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EIGHT
LANA
Ihad to stop for the night before heading home.
The hotel bed was soft and lonely. I pulled in to the nearest Hilton, knowing I was too exhausted and emotionally drained from the day. Driving for six hours back to Los Angeles would have been a terrible idea. Honestly, I would have just slept in my Jeep, but out here, in an unfamiliar area with sparse lighting and plenty of industrial looking spaces, it would have been a less than stellar idea.
Besides, I wanted a continental breakfast, soft white sheets I did not need to wash, and a hot shower that was not my water bill. The complete opposite of the hike I had wanted to accomplish, but my soul was now occupied with frustration and I needed some sort of release.
The room had been lit by passing cars and the peppering of soft stars in the sky. I kept the curtains open just to watch the lights dash across the ceiling. As I laid there, spread across the duvet cover, arms splayed out on each side, my mind kept pulling me back to that moment of his body so close to mine.
Nothing could keep Hayden from my mind. From the way he moved, to his smile, to the kindness in his commanding gaze, all I could think of was him. Then, of course, there was the rest of his unwavering body…
I had to stop thinking about him. I made my choice, and it was the right choice.
It had to be the right choice…
My mind was a cloudy mess of our frantic kissing in the open forest. Pine sap still clung to my shirt and skin. His electric kisses left me with residual static against my lips and neck. The way he held me in his arms, pressed against his firm body, brought back the desperate need between my legs.
Tonight, though, I was too tired.
Only a few more hours before I would head back to my little, average house. My hiking holiday cut short early.
When I finally turned the corner to my street, I saw him. The ass and his beaten up Toyota Tacoma that had a few too many small dents and paint chipped from corners.
Marshall Langley.
“Well, fuck.” I said, mumbling extra obscenities in the safe confines of my Jeep. My sigh could not have been bigger. It tempted me to keep driving and wait until the jerk had left out of frustration. There was no reason he should be at my house. He also did not know I was supposed to be gone for four days in the mountains of Yosemite National Park. But knowing Marsh, he would wait it out through sheer stubbornness, determination, and, most of all, a lack of cash.
I could see him wriggle in the driver’s seat as I parked on the street, close to my driveway. I did not need to give him any reason to stay any longer than necessary. No matter the conversation, if he did not get what he wanted, he was bound to throw a childish fit.
Not this time. He would not walk over me like trash. I am better than that.
Hayden was right. I deserved better. This newfound bravery was an unfamiliar experience. I was always the timid one. Feeling the frustration build in my chest, I guess courage and bravery were becoming more and more of my specialty, and this situation was no different.
I got out of my Jeep Wrangler and went to the back to pull out my gear. Lo-and-behold, from the corner of my eye I could see him jump from his truck and saunter toward me as if we had not even broken up three months ago. As if we were almost friends.
“Go away, Marsh.” I said, slinging my pack over my shoulder and closing up my Jeep.
“Aww, Lana, baby. You don’t have to be such a cold fish. Come on now.” His arms were out to his sides, coming in for a hug.
My walking stick stopped him, point pressed hard to the center of his chest.
“I think it is a good idea that you leave, Marsh.”
Marsh stepped back, hands raised, but his gaze was dark and fuming. Standing so close to him, I could see the bags under his eyes. His designer clothes were stained and unkempt. I had seen the look of involuntary withdrawal before in an old friend years before they went to rehab to get sober.
This was a grim look on Marsh. A dangerous one, too.
“Crawl back out of the crusty hole you came out of.” I dropped the walking stick to my side and stormed past him, heading to my front door. Months ago, I had replaced the lawn with local wildflowers and it was exciting to see the plans flourish instead of a flat green lawn.
Though I walked around the corner of my lawn, Marsh did not spare a single wildflower and trudged through my garden, dragging his feet through the earth.
“You can’t talk to me like that!” Marsh roared, stomping up behind me. I could see from the early shadows his arms were flailing out at his sides. Rage bubbled up in his voice. “I miss you. What is so fucking difficult about that?”
I stopped and swung around to face him. The front door steps away, walking sticks tight in my grasp. He paused his step, a look of shock on his face. “Then go miss me somewhere fucking else.”
“Oh, come on, baby. Don’t be like that.”
