but beautiful.” He slants a look at me. “Kind of like you when you stone those motherfuckers on a breakaway.”
I grin. “First time I’ve ever considered being called brutal a compliment.”
He winks and there’s a resounding flicker in my stomach. The possibility of something. That something might be here. That something might grow. It feels…bittersweet, but I’m choosing to focus on the sweet.
Because I have to.
Because if I don’t…
I just can’t keep focusing on the bitter.
We sit there in silence until we’ve both recovered from the climb enough to start talking about other things—his daughter and his divorce, Stefan and I trying to find our way to something neutral, the team, his job as a corporate accountant, what my travel schedule looks like over the next few weeks.
And then a leaf flutters out of the tree above us, toppling through the air this way and that until…
It lands in my hair.
I laugh softly, reach up to snag it.
But Trey beats me to it. “Here,” he murmurs, tugging it free.
I still, suddenly aware of how near he is…and how it makes me feel.
Right and wrong.
Strange and not.
He smooths his hand over my hair, straightening the—no doubt—crazy tendrils, and…I can’t help it.
I remember another man, another time when the person I was interested in didn’t care that I was sweaty, that my hair was a mess, and—
His lips come closer.
And…I’m stuck in my memories, in this moment of split reality—Stefan stepping close, his hands in my hair; Trey turning as he shifts beside me, his palm cupping my jaw. The arena in the background, the sounds of my teammates in my ears. The quiet of the late afternoon, wind swooshing through the trees. Cool rink air clinging to my cheeks. Fading sunshine gilding my skin.
Right and wrong.
Strange and not.
Stefan. Trey.
Trey. Stefan.
Soft lips touch mine—
Right and wrong.
No.
Wrong.
It’s wrong.
“No,” I whisper, breaking the kiss, pushing lightly at Trey’s—yes, it’s Trey’s—chest. Not Stefan’s. Not—
“You taste so good,” Trey groans, hand tightening in my hair, body coming closer, rolling over mine, pressing me into the rock face.
“No,” I say again, my gut churning, bile rising up to burn the back of my throat. I push at his chest more intently, another time of being restrained, of not being able to move, of a man deciding what he’s doing with my body pushes into my mind and I struggle to shove it out enough to focus on the present, on this moment. “Stop. This isn’t what I want, Trey—”
“Fuck,” he rasps. “The way you say my name.” He groans again, louder this time, his hand tightening in my hair, more of his weight coming over me…pressing right into my side.
Pain shoots up my torso, and I cry out.
Which seems to make Trey even more earnest—as though he doesn’t understand the difference between pain and excitement…
Or maybe that he doesn’t care.
More bile. More churning. More pain.
“Stop,” I say, ripping my mouth from his when his lips seek mine out a second time. “Trey, stop—”
“You want it, baby,” he croons, sliding his leg between mine, knee coming up.
Fucking. Men.
But before I can react to that—and use some of the self-defense skills Mia (a kickass karate teacher who’s married to a teammate and also teaches women how to protect themselves) taught me—I hear a growl.
A fraction of a second later, the weight on top of me disappears.
I blink, shove my elbows beneath me, and freeze. “What the—?”
Only, I don’t finish the question.
Because I’m too busy gaping at the sight in front of me.
Stefan is standing there, all of five feet away from me, wearing jeans and a tee, a sweatshirt tied around his waist, and…
He’s gripping the front of Trey’s shirt, looking a heartbeat away from planting his fist into Trey’s face.
“You don’t fucking touch her,” Stefan growls, shaking Trey like a rag doll. “You. Don’t. Fucking. Touch. Her.”
“Stefan—”
“Not now,” he grits out. “Not fucking ever. But definitely not after she says no.”
And with that, he shoves Trey away, looks over at me, eyes sparking with fire. “Let’s go,” he snaps. But his hand is gentle when he bends and wraps it around my arm, when he coaxes me up to my feet.
“Brit—”
I freeze at the sound of Trey’s voice, turning slowly.
He looks like a confused puppy, unsure of why he just got scolded for chewing a shoe.
“I told you no,” I say, watching as his expression changes…
As a thread of something I don’t like—irritation, defiance, frustration—weaves across his face. “You liked it.”
“No,” I tell him. “I didn’t like it and I didn’t want it.” Stefan’s fingers tighten on my arm and I pull my gaze away from Trey’s, look up at my ex-husband.
“Let’s go,” he says, and it’s softer now.
Because I know he gets what I’m feeling, understands exactly which memories are clambering at the edges of my mind, making my hands shake and my legs feel weak.
So…I go with him.
I let him hold my arm as he guides me down the path, away from that big, warm rock and the late afternoon sunshine, down into the thick cover of the oak trees, their leaves rustling the only sound other than the crunch of our shoes on the rocky trail.
I let him stay close until the parking lot comes into sight, the dark brown fence posts surrounding it visible above the tall, dry grass. There’s a large cattle gate across the main entrance and I pull out of Stefan’s hold, move to the gate and push it open.
He hesitates for a moment, jaw tight, body still, then he shakes his head slightly and follows me through. “Where’s your car parked?” he asks as we start across the gravel.
“I—”
Here I do something stupid.
I falter.
I freeze.
I don’t have a lie at the ready.
And he takes one look at my face and knows it. “You rode with him.”
My lungs expand, shoulders lifting and falling on a breath. “First time.”
Silence except for the wind.
Then he shakes his head, starts moving toward his car. He bleeps the locks, pulls open the door. “I’ll drive you home.”