Emerson
I wake before dawn, and instantly I’m aware that Jake’s not there. I roll over and see that I’m right. The bed is cold. He’s gone. His blanket is lying discarded on the ground. I sit up. Where’s he gone? Panic starts to bubble through me. He’s left again. It’s my fault. I should have said something last night. I should have opened up about everything and told him how much it meant to me to hear him say sorry. I should have told him I forgave him. But I found myself in the same place as always, unable to speak, unable even to find the words to voice just how I was feeling. What if it’s too late, though? What if he’s left?
I wriggle out of my sleeping bag and rummage through my bag for a pair of shorts, pulling them on as fast as I can.
Unzipping the tent, I race outside barefoot. The campsite is quiet in the predawn light. The bachelor party boys are still fast asleep, their snores almost drowning out the sound of the surf. I scan the beach and spot Jake at the far end, sitting at the water’s edge, his forearms resting on his knees, staring out at the horizon. Straightaway, I feel a jolt in the pit of my stomach, like someone’s zapped me with a cattle prod. Relief. It’s just relief that he’s still here. The panic that he’d left me in the night subsides, but in its place comes a dizzying wave of adrenaline.
Jake doesn’t notice me approaching, and from a distance I get to study him. He’s gazing out at the water with something of a scowl on his face. Even from here I can see the dark shadows beneath his eyes and the set of his jaw. It gives me pause, but my feet keep moving anyway. I try to work out what I’ll say when I reach him.
He looks up when I’m a few feet away, though, and the scowl disappears instantly, giving me another shot of relief. “Hey,” he says, his smile reaching his eyes.
“Hey,” I answer, and sit down beside him, my legs almost giving way. I still haven’t figured out what to say to him. My heart is a butterfly struggling out of a cocoon. It’s only when I’m sitting beside him that I remember I’m wearing his T-shirt. It’s the one he took off and left in the store. I never returned it. I gave him a new one. It was stupid. I’m not sure why I did it, not sure either why I’ve been wearing it every night since. Hopefully, he won’t realize.
Jake shifts in the sand and picks up a stick. I watch him start to play with it—watch his hands—finding it hard to look away from them. I should say something, make a reference to last night at least.
“Have you been awake long?” I ask, forcing my gaze to the water.
He laughs under his breath. “A little while.”
“Have you called ahead to the campsite in Vashon and checked the booking?” I ask, cringing that all I can find to talk about are safe things, practical things, when really I want to look him in the eye and tell him thank you. “Yeah. It’s all good,” he says.
There’s an awkwardness to our interaction. Jake seems tense.
Absentmindedly, I rub at my neck. Jake glances over. “You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah, just a sore neck. I’ll take some painkillers. It’ll be fine.”
He nods to himself, then moves to stand up. “I’ll go see about starting breakfast.”
I open my mouth, ready to say something, but then I stop myself. Instead I just nod and watch him walk back toward the campsite, aware that the ache in my shoulder and neck has now spread outward, downward, into my heart. My feet itch to run after him, but I force myself to stay sitting. It’s better this way.
He’s going to leave again. In six weeks’ time, to be precise. If I give him a chance, I know he’ll wheedle his way in. The door’s already ajar. If I let him knock it wide-open, then I’m done for. I have to stay here in Bainbridge. He’s moving two thousand miles away. Jake’s world and my world are like two planets in separate solar systems, at opposite ends of the cosmos. We’re on different trajectories. He’s moving forward, heading for the brightest spot in the universe. I’m stuck here for the foreseeable future, possibly forever. If I let him in, if I get used to that feeling, if I give him that power, what will happen to me when he leaves?
* * *
After breakfast, the bachelor party lies half-comatose around the campfire, emitting the occasional grunt and groan. I’ve handed out Tylenol, but it doesn’t seem to have made much of an impact.
Jake walks into the tent just as I’m walking out with my bag, and we bump into each other.
“Sorry,” Jake says, moving quickly out of my way.
“It’s fine,” I say, rubbing my still-sore neck.
“Is it still hurting?” he asks, casting a quick look my way.
“Mmm,” I say.
Jake frowns. “Turn around,” he orders.
“What?”
“Turn around.”
“Why?”
“Because you can’t kayak with a sore neck, and I can fix it.” He flushes. “If you want me to, that is.”
“Um, okay.” I turn around.
He places his hands on my shoulders. His touch is enough to paralyze me, and even the muscles that weren’t locked up sure as hell are now. Every nerve in my body seems to have repositioned itself beneath Jake’s fingers, so when he starts to massage my shoulders, I almost jump high enough to hit the stars.
“Wait,” he says, stopping suddenly. “This will be easier if you sit. There’s not enough room in here.”
I sit, so wobbly legged it’s more of an ungainly collapse to the ground. Jake kneels behind me. I close my eyes, feeling a heat wave travel through my body as he starts kneading my neck muscles.
Holy shit. I try to stop myself from groaning out loud as his thumb moves and starts rubbing circles over the ridges of my spine. He pauses for a moment to brush my hair over one shoulder, and my stomach constricts corset-tight.
“Is that too hard?” he asks, his voice a husky murmur in my ear.
“No,” I manage to stammer. “It’s good.”
“This might hurt,” he says, and next thing I know, he’s digging his thumb into a really sore spot in my shoulder blade. I let out a yelp that’s as much in response to the pain as it is to the pleasure.
“Sorry,” he says.
“No,” I say, my stomach squeezing even tighter. “Don’t stop.”
Jake keeps going, and I let out a loud groan, then laugh in embarrassment to cover it up. “Oh my God, this is so good,” I say. “How did you get so good at this?”
“Practice,” says Jake, and I can hear the smile in his voice.
“On whom?” I immediately ask, and then wish I hadn’t as I’m now picturing him giving some oiled, naked cheerleader a full-body massage.
“I get massages all the time. We have a full-time physio on the team.” Jake slaps me on the back. “There, how’s that now?”
I have to stop myself from leaning back against his chest and begging him to keep going. I roll my shoulders instead and stretch my head from side to side. “Good. Better,” I tell him. “Thanks.”
“Yeah, no problem.” He reaches for his blanket again and suddenly he’s acting distant and professional. “We should get going.”
I nod. The heat from his hands is seared into my skin. “Yeah,” I say, grabbing my bag and following him outside.
As soon as I exit the tent, I spy all the bachelor party sitting around the ashes of the fire, staring at Jake and me with amused grins on their faces.
“You guys have a good time?” Captain GoPro asks.
“What?” I ask, my face turning the color of a ripe beetroot.
“It sounded like you were.” He winks at me.
Oh my God. What is he suggesting? They’re all grinning at Jake now. I even see the one with glasses, the one we’ve nicknamed Clark Kent because his skinny frame belies a secret athletic prowess and abs of steel, give Jake a sly thumbs-up. I spin on my heel, bumping into Jake in my haste to get away. They clearly think we were just . . . oh God . . . I rush toward the kayaks, ignoring the laughter that follows me.
A few minutes later, as I’m readying the kayaks, still fuming with embarrassment, Jake comes over. He helps me tip the kayak over to empty out the rainwater that’s collected in it overnight. “I set them straight,” he says, without looking at me.
I make a mumbling sound at the back of my throat.
“So you still want to paddle with me today?” he asks.
“Um,” I say. I’m not sure anymore. I do and I don’t. There’s that contradiction thing again.
“It might be better,” Jake says, finally meeting my eye. “That way you can rest if your neck starts to bother you.”
I raise my eyebrows. As if I’m letting him paddle for the two of us. “I’ll be okay,” I tell him.
Jake nods and moves to the second kayak, rolling it onto its side.
“But yeah,” I say. “Maybe it’s best we stick together.”