Chapter Fourteen
Rory
Less than an hour later, after a debrief with Scarlet, Tommy and I sat in the dark corner of a pub, pint glasses of beer in front of us.
“Start talking,” he said.
Tommy’s perpetually cheerful demeanor led most people to think he was just a simple, happy-go-lucky lad who liked walking in the hills, but he had a psychology degree and had always been one for talking things out. He listened to every word, even if he didn’t appear to be paying attention. He offered advice when he had some, but more often just acted as a sounding board. It made him a fantastic guide. Everyone responded to him, and by the end of the week, he knew their life stories—their hopes and dreams, their biggest regrets, whatever shit they’d be facing when they got home. And everyone always felt better after talking to him.
It was how we’d become friends in the first place. But that meant it was a pain in the ass to be around him if there was stuff I didn’t want to discuss.
“What do you want to talk about?” I asked, being deliberately obtuse.
He rolled his eyes. “Come on, man. We’ve been mates for what, seven years? We’ve been through a lot of shit—shit that we’ve always been able to talk about. Why are you being so cagey now? Something’s going on with you, and it involves a lass from the group we’re guiding. You need to talk to me.”
I took a long pull on my beer, wishing it was whisky. “I…had a rough night.”
He nodded, unsurprised. “Nightmare?”
“Yeah.”
“But that’s not all, is it?”
I sighed. He wasn’t going to stop until I told him everything, and he knew me too well for me to lie. I drained my glass and stood. “You ready for another yet?”
He raised his eyebrows. I wasn’t usually a beer drinker, let alone a multiple-beer drinker. “Don’t worry, Mum, I’m only having one more. I know we’re working tomorrow.”
“In that case, I’ll be finished with this by the time you’re back with my fresh one.” I got us two more beers and sat back down, sliding one across to him. He accepted it with a nod of thanks. “Okay, now talk.”
“I was having the nightmare—the unabridged version, complete with suffocating mist. I couldn’t see, couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe.”
He closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were full of sympathy, and his mouth was tight with regret. “Shit, Rory, I should have crashed in your tent. I almost asked if you wanted me to. But you didn’t look like you would have welcomed the company. I’m so sorry.”
I shook my head, waving off his apology. “I would have said no. After that stupid fight with Amelia, I was in a shit mood.”
He nodded. “Okay, so you had the nightmare. Then what happened?”
“I guess I was thrashing around, calling out, whatever,” I muttered, feeling my face get hot. I cringed just imagining it, a twenty-two-year-old man crying out in his sleep like a wee lad—like the lad my father had loathed. “And Amelia heard and came in to check on me.”
His eyes widened. “Shit—you hit her?”
I nearly spat beer at him. “What? Why the hell would you think that?”
“You said you were thrashing around in your sleep. I assumed you were going to say you flailed around and hit her.”
I sighed. “No. I kissed her.”
Now it was Tommy’s turn to choke on his beer. “You did what?”
“You heard me.”
“Aye, I heard you say you kissed her. I want to know how.”
I felt my face get even hotter. “Fuck’s sake, do I need to draw you a picture?”
He just stared at me. I leaned in so I could talk quietly. “I heard her calling me in my dream. I opened my eyes, and she was right there—I guess she’d been leaning over me, shaking my shoulder or something. I was still out of it, and she was like two inches away, and it just happened.” He didn’t need to know about the rest of it. “I’m sorry, man.”
His brow furrowed. “Why are you apologizing?”
“I know you like her, and—”
He held up his hand. “Stop right there. I do like her, but just as a friend.”
I crossed my arms over my chest, hoping my relief wasn’t too obvious. “Really,” I said skeptically.
“Aye, really.”
“Then why is it that every time I look over, you’re laughing with her or she has her hand on your arm, or vice versa?”
“Och, that’s just a bit of flirting. You know I do it with everyone. Why, did it annoy you?” he asked slyly.
Yes. “No, why would I care?”
“Why, indeed.”
“Stop psychoanalyzing me.”
“Nope. Anyway, this would have been just a few hours after that ridiculous argument you two had, aye? So, did she slap you?”
She probably should have. “No, she was actually pretty understanding about it. But I’ve apologized a few times now, and she got mad at me for that.”
“Interesting.”
“What the hell does that mean?”
“I’m just saying that if she’s mad at you for apologizing”—he made air quotes—“a few times now, then maybe there’s more to it than you think.”
“Oh, aye? Please, don’t stop there, Doctor MacDonald,” I said, rolling my eyes.
“Maybe she doesn’t want you to be sorry you kissed her.” He took a long swig of beer, then made a show of setting it down. He sat back with a smug look on his face. “What do you think about that?”
“I think you’re a fucking numpty.” There was no way she wasn’t angry that I kissed her.
“Aye, that’s not exactly breaking news,” he said cheerfully. “But what if I’m right?”
“You’re not.” But what if he was?
“Are you sure? How did she respond when you kissed her?”
Even now, my body grew hot when I thought about it. “I…guess she might have been into it after the shock wore off.” More than into it, if I believed what she’d said that morning. But I couldn’t say more to Tommy without it feeling like I was betraying her trust.
“I dunno, man. It just sounds like there’s more going on here than her being mad that you kissed her. There were definitely some…undercurrents…at breakfast, and when I asked her what was going on, she hedged as much as you did. Maybe she’s not as immune to you as you think.”
“Don’t be daft.”
“Just think about it.”
“No, Tommy. I’m not going to go there. I can’t go there. First of all, she keeps recording videos for someone back home, and she ends them by saying “I love you,” so more than likely, she has a boyfriend. Second, we have half a week left on the trek, and then she’s gone. Oh, and third, she hates me. And even if she didn’t hate me, you know what happened with Emma. I’m not going through that again.”
“First,” he said, holding up his index finger, “you’re totally speculating about the possible boyfriend back home. She was totally checking you out last night when you came out of the water all wet and muscley—even if she thought you were mental for going in the water in the first place. And that wasn’t the first time, or the last. Second, I’m not saying you need to propose to the lass. Who’s to say she wouldn’t be up for a no-strings fling on the trek? Third, I don’t think she hates you, and even if she did, it doesn’t necessarily preclude her having a fling with you. And four, are you really going to compare her to Emma? I know that whole situation messed you up, but this could be just what you need to get over that.”
“I’m pretty certain that Amelia is not one for a quick shag in a tent with a virtual stranger.”
“Maybe you should find out.”
A series of images popped into my head like a staticky film reel: Amelia in my arms, her lips parting for my kiss, her bare skin glistening with sweat as our bodies came together. I shook my head to clear it, shifting uncomfortably on the chair. “Enough, Tommy. I just have to get through the next four days of the trek without any more fucking nightmares or fights with Amelia, and I’ll be happy.”
“If you say so.”
But as I finished my beer, I couldn’t help but wonder if there was any truth to what he’d said.