The Last Strike by A.R. Henry
Chapter 17
The weeks between fall break and Thanksgiving pass by in a blur. I haven’t had any time to spend with Weston. He occasionally makes sure to come and see me when he picks up or drops off Cami, but other than that we’ve only exchanged texts here and there. I’m still not sure where exactly we stand since we haven’t gone on any dates since New York. If that even counts as one since we just stumbled upon one another.
Saturday morning my body wakes me up early on its own. I guess it’s somehow acclimated to the early morning hikes Weston and I have been going on. Annoyingly I was actually planning on sleeping in since he texted me last night to cancel because Amber had a change in her schedule, so he’s got Cami this weekend. To say I was disappointed wouldn’t be much of a leap.
Since I’m already awake I decide to just go out on my own. The hikes have been a good kind of therapy for myself, and I really look forward to the meditative part of sitting on a cliff and letting nature do its thing around me. Maybe this time I’ll even bring a journal. Since I won’t have Weston to talk to, I can write all my feelings down instead.
I take the long drive into the mountains, and park at the trailhead that Weston first brought me to. Because I’m not a complete idiot—and have read a few too many books that describe horrible things happening to people who hike alone—I shoot off a few texts to Ash, Hale, and Weston to let them know where I am.
That’s when I notice that my equally crappy and cheap wireless phone charger didn’t actually charge my phone last night. The battery is on twelve percent. Not wanting to wait in the car to charge it, I decide to just turn it off. If I really need it I can turn it back on. Inhaling a deep breath, I get out of the car. I’m determined to do this on my own.
The two-hour trek passes uneventfully. I spend more than an hour writing in my journal at the lookout point when I finally decide to head back down the mountain. I’m still lost in my thoughts, only paying attention to where I’m stepping, when I hear a branch snap close by on my right. In a second, I snap my head in the direction of the sound, and just about shit my pants.
A black bear is making her way towards me several yards away, and I didn’t notice at first, but she also has two cubs with her. Meaning this is a mama bear and if she sees me, I’m in an even bigger pile of shit than I first thought because if she feels threatened, I’m totally dead.
Of course, at this moment all the lectures Weston has given me on bear safety have completely gone out the window. I definitely don’t remember anything about the brochure he forced me to read the second time we went out. I do remember the picture and story they had included of some poor man that had to have his leg amputated after an attack a few years back.
That shit was traumatizing to read.
And here I am. About to be this sweet looking bear’s next meal because I can’t remember if I’m supposed to make eye contact and stand still, or if I should just turn my ass around and run like Allyson Felix did at the last Olympics.
The one bit of luck I seem to be having is that she hasn’t noticed me just yet, but a few more feet or the right breeze coming along will have me at an even bigger disadvantage. I decide to just slowly start backing down the trail, hoping that I can at least make it out of her line of sight, but of course my clumsy ass can’t handle that.
I make it three steps before the tale tale sound of a twig snapping under my hiking boot breaks the silence, and sure enough that has mama bear looking my way.
“Fuck it,” I say under my breath. Deciding that I’m not dying today, I turn and run.
As I move my legs as fast as I can get them to go, I turn my head back in her direction to try to get a glance to see if she’s chasing. I don’t see any large black shapes, and as I’m swiveling my head back around, the toe of my boot connects with a tree root, and I face plant into the dirt. My palms mostly broke my fall along with my knees, but I don’t take the time to check out the damage before pushing myself back to my feet.
With my heart pumping full of adrenaline and fear I limp slash run all the way back to my car. When I finally break through the trees into the parking lot I come to a halt and bend over in relief.
I start to put my hands on my knees when a sharp pain radiates from my palms, spreading up my wrists. In my panic induced haze, I forgot about hurting them earlier.
As I hiss, turning my hands over so I can see how badly I’m hurt, two large arms come around me from behind and I scream.
“Courtney! Stop!”
I’m so worked up that I don’t realize who has me and continue to fight against their hold.
“Shh,” the voice tries to calm me, but I’m still fighting. “Court, Baby. Stop. It’s me.”
My brain finally registers his gruff voice, and I immediately stop fighting. Weston releases his hold, and turns me to face him, and I lose it. I’m sure I look the complete picture of a crazy person. My chest is heaving in a way that says a big cry is coming, and honestly, I need the release. I pull in a big breath and just lose it.
“What the fuck are you doing!”
Weston’s eyes go wide as he holds his hands up in front of him. “I’m sorry Court. I was worried when you didn’t text me back,” he tells me in a sullen and calm voice, but then I see something register in his expression and that’s when his voice turns cold, “Don’t you ever fucking go out there alone again. What the fuck were you thinking? Huh? What did I tell you the other day? You want to do something? You. Fucking. Call. ME!”
“I. DID. CALL. YOU!” I scream back in his face because fuck this. Big fat tears are rolling down my cheeks as I break down.
“You sent me a fucking text Courtney. A. Fucking. Text. To tell me you were going hiking alone! I called you fifty fucking times! I thought you were dead!”
“I thought I was dead too! Asshole!”
His face blanches, “What the fuck are you talking about? I’m sorry I grabbed you. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
I take a shuddering breath and wheeze out, “Bear.”
I manage control my sobs and tell him the rest, “I saw a fucking bear. And I tripped. I thought I was gonna die. Then I finally make it back to the lot and you grab me like a fucking kidnapper! What the fuck!” My voice raises as I talk, getting angrier. As I talk, I wave my bloody palms in his face to emphasize my point, hoping to get some sympathy so maybe this idiot will quit yelling at me.
He snatches my wrists so I can’t move them and rotates his grip so he can bring my hands closer to him for a better look. He takes in the torn skin, and hisses at what he finds.
“Goddamnit Cherry,” he mutters like I did it on freaking purpose.
“I didn’t do it on purpose you know,” I snap. It comes out with more bite than I intend, but at this point I’m too frustrated to care.
He takes an exasperated breath, and pulls me into him, wrapping me up in his arms and I go willingly. I feel what I think is his nose on my temple and his lips press to my cheek moving back and forth along the bone there.
We stay like this for a few minutes. Him just breathing, giving me a few minutes to wrap my head around everything that just happened, and finally, when the adrenaline subsides, my damn bursts. I start to sob again, my body giving itself over to the emotional release that it needs.
The whole time Weston holds me tight against his body, rubbing my back and even running his hands through my ponytail while whispering to me.
He says things like, “Shh Cherry Bomb, I’ve got you now. You’re safe,” and, “It’s okay baby I’m here,” and, “You’re so strong and brave baby, you’re okay,” but I’m too worked up to register what he’s even telling me in that moment. My mind only registers his voice.
Eventually, with his help I calm down. He's not happy about it, but I get in my car, and we make the drive back to my house. With him riding my bumper the whole way there.
When I park, he’s already there opening my door and helping me out of the car. He ushers me inside and doesn’t stop until we’re in my bathroom and he turns on the shower for me. I’m too exhausted to make any smartass comments, and I get the gesture he’s making so I start to strip.
His Adam’s apple bobs as he watches me. His jaw tightens as I ever-so-slowly pull my tank top up and over my head. And as I hook my thumbs into my yoga pants and start to tug them down, he breaks. I expect him to pounce, but he just turns and walks out of the room leaving me more than a little confused.
Instead of dwelling on the sour feeling in my stomach I climb out of the rest of my clothes and quickly wash up.
Dressed in a comfy pair of sweatpants and a DR Ranch hoodie that I cropped I cautiously make my way towards the living room, not sure how to approach Weston after the bathroom situation. I don’t find him in the living room, so I move to the kitchen. When I don’t find him there either, a sinking feeling hits my stomach. That’s when I see a note on the counter.
Please tell me he didn’t leave.
Grabbing dinner. Be back in twenty. Drink water.
I blow out a breath of relief.
Well, that’s…bossy. I drain the glass he left me sitting next to the note, and head back into the living room to find something on Netflix to watch.
Sure enough, twenty-ish minutes later I hear his truck pull into my driveway and my garage door open. I get up to let him in, surprised when I hear him unlock the door and let himself in.
“Did you take my keys when you left?” Slightly pissed off that he would take them if he thought I would go somewhere while he was gone.
He walks past me with the takeout bags from my favorite Italian restaurant, and I follow him into the kitchen watching him empty the bags.
“No,” is all I get in response.
“Okay? Did you take my house key off of them or something?” I’m not sure why I’m curious, but something in my brain is telling me to question this.
He huffs out a breath letting me know I’m exasperating him, but he and I both know this is nothing new by now. He opens a container, and my nostrils fill with the heavenly scent of Alfredo sauce. My stomach rumbles loudly. Almost dying has me hungry as fuck.
“I had a key made when I fixed the lock,” he says casually, and hands me a plate filled with my favorite food from my favorite restaurant. “Eat.”
I should be totally freaked out about this, right? I mean this is strange territory we’re in right now, but I was halfway naked in front of him earlier and he didn’t do anything so I should totally not be worried that this man made himself a key to my house…right?
I’m still standing in the kitchen holding my plate staring at my pasta, so he takes the plate out of my hands and guides me to the dining room. He sets the plate down and pulls out the chair in front of it. He gently guides me down into the seat with both hands on my shoulders then leans down to whisper in my ear, “Eat.”
Goosebumps break out across my skin, and when I still don’t move, he whispers again, “Now, baby. I would feed you, but we’re both exhausted and all I have energy for is to eat and go to bed. If you’re not eating by the time I get back in here with my plate I won’t be happy.”
In a daze I pick up my fork and begin to eat. He still hasn’t moved, and I hear him say, “Good girl,” softly into my ear before he releases me and heads back into the kitchen.
He joins me at the table, and we eat quickly in silence. I’m too worked up from the day to even try to make coherent conversation at this point. When we finish, he takes my empty plate to the kitchen with me trailing behind. He puts the dishes in the sink then tells me softly, “Go get in bed baby girl. I’ll put this away and be there in a minute.”
Just as I settle into the bed, facing the door with my duvet pulled up to my chin, Weston comes into the room. Without saying a word, he pulls the blanket away from me and instead of rounding the bed to get in on the side I wasn’t on, he gently nudges me until I scoot far enough over for him to get in. He wraps himself around me. One of his legs is thrown over both of mine, and his arms are wrapped around me with one under my right shoulder, the other over my left.
His eyes are closed, and his breathing is even, but he’s not asleep. I use the opportunity to study him. Wondering what I’m doing. What we’re doing. That's when I hear his deep voice rumble, “Close your eyes sweetheart. We need sleep. I know you’re going to be cranky in the morning.”
I mumble, “You’re the cranky one.”
He still doesn’t open his eyes when he says, “Shut up Cherry, and go to sleep.”
I huff in response, my natural inclination is to argue more, but before I can, he finally opens his eyes and tells me, “Baby, I’ve been up since five. I’m not trying to be an asshole here, but I can’t go to sleep until you do, and I’m beat baby. Can you please go to sleep, for me? I promise tomorrow you can argue all you want.”
The look on his face is one of pure exhaustion.
Well, shit. Now I feel like a dick. Do I really argue that much?
Quietly, I whisper, “Sorry,” and close my eyes.
I feel one of his large palms slowly glide up and down my spine, and it takes everything in me not to moan. Before I know it, I’m drifting off to sleep, and right before I pass out, I think I hear him say something that sounds an awful lot like, “You scared the shit out of me today.”
I feel something press against my forehead, but I don’t dare open my eyes.
A few more minutes, with the help of the back rub, I’m lulled off to sleep.
If I had stayed awake a little longer, I would have heard him tell me, “You’re my dream girl Court. I don’t know what I’d do without you baby.”
But I didn’t.