Blackout (15 page)

The pressure of his thumb on my palm diverts my attention from my panic-stricken chest gasping for air. I focus on him. “You think your ribs are broken?”

“At least one is.” His deep voice tears into me, like a riptide taking me under. I want him to take me like he did Shannon. I want, no need the release.

How can I even think about sharing or having him? I have a date with Graham, a man who is stable and has no destructive backstory like Dare and me. Graham would balance me, while Dare unleashes me.

His gaze sizzles along my skin. “Come on. Just take it slow.”

After several deep breaths and forcing my muscles to tense and release, I drive onto the road. Every inch of the swamp is alive and slithering with predators. Dare’s hand cups my knee and massages my thigh. If his hand goes any higher, I’ll groan like Shannon did.

The touch of his hand oddly calms me, and I make it out of the swamp. I stomp on the gas to move away as fast as possible, the Shelby responding with its powerful roar.

When we come upon Tucker’s Auto Repair, Dare instructs me to drive down a road off the main one into the backwoods of the swamp. Wetlands surround us on either side. I used to love the smell of the bog and sound of bullfrogs croaking, but now they’re the enemy.

We pass his dad’s house, but Dare tells me to keep going. I drive up to an area raised several feet above sea level with fill dirt and reinforced with concrete walls. A small cabin and a large metal garage sit on the property. There’s a dock that juts out into the bay with a fishing boat tied to it.

Dare opens the glove box and presses on an opener. “Pull into the garage.”

I drive into a wide garage. The old Ford pickup, now fully restored that his daddy used to drive, is parked to the far left. On my right is a modified Porsche, souped up for racing with a number decal on its side and a few sponsor trademarks.

With the light fading fast, I park the Shelby, get out, and run my hand down the Porsche’s curves. “You race?” That’s what the paramedic Nan had said at the scene of my accident.

“Yeah. I’ll be out this Saturday in Raleigh to qualify for professional racing, then I’ll be free of this town.”

He must be good. Dare was good at everything he tried, football until he tore his ACL, caring for animals, frog gigging, fishing and now sex. I bury that thought.

“Let’s put your bike in the truck. I’ll drive you back in that.”

I do as he says. When he helps lift the bike, he squints his eyes in agony.

“I can get it,” I say, picking up the bike. After unlatching the tailgate, I roll the bike into the back.

He stumbles out of the car and walks to the cabin, so I follow. Since I have the keys, I unlock the cedar house. The baying of a beagle comes from inside. As I open the door, it jumps on my shins.

“Get down, Shiloh,” Dare rasps out, bending over and staggering to his bed.

“Named after the dog story?” I tease.

“You know I liked dog books,” he grumbles.

I smile. I did know that. Sometimes he’d bring them to the bay fishing. He never let his brothers see the books because they’d ride him mercilessly.

The cabin is one spacious room with a living area and a kitchen. His double bed is tucked into the far corner, and a tall bureau sits in the one opposite. A couple of doors probably lead to a closet and a bathroom. Two stock car posters hang on the walls. Photos of his brothers and he, Lisa, Shannon, and other girls and boys plaster the fridge door.

He opens a cabinet, takes out a prescription bottle, shakes out a pill, and pops it into his mouth.

“What are you taking?”

“Percocet. There’s tape in the bathroom and scissors. Would you get those?” He tugs off his t-shirt, exposing his ripped abs and a livid red mark below his heart. Lying in the hollow of his chest, a silver cross dangles on rawhide from his neck.

Hiding the heat rising in my face, I scoot into the bathroom and pull out what he has requested. The shower and floor are tiled, and a soft rug is spread across it. For a man, it’s amazingly clean.

When I return, Dare is barefoot and bare-chested, propped up in his bed by pillows. I don’t want to stare, but I do. Swiveling my head away, I stare at the fridge plastered with photos. I study the ones of his mom.

He stands beside her in one photo, holding a few cobias on a line. In another, she’s reading to him when he was much younger. I remember her. She used to put bows in my hair, then as soon as we were in the swamp, I’d yank them out. She was always nice, even fixed me breakfast, like I was one of them.

Photos of all of them together, Sam, Jackson, Randy, Dare, and his mom and dad, catch my eye. They’re all smiles. My finger traces the outline of her hair haloed by the setting sun behind them. “Do you miss her?”

“Every day.” A grin sweeps across his sinfully sensual lips. “She used to grow a garden out back of our house. She loved to cook with fresh herbs. Every night, we’d sit down for dinner. She’d make me homemade biscuits and gravy and grits in the morning.”

A twinge of jealousy nicks my nerves. I don’t have any of those memories, and I wish I did. They look so happy and complete, whereas, part of me is missing. Was it good or bad or just okay?

I wipe a tear wiggling its way out of my eye. “What do I do?”

“Cut off a foot of tape. You’ll need multiple strips.” He lifts his arm corded with muscle. “Right here.”

“Don’t you need to set it or something? How do you know where to tape?”

He takes my hand and runs my fingers along his ribs. “See how it’s still all lined up?”

I nod and try not to show him how sensual this is to me, touching his skin and his powerful build tensing under my fingertips. When I trace where the ring of a bruise reddens, he flinches. I tape the ribs under his instruction while he holds my waist.

When I run the tape onto the bruise, his hands squeeze my hips. I stop breathing for a moment, and his eyes penetrate mine. We stare at each other for some indefinable time, all his sensuality soaking into me like the heat outside, before I continue. Now that he’s grown he has that animal magnetism, like his older brothers have.

Is this what I inherited from my mother—this intense, raw desire? And why has Dare stirred my sleeping passion? I put my cravings to rest that beg to be released, even though my eagerness to explore him stirs just below my skin.

As I finish up, my palms slightly tremble, slicked with uncertainty. Scratching comes from a cage in the living area where an old sofa and recliner are.

“Would you let her out?” Dare asks, nodding at the cage.

A squirrel chatters and grasps the bars of her cage. I unlatch the door. She scampers out and runs straight to Dare. She climbs down the table, across the floor, crawls up his arm, and curls around his neck.

“Here Squeak.” He plucks out a nut from his nightstand to feed her. She nibbles on it and then lies on his shoulder.

“Did you save her?” I ask, sitting down on the bed beside him. It’s the most likely reason for the squirrel to seek him out, other than he feeds her.

“Yeah. One of Jackson’s coonhounds got a hold of her. The dog broke her leg. It’s a little messed up.” He rubs the lump on her back leg.

“How come you didn’t release her back into the wild?”

He laughs then grits his teeth, raising his hand to his taped side. “I did. A day later one of Randy’s cats chased her. When I opened the door, she ran inside straight to her crate. Even if the front door’s open, she doesn’t go near it unless she’s on my shoulder.”

I reach for the tree rat chattering Dare’s ear off. She loves him. “Can I hold her?”

He picks her up and hands her to me. She barks her displeasure but lets me stroke her neck with my finger. This is the Dare I recall, the one saving critters.

Shiloh circles on his bed until he finds the perfect spot to lie down. Dare scratches his back, and the dog groans satisfactorily.

“Are you seeing Shannon?” I ask tentatively. It’s none of my business, but I want to know.

“We…not really. She stepped out on me a year ago. I just can’t seem to say ‘no’ to her.” Dare’s gaze wanders along the curve of my breasts and down to my hips. “Why do you want to know?”

“You were with Lisa at the party,” I hedge.

“She has a boyfriend. I don’t know what her game is, but we’re not together either.”

He pets Shiloh. “Why were you watching us?” Shyness creeps into his words while a red tide smolders his face.

My whole body lights up with embarrassment. “It’s not like I was looking through a window. You were right out in the open.”

His hot hand lands on my thigh. “Why, Teal? I want to know.” He’s toying with me.

“I mean…” My mouth snaps shut. If he wasn’t hurt, I’d like to crawl into his bed and rest my head on his chest and feel the pressure of his lips on mine. I need to leave now. I have a date tomorrow night with a man who has potential, unlike Dare who plans to move away to live his dream of racing.

“We should never happen,” he says, though his hand still rests on my thigh, and his gaze glides along the curve of my hips.

I don’t say anything. My body slumps, and I look away. I should know better after what I put him through and how he set me up at the hearing. I swallow down the hurt.

“If something happened to you, well, when something happens to you, the police would suspect me first. I’d go to jail forever.”

“Why would anything happen to me? Why would you say that?” I swivel to face him.

His eyes penetrate me. This is good. We can move past this, and I’ll get his help acquiring the transcript.

“You don’t remember what occurred out in the swamp that day at all. Do you? How could you not? It was the worst day of my life and yours.”

“Why do you say something will happen to me?” I don’t want to go there, back to the swamp. A few images flash before my eyes—the daisies. I don’t recall the flowers.

Does he know something I don’t? How could he? I did tell him I thought someone was following me.

The squirrel scampers away from me in search of Dare’s rough hands. He pets her gently on the head.

He shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

The squirrel wraps around his neck. He scratches underneath her chin, avoiding my gaze. “All my friends say you look like your mother. That you’re beautiful.” Another hint of color blossoms in his cheeks.

“Do you remember her?” I wish I could picture her, recall her comforting or caring for me when I was sick, but there’s nothing—only photos.

“I never met her. She invited me to your eighth birthday party, but Dad said it wouldn’t be good for an older boy to go to it, so I didn’t. I never saw the harm in it until after I went to the juvenile detention center.” Bitterness wrinkles his mouth.

From his utter disgust of me, I put distance between us by sitting in a chair and staring at the ground. “What was it like?” How come I don’t know any of this? Did my father protect me from learning what Dare went through?

“I’m lucky I had older brothers I fought with. The older boys would push the younger ones around. I got into a couple of fights, but once I proved myself, they left me alone.”

A newfound sympathy stirs within me. “It sounds frightening.”

“I’ve grown past that, Teal. You have never had to worry about me seeking revenge. I would never hurt you.”

The harder he stares, the more self-conscious I feel and the hotter my face burns. “Why do you think I’m pretty now?” I ask before actually thinking about it.

His gaze runs along the length of me. Tingles swipe my body as if he’s physically touched me.

“You’ve grown up. You’re beautiful now,” he says, stumbling over his words. “And you have that impish grin like you’d make a boy scream.”

“I wouldn’t hurt anyone.” Glancing up, I realize suddenly that’s not what he meant.

“If you didn’t spell trouble for me, I’d let you make me scream.” He’s staring at me so hard I have to look away.

Shudders work their way into my body.

“But I can’t.” Dare’s scoots out of bed. His hand runs up my arm, a slight tremor in his touch. “Whatever happened out in the swamp that day was bad, real bad. You weren’t the only one affected by it.”

Other than my lost memories. “What do you mean?”

His breathing becomes labored. “There was so much blood.” His voice is low, and his eyes grow wide as if stepping back in time. “I’ve never seen that much blood ever in my life.”

When he returned to me that day, he was covered in it. He couldn’t speak. That same lost expression shadows his face and then vanishes.

Before I know what’s happening, the black spots hamper my vision, and I’m out cold.

When I wake, my head rests on Dare’s lap. He’s stroking my temple, and his fingers smooth down my hair. My body instinctively wraps around him, and my fingers fiddle with the cowry shell bracelet he wears. His bed is soft and warm, the sheets smell freshly cleaned, and a cotton blanket swaddles me. He took me into his bed and into his arms.

“I won’t let him hurt you,” he whispers. “I won’t let him get you.”

Fuzziness clouds my head. “Him? What do you mean by ‘him’”?

“When I found you, you told me some man was chasing you in the swamp. Don’t you remember that?”

“In my mind, it’s always been some hairy monster.” I can’t seem to picture it. I can only verbalize what I felt ten years ago.

His lips attempt to squash a smile at my childishness while his hands rub my shoulders. The gentleness of his touch draws me into him. This is the sensitive boy I remember, the one I worshipped, not the harsh, roughened man he has become. But somehow that’s my fault.

I stare up at him. From his tight expression, he’s pondering over either kissing me or demanding I leave, though I could be wrong in either case. His sweet lips curve into a half smile, so I imagine what it would be like to press against his—warm and inviting.

The door to his cabin creaks open. I instinctively pull away, and Dare pushes me up.

His younger brother Randy, who strongly resembles Jackson, walks in. He has ash blond hair and blue eyes that grow wide at the sight of me. “Sorry, I had no idea you were with someone.”

He’s a year younger than me. When I first met Dare fishing, he tried to pawn me off to Randy. I didn’t want to hang out with someone younger.