Page 49

Opening the back door, I toss him onto the seat. His fat legs require maneuvering to conceal him completely under the blanket. As I pull out of the spot, my nerves begin to mend their frayed edges.

The park is a quick twenty minutes from the bar. The parking lot is empty, too, making my life so much easier. Opening the back door, I pull back the blanket. Huh.

Bits of flesh cling to the blanket. I must have struck him more times than I thought. I’m grateful I had the forethought to cover the seat with plastic. I grab Dennis by the ankles and pull him closer to the edge of the seat.

I chuckle as I imagine how energetic he’ll look in the pose I’ve set up. Once his legs hang out the door, I adjust the bag on my shoulder. My back is already screaming as I glance at the fat fuck. I’m glad I don’t have to walk far off the trail.

Letting out a drawn-out sigh, I lift his upper body off the seat and fold him over my shoulder. Using the momentum from the movement, I carry Dennis down the path. Within ten minutes, my calves are burning from the literal deadweight. The truss of the bridge comes into view and I exhale in relief.

Shucking him off, I prop him up against the post. Rising to full height, I slip the bag off my shoulder into the dirt. A sprinkle of rain feathers my face. Closing my eyes, I look to the sky and welcome the soothing feel of the cold water. The rain beats down faster, forcing me to begin my work. Kneeling, I tear open my bag and search for my hand drill to make the starter holes in the crossbeams.

My fingers tighten around the drill when the sound of shifting gravel send me to my feet. My hands ball into fists. The sight of green eyes peering at me has my nerves short-circuiting. For one moment of peace, I was able to forget this thing between us that she simply accepts. This torturous connection that has me regretting every fucking choice I’ve made since setting eyes on her.

“Hello there…” The soft lilt of her voice enters my ears. Rain rolls off her high cheekbones, as though she’s shedding tears at the sight of me.

I’m acutely aware that she’s here to disrupt my work and potentially get revenge for what I did to her flowers. Not tonight.

Tonight, I need this. I need the thoughts to stop. Striding toward her, I grasp the center of her shirt and lift her delicate figure off the ground, pulling her face to mine. Our noses touch as I inhale the sweet, dewy scent of her.

“Go. Away.”

Her emerald eyes widen. In shock or fear—I can’t tell. A coolness hits the back of my eyes. She has nothing to fear from me ever. Closing my eyes, I try to steady my breath. “What do you want?”

A strand of her wet hair sticks across the bridge of her nose. The sight is so beautiful, I forget to breathe.

She glances down to my fist still gripping her shirt—a silent request to be put down. My arm remains firm, leaving her dangling in the air. Lifting her hand, she runs a finger across my jaw. Water caught in the spindles of my beard casts off, leaving droplets speckled across her face.

“I’m sorry.” She reaches down into her pocket and pulls out several pieces of metal.

My gaze tracks from her palm back to her beautiful face. The raw emotion in her eyes has my grip loosening.

“I had these made for you. I saw your photos and thought you might find these useful…” She extends her hand.

I search her features for any hint of deception and finding none, I set her down gently and wait for her to find balance before letting go. To my surprise, she doesn’t retreat. Holding her ground, she outstretches her arm again for me to take her offering.

“This is the first time you’ve ever shown me any kind of civility. Pardon me if I don’t exactly expect this”—I swirl my finger around her frame—“to be genuine…”

Taking a few steps back, I cross my arms over my chest in a pathetic attempt to build a metaphorical wall against her manipulation.

“That’s why it’s an apology,” she says through gritted teeth. A spark of anger flares in her gaze. “Jesus, what’s so difficult about this?” She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath.

My eyebrows lift in surprise that she’s attempting to hold back her ever-present rage.

“Listen. I’m not the best at this, okay? I was looking at your photos and saw that you seem to struggle with getting the limbs to turn in the direction you want. So, I had these made. They should hold the position, and you shouldn’t have to use extra rope.” She takes a step toward me with an outstretched arm. “Use them or don’t. Just take them. Please.”

“I don’t struggle with anything,” I bite out.

In truth, I have. Rigor mortis sets in quickly, and on more than one occasion, I’ve been forced to use additional rope or break a joint entirely. It’s one of the only things holding my work back from feeling complete. Reaching over, I pluck one of the metal pieces from her. It’s a hinge with an eye hook on each side. The ball joint in the middle allows for full rotation. Something I’ve already used in the past. Shaking my head, I hold the piece up.

“I’ve tried this.” Placing the hinge in her hand, I take a step back.

“No, you haven’t,” she says. “Here.” She steps beside me and bends the hinge into position.

As she runs her finger across the center, my eyes catch on the shell encasing the ball bearing. A small rectangular shape cut out of the metal bites into a separate plate on the other side, locking the joint in place. The design is crude, but the idea is quite ingenious.

“You created these?”

“Well, I designed them; I had someone else actually make them.” She bounces on her heels, evidently proud of herself.