I stand there. Catching my breath until the birds start to chirp.
I just came in the dirt,damn it. Braced against a tree a few feet from the side of a public road. This has never happened to me. Not in the military. Not before. Not in the years since. No woman has ever driven me to this desperation.
I wipe my hand on my jeans. Tuck myself back in. Fix the buckle. Every action is a nail in the coffin of my self-respect.
I’m fucked.
There is no other word for it.
5
Thea
THE LAW OF attraction says think about something hard enough and it pulls itself toward you. Your brain is powerful like that; it becomes a magnet.
What they don’t tell you is that wanting it and avoiding it are the same thing. You’re still thinking about it, and that’s all it takes.
I’ve been thinking about Kilian Rutherford for a few days now, which means the universe has taken my fixation and run with it. So, it’s almost not a surprise when I walk into the school and see a Harley.
It’s parked by the front gate, black and chrome in the morning sun. I’ve seen four different men with that same style of bike the night before, but I don’t need a license plate to know who this one belongs to. I know because my feet stop moving, and I’m beginning to palpitate.
I decided to come to school early today because my car is still at the garage. The walk from my rental is a mere ten minutes, and I’ve braced myself for another slap of heat when I woke up. Unexpectedly, the air has cooled overnight, so I walked into the school gate fresh and dry.
Before I saw the Harley, that is.
Because now my armpits are damp and my composure is a memory.
A few kids are trickling through the front gate with their oversized backpacks. I adjust my grip on my own bag and keep walking. I scan the lot, the walkway, the playground. No sign of him. But the bike still looks warm, which means he hasn’t been off it long.
I veer to the right. I don’t want to see him. Not because he told me to stay away. I’m not that obedient.
The truth is that Kilian Rutherford takes up too much space. Not in the literal sense, though he does that too, but I’m talking about space in my head. Every interaction with him leaves me feeling wrung out, and I can’t afford that at eight in the morning on a Wednesday.
I need a breather.
One day without him and I might remember what it feels like to have a normal resting heart rate.
I’m heading straight to the Admin building. I have paperwork to drop off that I’ve been meaning to submit, anyway. It’s a legitimate reason to take the long way around.
The Admin building is quiet, nothing but the low FM radio humming near the front desk. The music is low; I can barely make out the tune.
The lady takes my forms with a smile and flips through them while I stand there pretending I’m not using this errand to hide from a man I technically have no reason to hide from.
“All looks good, love,” she says, and I thank her, and then I linger. I ask about the weather. I ask if Amazon’s next-day delivery is available in Hillcrest. I already know the answer, but still.
She answers both questions in detail, and I nod along because every minute I spend here is a minute Kilian Rutherford might finish whatever business brought him to the school and leave.
When I finally run out of things to ask, I thank her again and head back out.
Outside, the playground has thinned out. Kids begin heading toward their classrooms. I start down the covered walkway, then I round the corner, and my steps falter.
Sitting on the round wooden bench that rings the tree outside my classroom is the man I’m trying not to run into. Sara is standing in front of him, her back to his chest, her head tipped to one side. His hands are in her hair and he’s… he’s braiding it.
I stare.
He really is braiding it!
Those rough hands are sectioning Sara’s hair into three even strands and crossing them over each other with a patience I didn’t know he possessed. His fingers move slow. So very careful. His actions tell me that he has done this many, many mornings before this one.
