Chapter 9

 

Whitney

 

I see the uncomfortable look on his face and know I’m right. Damn.

He nods. “All of the above.”

“What happened?”

He sighs and starts packing up after lunch.

“Sorry. You don’t have to tell me.”

“No,” he says quietly, standing and extending his hand to me so I can get up too. “Maybe you should know.”

We heft our packs onto our shoulders and he grabs his walking stick. We head back down the hill to the road. Connor’s quiet, working up to it, I think. After we’ve reached the road and fallen into a rhythm, he starts.

“Her name is Evie. We met in Middleton. That’s in South Australia.”

“Is she Australian?”

He nods.

“Does she have an accent?”

He gives a small smile. “Best part about our fights was hearing her swear at me with an accent.”

I laugh a little, but only a little. He’s already back to being serious again, lost in whatever thoughts are swirling around in his head.

“This was, wow, two years ago now. I’d been exploring New Zealand and Australia for a few months. I was about ready to take off to somewhere else when I met Evie.”

He pauses. Whatever story this is, it seems more difficult for him to tell than the one about his cousin.

“We were together six months. I docked my boat and we got an apartment together. She owned a surf shop, and I got a job as an adventure tour guide.” He shrugs. “I thought it’d be something fun to do, you know.” He rubs his fingers along his forehead, hesitating again.

“Did you love her?” I ask, prompting him.

He nods. “Yes.”

I gotta admit, I’m feeling little pangs of jealousy listening to him talk about another woman, as if he’s mine or something. But I still want to hear the story.

“It was a very... intense relationship. Everything she did, she did full throttle. She was exciting and daring and I did love her, but the fights were intense too and I didn’t care for that. I think I could’ve put up with it though. It wasn’t that, I guess.”

“You couldn’t stay.” I know where this is going.

He shakes his head. “No. And she didn’t want to travel like that. She had her shop. We’d take trips, but they were limited to her vacation time, and mine for that matter. I tried to stay. I really, really did. But it’s like you said. There’s this thing inside of me and it drives me. The longer I stayed, the more restless I got and she started to resent it. She thought I wanted to get away from her, but it wasn’t that. I just needed to go. Chase down that horizon. Just... go see something.”

I’m watching him and he’s watching the road, eyes distant as he’s remembering, his brows knit tight in frustration.

“I’d be going about my everyday work, and something in me was just pacing all the time.”

Like a wild animal caged, I think.

“Sometimes I have to wonder if there’s something wrong with me,” he continues, almost desperately, “because sometimes it’s like this... this itch I can’t scratch. Why can’t I just get it together and do the things people need me to do?”

He exhales sharply then falls to silence.

“Because,” I say gently, “there’s only so much changing you can do for another person. This is obviously who you are, Connor. Like, the very core of who you are, from what I can tell.” Even as I’m saying it, I’m seeing him more clearly than I have yet. He’s like this little piece of wind blowing around, belonging to no one but the earth itself.

Back in that café with Maggie and the others, when he said the world was his home, he wasn’t kidding.

As I look at his handsome face, I feel both awed to be in the presence of someone so genuine and wild, and sorrowful that my time with him is inevitably fleeting. I’ve suspected it all along, but it feels different now that I know for sure that a man like Connor can never be captured.

“There’s nothing wrong with you,” I say. “You can only be who you are. It’s all any of us can do. Sometimes being who we really are is just hard, but it’s still right.”

We’re walking down a gravel path that runs somewhat parallel to a highway. We’re quiet, both thinking.

“Whitney,” he says slowly.

We take a few more steps in silence. “Yeah?”

“I want to make sure there are no misunderstandings here.”

“There aren’t.”

He looks at me regretfully.

I sigh, regretful too, but it is what it is. I mean, I’m not thrilled with the situation. Yes, I wish things were different. I wish we were both in San Francisco instead of here. I’d definitely like more than a few short days with him. But, the fact that we have so little time together is probably for the best, because regardless of the situation, Connor will always be on the move anyway.

The time limit we’re staring down is a blessing in disguise. It’ll keep us from getting too attached. Too serious.

“We both know where this is going,” I say. “It’s okay. No one’s made any promises here.”

He sighs and stops. I stop too and he pulls me into his arms, looking me directly in the eye. “I’m not able to make promises.”

“I understand.”

“I can’t.”

“I’m not asking you to.”

He sighs, lowering his forehead to mine, still looking regretful. “I just want to enjoy you as much as I can, while it lasts.”

“I want that, too.” And I do. I take a deep breath. “Look, let’s don’t worry, all right? Let’s just have fun and enjoy it. Aren’t you enjoying it?”

He smiles, his eyes softening. “You know I am.”

I smile too, my heart warming at the way he’s looking at me. “Me too.” This is what we have to do. Just stay in the now. All I need to think about is me and Connor and how he makes me feel right now. And he makes me feel happy.

“I could use another kiss, though,” I say.

Because kisses help.

 

 

That night we stay at a small, private hostel in Dumbría, and (not for the first time) make enough noise to cause the hosts to avoid looking us directly in the eye the next morning. It’s our last full day together. We’ll be in Finisterre sometime this afternoon, find a place to stay, and tomorrow morning I’ll take a cab back to Santiago so I can catch my flight home.

And that will be that.

Connor will become a story I tell, and I’ll become another story for him.

Something about this happening tomorrow is making it more real than it’s felt so far. Every step I take closer to Finisterre, every hour that passes, makes it harder than it was yesterday. The hours are slipping through my fingers. Part of me wants to turn to him and say, “Say goodbye to me now and go, before it gets too painful.”

But I’m greedy. I want every minute of Connor I can get.

We’ve seen pilgrims on the road each day since we left Santiago, but are running into them more today. Or maybe it just seems that way because every time we do, I wish we didn’t. I don’t want to talk to other people. I just want to be with Connor.

Maybe he feels the same way, because within minutes of joining up with someone on the road, we do something to unjoin with them. We’ll either pass them, or if they’re going too fast for that, we’ll find a reason to stop artificially so they’ll pass us.

We do this without speaking about it. We do it all the way through the old sea town of Finisterre, with its boxey buildings and colorful red tile roofs.

When we finally get to the little cape that was considered, for centuries, to be the end of the world, my heart swoops up in my throat. The ocean goes on forever. In spite of being a modern woman who’s familiar with the world map, it still seems like this is the end of things.

The beach, a combination of sand and large black rock formations, stretches on in both directions. And that water. God, it just goes on. The sound of it is like a siren call, drawing me in. I can’t help but smile. I wanted to see this so badly, and walked an additional eighteen and a half miles to get it done. But I suppress the urge to cry.

Maybe it’s tears of joy. Maybe not. Either way, I don’t trust myself to let them go.

 

 

The ocean is enough to distract us for a while. We take off our boots and play in the water, walking along the shore as far as we dare with our packs lying on the beach behind us. We grab a quick dinner, then head back to the beach. There are more pilgrims now, coming for the sunset, just like we are. We manage to find a rock to sit on away from the others.

The closer the sun gets to the horizon—oranges and yellows glistening on the water—the faster it descends. We watch it in silence. Our arms are snug around each other, and my head is resting on his shoulder. The shimmering orb of the sun dips toward the water with steady determination. There’s no stopping a force like that. The bottom of the circle kisses the horizon and slips down into it. Farther and farther, until it is only a sliver of light that winks at us, and is gone.

We take a deep breath together, but don’t move. We sit like that until the sky darkens to a deep indigo with only a hint of pink streaking along the horizon.

Connor looks at me, and I tilt my head up to look at him. I don’t want to be sad, so I smile. He gives me a gentle, lingering kiss.

I should say goodbye right now. I should. It’s the perfect moment. But when he pulls away, I say, “Well... I guess we should find a place to stay.”

“Or,” he says quietly. “We could take a cab to Muxia and sleep on my boat.”

I smile. I guess if Connor doesn’t see a fork in the road, he’ll just go ahead and make one himself. A cab to Muxia was not in the plan, but I like it. I like it very much.

 

 

It’s dark when we get to the docks in Muxia and board Connor’s ship, which is not at all what I’d imagined. Rather than the ratty Forest Gump boat I had in mind, this is a fifty-five foot ocean trawler with a deck that shines in the moonlight. When we go into the interior I’m pleasantly surprised again. It has a clean, almost luxurious feel.

He takes me on a tour and I’m in love. It’s a magnificent vessel. There’s a spacious living area (called a saloon on a boat), full-sized appliances in the kitchen (galley), and even an en suite with a full-sized shower in the master stateroom (bedroom). There are two places to steer the boat: an interior wheelhouse with a seating area and table for guests behind the captain’s chair, and a “flying bridge” up top that’s open to the outside. There’s even a guest stateroom and a little nook to be used as an office space. Everything is gleaming and inviting.

My mind starts running away with me for a moment. What would it be like to live on this boat with him? It’d be comfortable enough, no question. But, tempting as it is, my mind doesn’t linger in that fantasy for two reasons.

One, I’ve given some thought to his lifestyle and I don’t think I could do it. I still feel as I did before: it’d be hard not to have a real home to return to. Not to mention the prospect of leaving my job.

Two, he hasn’t invited me, so it’s not like it’s an option to turn down anyway.

When we return to the main saloon, he raises his hands. “So this is it.”

I want to ask, How are you affording all this? But that feels like crossing a line, so I stick with what I know.

I step into his arms, go up on tiptoe, and kiss him.

His arms come around me and I rub my hands along his back. Our kiss deepens, and I wonder if this is the last time we’ll be together.

I push that thought away. Not yet. There will be more. We’re not done yet.

Our tongues explore one another, hands caressing. The heat in my body is rising. Without breaking our kiss, he picks me up and I wrap my legs around his waist. He carries me into the master stateroom and sets me on the bed, smoothly coming down on top of me. I put my hand on his jaw, caressing the soft whiskers. He holds my face too, and kisses me so tenderly I almost can’t breathe.

He pulls away, holding my eyes, and reaches for his pack, which he had propped next to the bed earlier. Heart thumping thickly in my chest, I don’t take my eyes off of him. He brings out the condoms, pulls one out, and puts it on the nightstand within easy reach.

While he does this I slip off my shorts and underwear. I sit up enough to remove my shirt and bra. He quietly undresses too, rolls on the condom, then comes back to me slowly, watching me. Still holding my eyes, he puts his forehead on mine, his hand on my jaw. Lips parted, our breaths mingle together as our bodies slowly rearrange so he can come inside me. I’m wet, and ready, and dying a little because of the way he’s looking at me.

As he slips inside, so slow and sweet, our mouths meet. And I can’t do this. It feels too much like making love. This is hard enough. I don’t want him to make love to me. I want him to fuck me. Only that.

Swallowing hard, I switch gears. I start kissing and stroking him in a way that’s intense and physical. It takes a minute. I have to persist. But soon he’s following my lead. And then it’s a little frantic. And then we’re fucking, only fucking, and it is a relief. I make myself forget the rest and just get carried away with it. Thank god his cock in me feels so good because I need to stay in this place.

I tell him to fuck me hard, but first he kisses me hard. And gropes my breasts. And clutches my shoulder and then he’s pounding me so hard lights explode behind my closed lids. I’m moaning and panting and he’s groaning in my ear. His muscles are flexing under my hands. His cock is hardening in my tight channel and I tell him, “More. Harder.”

We’re unleashed in a new way, then. It’s a wildness I’ve never experienced. It’s almost vulgar, but it’s so hot and my climax is building so strongly I know when I come, I’m going to come hard. He’s propped up above me, thrusting me with his entire body and making my whole body rock. I’m almost there.

This is it, I think. The last time.

When I let go, my orgasm shakes me with such violence I am transcended out of time and place. I gasp and convulse, helpless. Connor releases inside me and I throw my head back, crying out, tremors pulsing through me. I ride it out in desperation.

When it’s over, we’re both on our backs, panting.

We’re not touching at all. The afterglow of my orgasm is dissipating quickly. I tighten my hands into loose fists at my side. A shiver runs through me.

Connor notices this. He rolls toward me, presses his warm chest against mine, and cups my jaw in his hand. He kisses me deeply. Something inside me sighs as I feel my heart reconnect with his. He comes away, pecks me softly on my lips, and pulls me into his arms as he rolls onto his back.

It wasn’t a long kiss, but I’m grateful for it, because I couldn’t end whatever it is we just did with whatever that ending was. That kiss, however short, reminded me that it’s still Connor and still me and we’re still in this together.

Whatever this is.