Jenson

 

I expect to do less—like staring stoically off into the distance—but Lindsey sets me up on fallen logs, and against tree trunks, and asks me to play for her. I’m not much of a natural in front of the lens, so I do need some direction, but once she reroutes my mind from photoshoot-mode to music-mode, I’m lost in it. The shutter clicks away, and I take it as a good sign that I need no more direction.

We make hotdogs for dinner and eat by the fire, and Lindsey prods me for more songs. This time I sing her the one she sparked at the club. She has the grace to look bashful, saying most of that performance was for my benefit. I suspect she enjoys torturing me. I give her plenty of material, and in exchange she does the same. She climbs into the tub during my shower and wraps her slick, soft body around mine. I gladly trade in my brooding for something a lot more inspiring.

Later, while we’re in bed and her head is on my chest, I look down at her and say, “This is a good thing.” I don’t know what made me say it, but it felt like it needed to come out. In a fraction of a second, I feel her pliable body stiffen against me, a physical wall to match her emotional one. Then she’s sliding out from beneath the sheets and bending to sift through our clothes. I give her a few minutes to herself after she pads down the stairs, before pulling on a pair of shorts and going to find her.

She’s sitting in one of the chairs on the back deck, wearing only my flannel shirt. If it weren’t for the look on her face, I’d be hard all over again.

“Am I that miserable to be around, that sitting out here in the cold seems like a better idea?”

She looks startled to see me standing there, and she winces when she looks at me. I don’t get it. Just when I think I’m getting a grasp of who she is, what we are together, she freaks.

“You’re not miserable,” she says, and I find myself wholly unsatisfied. That’s when I realize I’m looking for an answer to a question I’m not sure even exists.

Stepping up to her chair, I reel in my thoughts and squat down so the sight of me chasing after her isn’t so daunting. “What is it?”

I follow her gaze to her bitten fingernails. “I just . . . I don’t want you thinking—”

“Stop. I’m not thinking. I especially wasn’t thinking back in there,” I interrupt, nodding my head toward the cabin. “I wasn’t thinking, and I wasn’t expecting anything.”

“Then why am I here? I appreciate the break, I do, but I don’t understand it. You could’ve picked anyone else and they would’ve come.”

I rest my elbows on my thighs, wondering what I could say to make her understand without making this out to be bigger than it is. I like her, sure, but I don’t fully understand her. I don’t want to make the mistake of thinking that means more than it does. “I have fun with you. I feel like I can trust you. What about that are you so afraid of?”

“You’ve been through a lot, and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Are you worried I’m going to think this is a relationship or something?”

She wrestles with that. “A little bit, yes.” At the unspoken question in my expression, she says, “Because of what you said.”

“Because I said this is a good thing?”

“It sounds innocent, but I don’t want to get your hopes up. You have to be okay with just this part of me, or nothing.”

I take in the worry lines on her forehead, how goddamn terrified she looks to be having this conversation. “This is going to sound fucking depressing, but I don’t put much hope in anything anymore. I don’t expect anything. But I’m not going to say I’m completely devoid of feelings.”

“Believe me, I was very disappointed to learn you weren’t just another emotionless douchebag,” she says dryly, before turning more serious. “Because of where I want to be, and who you are, it just wouldn’t be a good idea. People would talk. I don’t have anything here but my reputation, and I won’t let myself lose that.”

I bite back a smile. Her vulnerability is showing, and I don’t want to shame her into hiding it. “I admire that, and more importantly, I respect that. You don’t have to worry about my feelings, but you should know that I say what I mean. Would you not agree that was good?” My grin is full of insinuation, and though she rolls her lips between her teeth, I can see the dimples from her smile. Still, she’s wary. I take her hands and blow on them to warm them up, running my thumbs over her jagged nails. “I think there’s more you’re not telling me.”

After clearing her throat, she opens her mouth a few times before she speaks. “I guess I’m kind of terrified of having someone depend on me. Being stuck in a cage of my own making. Limiting myself because of my own decisions. You name it.” As she speaks, her breath stirs the strands of hair in front of her face. I brush them aside so I can see her better.

“Did someone hurt you?”

“No. I guess that’s the worst part; I haven’t really experienced total heartbreak. But I’ve seen it happen—people let themselves fall so hard they’re destroyed when no one’s there to catch them. My cousin, the photographer I told you about? He lost his fiancé in an accident. He was known worldwide for his photography, had documented the most beautiful places on Earth, and then Grace died and all of that disappeared. He became a ghost. He’d seen and smelled and tasted the world, and none of it was enough to bring him back. I haven’t even scratched the surface of what I could be. Now imagine if I invested my heart in something temporary, like another person. What would bring me back?”

I study her, trying to make sense of fears she’s only seen from afar and never experienced. She’s on her way to building her own cage now, and she doesn’t even see it. Then again, I dive into everything head-first, and look where it’s gotten me. “I know I’m not exactly the poster child of success, but holding back yourself . . . your heart. . . It’s like keeping a ship in a bottle. There are some things that are meant to sail. But is this why you’re afraid—that you’ll be hurt one day?”

“No,” she says sharply. “I’ve just seen the capabilities of love, and they’re not great enough for me to put my life on hold to take a chance on it.”

Sensing her bitterness, I force myself to nod. There’s more to this story, but this moment is fleeting and fragile. I don’t want to break it by forcing anything. And if she’s so consumed by self-preservation, that means she feels something, no matter how much she wishes she didn’t—not just toward me, but life in general. In order to create, you have to feel all the things. She’s not as untouchable as I thought.

A snippet of an earlier conversation involving pain and regret being the flavors of life enters my mind. Something tells me she won’t be so quick to accept her own advice, though.

I stand and offer her my hands. “You worry too much. This doesn’t have to be a whole big thing. It just is what it is, and that’s okay with me. Now come back to bed before I freeze my balls off. What good would I be then?” I’m rewarded for my less-than-eloquent speech with a genuine smile. That’s Lindsey; she doesn’t demand perfection, she just wants real, no matter how broken and used-up it is. And I’m about as broken and used as it gets. But she unfolds her long legs and accepts my hands.

“Hey, what ended up happening to your cousin? Did he ever come around?” I ask once we’ve crossed the deck.

Lindsey turns to face me, leaning a shoulder in the doorway. “Yeah. His life took a completely different path, but he’s good.”

“Good,” I say, then I take her by the shoulders and steer her back inside and up the stairs.