The Rules of Regret (17 page)

But
I found it crazy that he could say this was less intense than what he
’
d been experiencing, because for me,
this was over the top, about to explode intense. Like a balloon inflated to its
bursting point. Maybe because I
’
d
replayed everything that happened between us over and over like a movie during
our two-week hiatus. Maybe because every night as I was falling asleep, it was
Torin
’
s
lips on mine that flashed before my closed eyes; his scent that filled all of
my senses like a toxic vapor. Maybe because for the past two weeks I
’
d thought
—
fantasized even
—
about what our next
interaction would be and even prayed for a tick just so he could remove it.
Maybe that
’
s
why this was all so intense.

“
I think I have to go.
”

I
pushed the tray away from me, extending my arms as far as they could go until
it almost collided with Torin
’
s.
My glass teetered precariously and soda sloshed over the side, pooling in my
fruit salad in a fizzy, carbonated mess.

“
Why?
”

“
I just have to.
”
I rose to stand, but he caught my
wrist.
“
I
really should go, Torin.
”

His
hand cuffed my arm, and didn
’
t
let go even when I tugged it away. I turned, still keeping up my stride, and
pulled him behind me until we were around the corner near the side wall of the
dining hall, out of sight from the other counselors consuming their lunches at
the tables that lined the decking.

“
Torin,
”
I said firmly, though my voice was
weak and betrayed my oath to stay strong.
“
I
have to go.
”

“
Really?
”
Torin pulled my arm up so it was
pinned against the rough, wooden planks of the wall. The breath in my lungs
spilled out in a quiet, shaky rush.
“
Where
do you have to go, Darby?
”

“
Somewhere not here.
”

His
eyes roved over my face and a familiar throbbing filled me, tugging at my
stomach and sucking the air out of my chest. He looked from my eyes down to my
mouth.
“
What
did I do? Why are you acting like this?
”

I
swiped my eyes with my free hand, the other still pressed against the wall.
“
This is painful.
”

“
The camp?
”
Torin dropped my hand from his and
tossed his head, suddenly realizing he
’
d
pinned me against the wall like some sort of predator. And while my arm fell
quickly to my side, his hand slid down the outer curve of my body, just far
enough away that he wasn
’
t
actually touching me, but close enough that it was unbearable.
“
The camp?
”
he repeated.
“
Or me?
”

“
Yep. Gotta go.
”

“
What
’
s going on, Darby?
”
Torin demanded again, his voice
equally as assertive as it was pleading.
“
What
aren
’
t
you telling me?
”

Um, that we made out three weeks ago
during that stupid overnighter and since then it
’
s
all I
’
ve
been able to think about. That I can
’
t
be around you without wanting to launch at you and do it all over again.
How about that for starters?

“
Nothing. Please just let it go,
Torin.
”
I pushed past two more counselors that headed toward the dining hall for lunch,
chatting about what they planned to do with their free time that afternoon. I
knew exactly what I planned to do: get out of Quarry Summit. Page break. End of
chapter.

Torin
shouldered them out of the way as he raced to catch me.

“
I don
’
t think I can.
”
I heard him pull up on his jogging
as his shoes clapped loudly against the ground.
“
There
’
s something you
’
re not telling me.
”

“
I
’
m going to go see if I have any
messages.
”
There
. Change the subject. Avoid
confrontation. Act like a total coward and run like hell.

Torin
pulled back a little as though he was going to allow me to behave like a child.
He was quiet for so long that I felt like he was going to retreat, like he was
going to give up the fight, like maybe my mule-like ways had finally gotten me
somewhere. I was about ready to puff up my chest with stubborn pride when he
blurted,
“
Fine.
I
’
m going with you.
”

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

“
I
’
m going with you.
”
Torin stated it again.

“
I don
’
t think you
’
re invited,
”
I said in a controlled, purposefully
calm voice.

“
Yes, I am.
”
He scanned the memo once more,
flipping it over to continue reading the message scribbled on the back. With a
loud flick of his index finger against the paper he said,
“
See, right here. It says to bring a
friend.
”

“
I
’
m not sure that means you.
”

“
Are there a bunch of other friends
you have here that you
’
re
keeping hidden?
”
He rotated at the waist to scan the room.
“
Because
as far as I can tell, I
’
m
it Darby. Maybe you have some little leprechauns you
’
re hiding in your pockets?
”

I
ripped the note from his hands and ran my eyes over it.
“
I don
’
t think Lance
’
s idea of me bringing a friend
involves someone like you.
”

“
Someone like me
…
Please elaborate on that illusive
statement. Because it could mean any number of things.
”
Torin
’
s lashes lowered as he rested against
the receptionist
’
s
table, one leg propped up on its surface. He looked so casual and at home, and
I hated that I was turned on by his relaxed pose. I hated even more that I was
analyzing the fact that I was turned on.
“
Someone
as annoying
—
or
was it amazing
—
as
I am?
”

Of
course. He remembered. I was hoping three weeks was enough time to erase that
statement from existence, but it was still there, apparently tattooed in his
brain. It
’
s
lovely how the mind chooses to imprint the embarrassing moments, while the
non-mortifying ones fall by the wayside. Why couldn
’
t that one have disappeared from his
memory?

“
Someone as male as you,
”
I answered, finally.

“
Maybe we can find someone a little
less male then. Patrick didn
’
t
seem overly masculine
—
I
think I saw him rearranging one of the floral centerpieces in the dining
commons. Would you like for me to see if he is free to accompany you?
”

“
That
’
s not really what I meant.
”

“
It says to bring a friend. I am a
friend.
”
Torin pulled the paper out of my hand, crumpled it up, and tossed it into the
wastebasket across the room in three-pointer-like fashion.
“
Problem solved.
”

I
hauled myself to the trashcan and fished out the memo.
My
memo. My memo from Lance. This piece of paper wasn
’
t meant for Torin, but he
’
d tossed it aside like it actually
had something to do with him.

“
I didn
’
t have a problem to solve.
”

“
Okay, maybe not
that
problem, but you are going to have to figure out how to
convince me to let you fly across the continental United States all by yourself.
That seems like a pretty big problem to me.
”
Torin sounded serious.
“
Because that
’
s not gonna happen on my watch.
”
I honestly thought he might actually
be serious.

“
Newsflash, but I
’
m not on your watch.
”
The room felt small
—
much too small all
of a sudden
—
and
I pushed on the wooden door to escape the confines of the
claustrophobia-inducing space.

“
Where are you going?
”

The
wind rushed at me as I opened the door and I filled my lungs to the brim with
the crisp air until they couldn
’
t
expand another millimeter and then I loudly exhaled, closing my eyes.
“
Whew. I had to get out of there.
”

“
You mean, you had to get out of the
building?
”

“
Yeah.
”
I opened my eyes to look at him.
“
It was getting too hot and stuffy in
there. Too confining.
”

The
dimple appeared before the full-on smile burst across his lips.
“
You mean you had to get out of that
building
and get into
nature
?
”

My
therapeutic breathing halted immediately.
“
No,
I... I just
—”

“
You turning all trees and flowers on
me? No more buildings and concrete?
”
His taunting voice irritated me, mostly because it made my gut do these
cartwheels that forced my food to flip-flop within it. I didn
’
t eat much lunch. I
’
d like to keep what little I did
consume within the confines of my stomach.

“
Correction
—
I thought I had to
get out of there.
”
I thrust a finger toward the reception hall.
“
Turns out I still can
’
t breathe, so it
’
s obviously you I need to get away
from.
”

“
That
’
s not going to happen.
”
Torin dropped his hands onto my
shoulders, two palms cupped on my skin.
“
So
you
’
re
going to have to get used to the whole not being able to breathe thing. I
’
m not going anywhere.
”

“
Guess it
’
s a good thing I am, then.
”
I gripped the memo between my
fingers. For a moment I contemplated folding it into a cootie catcher, but instead
shoved it into the depths of my jean
’
s
pockets.

I
think Torin stepped forward
—
he
must have
—
because
we were suddenly closer than moments before. I felt the heat off of his body;
his chest was a few inches from mine, and my brain went back to the overnighter
when I straddled him, thinking he was Lance. Goosebumps flared up across my
skin and arrested my breathing.

Reminding
myself to breathe wasn
’
t
something I was used to doing. Reminding myself to take out the trash, to email
my college professor about office hours, and to remove the laundry from the
dryer were actual things that required real reminders. But breathing was sort
of a gift that was given to you; one thing your body knew how to do without
thinking. Instinct just took over and completed the work for you. But suddenly,
in my case, instinct had something against me and decided to add one more task
to my To-Do list. Remember to breathe: check.

“
Did you miss the part where I said I
’
m not letting you get on that plane
alone?
”
Torin was talking softer; his voice didn
’
t
quite sound the same. It was deeper, but smooth and made me shudder, which
drove me nuts because he still gripped me by my shoulders and I knew he felt
it.
“
You
cold?
”

“
No.
”
I shook his hands off. Breathe
again.
“
I
need to pack.
”

“
Good plan. Let
’
s go pack.
”

“
You
’
re not coming with me, Torin.
”
I clomped toward my cabin. He wasn
’
t allowed near the girl
’
s cabins; that was one rule they made
very clear to all of the campers. I was sure the same rules applied to the
counselors, too. This might be my chance to lose him. I wondered how long I
could lock myself in my own cabin before someone noticed. I had two Tic-Tacs
and a stick of gum in my pocket. That might buy me six hours. I wondered if
that was enough. Probably not, because three weeks had gone by and he appeared
more attached than ever.

Despite
the rules, Torin stayed right behind me.

“
What
’
s the weather like this time of year
in DC?
”

***

“
You have to take your shoes off.
”

Torin
dropped his eyes to his steel-toe boots. They were coated in dust, the yellow
laces tangled haphazardly into two messy bows.
“
Why?
”

“
Because you might be hiding a bomb or
something in them.
”

With
the toe of one shoe, Torin pushed the heel off of the other and tossed it into
the empty tray that crept slowly down the conveyer.
“
A bomb in my shoes?
”

“
You know
…
you
’
re pretty much Unabomber material,
Torin. Raised in the wilderness, totally reclusive.
”

He
emptied his pockets, depositing his keys and wallet into a plastic container
before unhooking his watch and tossing it in.
“
I
’
m not a recluse, Darby.
”

“
Oh, that
’
s right.
”
I slipped my flip-flops from my feet
and placed them into the tray, along with my purse and carry on. I really
wished I
’
d
worn shoes with socks. My bare feet stuck to the gritty airport floor, trapping
who knows what against my sweaty soles.
“
You
actually have some weird attachment issue and won
’
t let me travel to see my boyfriend
by myself. I take back the recluse comment. You must have abandonment issues.
”

An
annoyed TSA officer waved Torin through the x-ray machine. It didn
’
t buzz, but for some reason they
still pulled him aside after he exited it. Another officer mumbled something
into his ear and patted Torin down, his hand pressing lightly over the surface
of Torin
’
s
chest, arms, and thighs. I tried not to watch, but I couldn
’
t help it, the way you can
’
t help but watch a car crash or a
train wreck. You know you shouldn
’
t,
that rubbernecking would likely only lead to another accident, but you couldn
’
t avoid the pull.

I
slipped through the detector and joined him next to the end of the conveyer
where our belongings popped out like items on an assembly line.

“
Well that was an experience.
”
Torin slung my bag over his shoulder
as he slid his things back into his pockets.
“
Would have been more fun if someone
else were patting me down, though.
”
I didn
’
t
dare look at him this time.
“
So,
what do we do now?
”

“
We find our gate.
”
I slipped my feet back into my shoes
and pulled my boarding ticket from my pocket to figure out just where we should
head. Gate B19, the opposite end of the terminal.
“
And we sort of need to hurry.
”

The
ride to Sacramento had been long
—
much
longer than we
’
d
anticipated
—
and
I pretended to be asleep for the majority of it. Fake sleeping was a good
option because I could avoid the silence that pulsed throughout Torin
’
s jeep, surrounding us with heavy,
quiet air. I had a sneaking feeling I
’
d
be doing a lot of faking this weekend to avoid all sorts of undesirable things.