Two Weeks (7 page)

"Do you run a lot?" he asks.

"I
was
training for a marathon a few months back, but I got too busy with work. I usually do three to five miles on the treadmill. I still prefer running outside though. But it's more work to plan out the routes."

"One the definite advantages of living here," he says proudly. "I step onto my back porch and I'm already on the perfect trail."

"Well, I'm definitely jealous," I say. "Never thought I'd say that about something in Red Lake."

He grunts cheerfully.

We reach the end of the trail and it wraps around and back into itself. I'm keeping up with him and loving every minute of this. I'm kind of on fire inside. I'm happy and giddy and without reservations. I feel daring.

"Why did you lie about my dad?" I ask casually. I don't know how he'll respond.

"To fuck with your head," he says matter-of-factly. "I was kind of out of it. Well, drunk, more like. Don't know what got into me."

I laugh. "You're kind of an ass for that."

"Well, you were being kind of a bitch." He raises an eyebrow and grins.

"So classy," I groan.

He dismisses it as fast as I do and we keep going. As we round a long corner, the trail veers off in two directions. I'm unfamiliar with the split, so I follow his lead.

"Where does this go?" I ask.

"It's a new addition to the trail. You haven't run here in a while, have you?"

"No, but I'm sure I'll be fine. I'm not a novice."

He ignores my declaration of confidence. "There's a section up here that's a bit steep and the ground isn't that level. People have been complaining about it, but they haven't had the budget to fix it. Be careful, okay?"

"I'll be fine, Jackson," I say firmly.

He winks at me. "Whatever you say, Superstar. But still be careful, please."

My spirits are high, and so is my heart rate. I sprint ahead of him and he chases me down. We rapidly pass all of the shrubbery and Maple trees, foliage I'm most familiar with. I fight to get enough oxygen, yet I still go faster. The air that I actually do breathe is so clean and pure.

This is exactly the sort of escape I need right now.

"Pass me the water, will you?" I call.

Jackson hurls it like a football and I make a running leap to grab it. I catch it and he gleefully cheers—but I come down on my ankle the wrong way.

I'm going in the wrong direction now. We've rapidly entered the not-so-level territory he warned me about and I'm moving far too fast to stop.

"Oh shit!" I hear him scream.

I totally lose my balance and head straight down a steep hill. I try to keep my legs moving to support myself, but everything happens too fast. Jackson screams something to me, but I can't hear what it is. I lose track of the world, other than the instinctive responses of my muscles.

I can't stop completely, because if I do, I'll fall. Everything happens in slow motion, including the approach of the wood pasture fence up ahead of me. It's all so slow, but it's still too fast for me to make any significant changes.

My tummy hits the top bar of the fence with a huge thud. The wind is knocked totally out of me, my diaphragm flattened like a deflated balloon. There is no air left in my lungs.

And now I'm falling in the opposite direction and my head thumps hard against the ground.

Everything goes black.

***

I
experience fleeting glimpses of consciousness. I'm moving rapidly, but my legs aren't touching the ground. I come to, and then I fade out again. Jackson's voice is echoing in my skull like I'm in a cavern, but I can't make out any the words.

When I see his garage again, consciousness rushes back to me. I turn my neck and there he is, holding me, carrying me back to his place. He's got me in his arms. He's shielding me from everything, carrying me to safety.

I notice his biceps flexing as he holds me and it's utterly hypnotic. His skin feels comforting and warm against my own and I'm cognizant of every point where his body meets mine.

"Jackson?" I ask. It sounds like I'm still in a dream; my voice is weird and fuzzy. I'm also in an echo chamber.

"Just hold on," he shouts. He's moving so fast. He seems determined. But
why?

"I'm okay," I mumble. I hope that he can actually understand me. He doesn't respond.

We arrive on the deck and he slides open the door and carries me inside. We move though the house so fast I can barely see anything. He sets me down on the couch and it's so soft and nice. I sink into the cushions and relax. I'm in a sea of comfort.

"Dammit, Ally," he scolds. "I warned you! I told you to be careful. God, if something would have happened to you. Your dad would have—" His voice is filled with trepidation and unrest.

He gazes at me, strokes my hair with one hand, cradles me with the other.

"I'm sorry," I say. I slowly creep back into full consciousness. I notice the dull pain right beneath my chest, but it's not overwhelming.

"Are you okay?" he asks. "Thankfully you didn't run into anything sharp, because at the speed you were going, it probably would have impaled you." He's still holding me, staying close, like his energy will somehow heal me. In a way, it does.

"I'm okay, I think." I run my hands along my belly and it feels tender.

"You knocked the wind out of yourself and hit your head on the hill behind you." He gently rubs the back of my head, running his fingers through the strands of hair. "Does it hurt at all?"

"No," I say. "Just my stomach."

"You don't have a headache or anything? How many fingers am I holding up?"

Jackson lifts three and I give him the proper answer. My vision is clear. Things are returning to normal. He looks so gorgeous and sincere hovering above me. I feel like I'm in a state of bliss. I'm still a little woozy and my emotions are worn thin. He's become my protector, and the literal
man of my semi-conscious dreams
.

"Thank you for doing this for me, Jackson," I say. I lean forward and kiss him. I have no idea what my intention is. If I'm just planning to gratefully kiss his cheek, I fail miserably, even though everything still happens in slow motion. Our lips come together more than once, delicately skirting the line between barely-platonic and well,
steamy.
My eyes are closed and I don't want to open them. I swear I feel a current of electricity as we kiss.

And I
swear
that he meets me in the middle. He's not just shocked and staying still.

My breath comes faster and I desperately cling to his hand. But then we stop before it goes any further. I slowly open my eyelids. "I'm sorry," I say. "I got carried away."

I feel stupid and immature, but my emotions are volatile, especially after such an intense experience. There's a storm inside my brain.

His expression is unflinching. "So does that mean you
didn't
actually want to do that?"

I laugh. I feel more of my regular self returning. I'm relaxed again. "I'm a little crazy right now. I'm afraid I can't answer honestly."

Jackson loosens his protective grip on me. We're still so close on the couch, and now that I'm more awake, I fear that I may have gone too far in my gesture of thanks. I try to sit up and groan as the pain settles in.

"You're going to be a little sore." He stares down at my belly, at the exact place where it hurts. "You might have bruised your ribs." He gently circles his hand there, kneading the point of impact.

"Okay," I say. "I feel better though. It's not that bad. My head is less cloudy."

Jackson stands up and presents me with his arm. "Why don't you try to stand then?"

I grip his arm and he does all the work lifting me upright. He holds his arm extended while I test my balance. I shift my weight between my feet a few times and then try to take a step forward. "I'm okay, I think."

He scoffs. "Well, try to walk a lap around the living room first before you start celebrating your miraculous recovery."

I break free from his arm and do several brisk laps around the living room. He grins at me the whole time. "Is this good enough for you, Mr. Tough Guy?"

Jackson laughs—well, it's more of a guffaw than a laugh, really. "That's an incredible feat, Ally. Congratulations on taking almost forty steps."

"Is my phone okay?" I ask.

"Shit," Jackson says suddenly. "I didn't think to check for it."

"We need to look for it." I grab his arm and pull him outside to retrace our steps—well,
his
steps since I was being carried. I should have just left it at his house since I stopped listening to music after I ran into him. My ear buds are still dangling over my shoulder since I fed the cable under my bra strap.

"You're gonna be really lucky if you actually find the damn thing out here," he says with a groan. "We're dealing with a lot of square miles here."

"I'm optimistic," I retort. We walk together in a close formation, but we're not touching. Still, it kind of feels like we are. Maybe it's just a leftover phantom sensation from before.

The point where I fell isn't really that far from Jackson's place. Still, carrying someone even that distance is a huge feat. I imagine carrying him that distance and realize how ludicrous the thought is.

We both scan the ground for the phone, but come up empty handed. Finally, we arrive at the section of the fence where my collision occurred. I approach it and run my hands along the wood. There are a couple of rusty nails protruding a few feet away from where I hit.

I realize how serious this could have been and it makes me a little nauseous.

I swallow hard and fight back the discomfort.

"What's that shining right past the fence?" Jackson says suddenly. There's something shimmering in the sunlight. My sickness leaves immediately. Gracefully, he scales the fence and squats down to take a look—and then he proudly hoists my phone into the air.

"Holy shit!" I shout as he walks back toward me. "My hero!"

He grins and hands it back to me. "It's not even cracked. You're lucky as hell."

I take a look at it—one missed text from Max. Reality comes crashing back in and I hate it. "God, I don't even know why I came back for it."

Jackson gives me a quizzical look. "What's up?" he asks.

I shrug and take a deep breath. "It's a long story, but let's just say I don't really have that many people I want to call anymore."

He laughs. "So why are we out here hunting for your phone?"

I smirk. I feel a burst of capriciousness. "So I could call
you
, maybe? I guess I don't know."

"I don't think I have any room in my busy schedule for phone calls." His sarcasm is comforting and I find myself laughing.

"What the hell do you have to do out here?" I ask incredulously. "Well, other than train."

"Eat breakfast," he says matter-of-factly. " But I'm giving you a ride home first. I don't know if I trust you after that daredevil stunt you pulled earlier."

As he speaks the words, I realize that my legs are aching because I also ran a lot farther than I usually do. "Okay," I say.

"Good," he says and begins walking. I trail behind him and when we get back to his property, he runs inside to drop off the water bottle and grab his keys. I wait patiently for him outside, gazing off into the distance, purposely not looking at my phone.

It's so gorgeous out here.

"Let's go," he says. "I know you don't like trucks, but then again, beggars can't be choosers."

I raise my hands to my sides. "Hey, I didn't say anything. As long as it has air conditioning, I'll ride in it."

He nods and leads me to the truck. I open the door and climb up into the cab. It's a big vehicle, but it's not excessive. I'm thankful the seats aren't leather, because if they were, I'd be sticking to them right now like I was covered in glue.

"This was my dad's," he says. "He always took ridiculously good care of it. So I try to do the same.
Try
is the keyword here."

"That's sweet," I say. "Even though we're talking about a truck, it's still sweet." This makes him laugh.

He points out the rabbits in his yard as we slowly drive down the dirt driveway toward the street, and I smile as I watch them frolicking. When we get onto the road, I stare off into the distance again, taking advantage of the raised cab. I can see for miles in every direction.

"So when are you heading out?" he asks.

"I'm supposed to leave tomorrow."

"Well, shit," he says. "I guess you won't be my sparring partner after all."

"Yeah, I guess not," I say. I quietly ruminate about the unpleasant facts of my life as we drive back into town. It's not a long trip, but it still feels like I have tons of time to think. I look down at my phone and decide to read Max's text:

Max: Let me know when you get into town tomorrow. We really need to talk.

I cringe at the thought and stare over at Jackson. He's oblivious to my troubles, and I'm suddenly wishing that he wasn't. "Why don't you give me your number?" I ask him. "Just in case I want to meet up again."

"Sure," he says. He recites it to me and I carefully enter it into my phone. I feel weirdly elated as I hit
save
.

We pull into my driveway shortly after that and sit in silence until he finally speaks.

"So what are you planning on doing tonight?" he asks.

"Not sure yet," I say. "Liz invited me over for dinner with her family. So I'm doing that, at least."

"Well, cool," he says. "Let me know if you guys are doing anything fun. I'll probably just be hanging out at the tavern. As usual."

"I'll let you know," I say. "For sure." I stare down at the impeccably clean floor of the cabin. "Thanks for taking care of me earlier today. And I'm sorry if that was weird. I was a little out of my mind."

"No, no," he says. "No trouble at all, I swear. I'm just glad you're okay. You really did get lucky."

"Yeah," I say softly. "And Jackson? If you happen to talk to my dad in the near future, can you leave out the part about me running into a fence? It'll freak him out and he'll forbid me from ever running again."