“I’ve heard of it,” Jude said. “I’ve never had it, though, so I don’t know.”
“It itches like crazy if you’re normal,” Davis said, wrinkling his nose and looking around. “And you want to peel your skin off if you’re like me, even when it’s just like, your arms. But get it in your armpit or something, like my brother did? And you really consider carving your own skin off.”
“Yeesh,” Jude said, looking uncomfortable. “I mean, that sounds awful, but…concussions can be pretty bad.”
“It was a moderate one,” I said with a shrug. “And that’s what he gets for not listening when I told him to stop screwing around while there were loose rocks and gravel everywhere.”
“Well, yeah, but?—”
“And the poison ivy? Imagine what Davis just said, but on your taint, balls, and asshole.”
That made everyone but Marc, who’d obviously been around when it had happened, albeit at the actual resort rather than with the group, make an ugly face. I watched as the idea, the very concept of being horribly allergic to the stuff and then getting it on the parts considered most sacred on a man’s body. Ones meant to be protected, not smeared with the oils of a plant that could drive even the most strong-willed into a fit.
Marc shot me a small smile. “I believe the point has been made.”
“I think the only thing I did was convince them not to touch anything green out here,” I said. “Which is a start. Now, come on.”
“You should do part-time work at a haunted house during October,” one of the guys muttered. “You’re great at sucking the fun out of something and scaring the shit out of people.”
“You know, I never considered that. If this place ever gets shut down, like say if one of you should be stupid enough to crack your heads open so our liability insurance doesn’t actually cover us and we get sued into a black hole, I’ll consider it as a viable back-up plan,” I said as I turned and began walking, ignoring the troubled look on Marc’s face.
I knew he was worried about me, or more accurately, he was worried about the attitude I was barely keeping in check. I wished I could reassure him I was fine and there was nothing to worry about, that I was just in my head a little, and eventuallyI’d shake it off and everything would be okay. Except I couldn’t make that promise because I didn’t know if everything was going to be okay.
Again and again, I came back to the problem that had dropped in my lap, or rather onto my lips, right before the trip. Should I tell him the truth? Would he be pissed at me? Would he turn his rage on Jude? Would that destroy the relationship he and I had carefully and enthusiastically built over the past few years? Was it wrong to keep it a secret from him, or was it one of those cases where it would do more harm to tell him?
That was the problem; there were no easy answers. Then again, I’d found at every turn in my life things were rarely simple and almost never easy, and that went double for the truth. I knew I hadn’t started it; Jude had done that, and could his timing have been any worse? Well, yes, he could have made his move publicly, where I wouldn’t have had the time to figure out what I was going to do. Wouldn’t that have been a peach? As much as thinking about it whenever I had a spare moment and now whenever I wasn’t hyper-focused on one thing absolutely sucked, it would have been a hell of its own if I had to deal with it before I was ready.
Then again, who knew, maybe having the choice taken from me would have been easier; at least the anticipation wouldn’t be gnawing away at me rabidly.
I took the lead, as was my habit on these trips, and though I glanced behind me to make sure everyone was following, I had to trust they had the sense not to screw around when their lives were at stake. It wasn’t like I thought they were children, and that was probably part of the reason Marc kept giving me strange looks when I was getting irritable.
Even I knew my crankiness wasn’t normal, but it was impossible to maintain my normal demeanor while dealing with a storm of indecision and discomfort. To tell the truth or keep itto myself? Would I be risking everything by telling, or would I be risking everything by keeping it to myself?
“Hey, uh…Reggie?” I heard a soft voice begin behind me, and I almost jumped out of my skin, suddenly remembering I was actually doing something that should have required more focus.
I glanced over my shoulder as I walked and saw that Jude was walking beside me, but just a little behind. Everyone else was lagging behind, but I could see Marc watching us with a curious expression. “Yes?”
“I, uh…” Jude began, also looking behind to check where everyone was. Which was all I needed to know that whatever was about to come out of his mouth was going to be something I really didn’t want to hear right now. “I wanted to say I’m sorry.”
I didn’t think we could be overheard, but that didn’t mean I wanted to risk it, so I grunted. “Just…don’t, not right now, Jude.”
“No, I mean…I’m sorry. I’m not stupid, even though I did something really stupid,” he said in a small voice that made me ache. Not because he was upset, or notjustbecause he was upset, but because he was so goddamn young, so impossibly young. It was hard to believe I had ever been that young and gentle, but here he was, looking like the boy I had met, but with an apologetic twist to his lips and a pitiful, puppy-dog look in his eyes.
“Jude,” I began, but I didn’t know where to go from that point.
“I’m not stupid; I can see you’re upset, and I don’t blame you,” he said in a low voice as we made our way carefully around the first bend. “I never should have done that to you, and you have every right to be pissed at me.”
“I’m not,” I insisted, which was the truth…mostly. If anything, I was more frustrated that I hadn’t seen it coming, or at the very least, that I didn’t sense it fast enough right beforeit happened. At least then I could have thrown up an arm or something to stop him before he connected his mouth with mine. “I’m really not. I meant what I said to you in your room, alright? I really did. I’m not mad at you.”
“Maybe you should be,” he said.
“Fine!” I snapped, not noticing how loud I was as I twisted on him. “Maybe I should be. Maybe if I was someone else, if you were someone else, I would be, alright? But I’m not, okay! So quit trying to make it so I’m mad at you because that’s what’s going to piss me off!”
He recoiled, and I realized what I’d just done and groaned, putting my face in my hand and forcing myself to take a deep breath. The worst part was, I knew even now; I wasn’t actually mad at him. I was, as I had been for the past twenty-four hours, furious and upset with myself. Upset that I hadn’t seen what was coming, furious that I had been so helpless, and absolutely ashamed that I was continuing to sit in limbo while Marc was completely oblivious and Jude was swimming in misery that I was only now starting to see.
Well, Marchadbeen oblivious, because if there ever was a sign that there was something truly wrong with me, it was that I had yelled at Jude. His face was twisted into a mask of concern as he gestured behind him, and the other guys backed up, their eyes wide with shock and surprise as Marc took hold of his son’s wrist and drew him back. I groaned, because it was not the time or the place for whatever the hell concern Marc had for me, but what was I going to do? I clearly couldn’t be trusted to decide when to talk for myself, so how was I going to fight when Marc made the choice for me?
When Marc pulled Jude back and began talking to him softly, I watched them, unsure what to do. It was possible I could turn and keep walking, to pass off my snapping at Jude as somethingbenign, something normal and not…stress about being kissed by Marc’s goddamn son, and not knowing how to handle it.
