Page 61 of When The Mountains Held Us

And now I’m agreeing with the voice in my head, like it’s not literally my own conscience telling me something I don’t want to recognize. I’m fucking losing it. Or maybe it’s the weight of the confusion over my feelings for Levi and exhaustion from tonight that’s clouding my mind.

Pulling up to the house, I take my usual spot off to the side in the grass and cut the engine, the quiet of the night surrounding me. In the suburbs, I’d fall asleep to the sound of cicadas and crickets, along with the distant sounds of the nearby city: sirens and car engines, airplanes, and the thumping of music from a party next door.

But here, not even the crickets seem to chirp. At first, the silence was deafening, and it took a while to get used to the quiet long enough to fall asleep. Now, I don’t know how I ever slept with all that noise around me.

I grab my bag from the front seat and exit the car, the slam of the door echoing among the trees that surround the house. They stand tall and foreboding, as if keeping watch over the house, their shadows swaying gently in the breeze that ripples through the peaks and valleys of the scenery that lies beyond the darkness. A singular lightbulb lights the walkway up to the house, and I smile a little that, despite the shit show this night turned out to be in the end, Levi is still kind enough to leave the light on for me.

Anxious butterflies erupt in my stomach at the faint sound of the television through the front door. I steel my nerves and push open the door as quietly as I can manage, hoping that Bandit is asleep and won’t hear me come in. There’s no doubt he’ll alert the entire surrounding area, woodland creatures included, of my arrival.

Thankfully, no movement or sound comes from the living room as I carefully toe off my shoes, pick them up, and carry them with me as I climb the stairs on light feet. I exhale the breath I’d been holding the moment I’m on the other side of my bedroom door, my shoulders slumping and eyes falling closed with exhaustion.

Tossing my bag down in the corner, I shed my shirt, lifting it above my head and dropping it unceremoniously on the floor beside the bag. I’ll deal with it tomorrow. Right now, I need sleep. Everything else can wait.

Stripping out of my pants and underwear, I catch the faint whiff of alcohol and groan, remembering the drink Layla had not-so-subtly spilled down my front earlier tonight. I’d tried to mop it up as best I could, but the sticky residue, mixed with my sweat from the night, has my body crawling with discomfort. I need sleep, but I need a shower even more right now. Wrapping a towel around myself, I pull open my bedroom door and cross the hall into the bathroom.

Fiddling with the faucet, I set the water to hot, intent on vigorously scrubbing the night off my body as soon as I’m under the warm spray. While I wait for the water to heat, I hang the towel on the hook and turn to the mirror, gazing at my tired reflection.

I was right. My eyes are rimmed with the black smudges of my mascara, and their normally vibrant blue-gray coloring looks dull and drained. Even my skin looks paler in the light than usual, the color I’d acquired over days spent in the sun now faded like the splotchy remnants of a spray tan. My blonde hair hangs in limp, frizzy waves, the once-bouncy beach waves now bearing a striking resemblance to that of an electrocuted raccoon.

I step into the shower and promptly let out a loud shriek when the ice cold water hits my naked ass. I involuntarily jump to avoid the stream, my feet sliding out from under me and sending me tumbling to the bottom of the tub. I land hard on my hip, a sharp pain shooting through the joint while a dull ache radiates outward from the point of collision. I also manage to bang my elbow on the tile wall on my way down, the force of the strike causing the skin to split and blood to seep from the wound.

“Oakley!”

The door to the bathroom crashes open, and the shower curtain is ripped away before the icy spray cuts off. I groan, trying to push myself up as a towel is wrapped around my body. Before I can move to a sitting position, I’m being lifted out of the tub. “I’ve got you, baby. Shit. You’re bleeding. Where are you hurt?”

My hip throbs, and isn’t it just my luck to fracture my hip falling in the shower like some geriatric patient in a round-the-clock care facility? Embarrassment coats my insides, but the pain radiating from my hip, coupled with Levi’s gentle tone, soothes the humiliation a fraction.

“My h-hip. And m-my elbow,” I whimper, the tears already starting to spill over, as adrenaline mixes with pain and embarrassment and courses through my body.

Levi tightens his hold on me, carrying me down the hallway, whispering something low under his breath. I can’t make out the words. The pounding in my head from the pain and my threatening tears make it impossible to concentrate. I rest my head against his chest as he walks, trying to focus on the sound of his heart and the low rumble of his voice.

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs into my hair, planting a kiss there as he kicks his bedroom door open and steps across the threshold.

I expect him to put me down on the bed, but he keeps moving until we’re standing in a large en suite bathroom, complete with the most extravagant walk-in shower I’ve ever seen. A large clawfoot tub sits against the far wall beneath a wide picture window that looks like it belongs in a living room rather than a bathroom. Across from the shower are double sinks set into pristine white marble countertop, their brushed gold faucets perfectly matching the gold-rimmed mirror that takes up the entire wall above it.

“You’ve been holding out on me,” I observe.

He sets me down on the counter and steps between my legs. I instinctively pull the towel closer around me, all too aware that I am naked, and he is very, very close. The realization makes a small spark ignite in my belly.

“Let me see your arm,” he says, gently lifting it and examining my elbow. Bending, he retrieves a small first aid kit from under the sink and opens it, poking around until he finds what he’s looking for. “This might sting,” he warns, and I nod my understanding as he presses an alcohol pad to the wound.

I hiss in a breath through my teeth, jerking slightly at the sting.

“Shhh,” he soothes.

His hips brush against my inner thighs as he swivels to examine the wound more closely. His face is a mask of concentration, brows furrowed, eyes focused, lips slightly pursed. He’s beautiful.

Leaning down, he blows gently on the wound, the air instantly calming the sting, until all that’s left is a dull ache, but I’m not focused on the pain anymore. My eyes catch on his pursed lips, on the way they part when he inhales, the way his tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip.

The pain seems to evaporate, everything within me narrowing to that singular motion that I can’t tear my eyes away from.

What do his lips taste like?

The concern on Levi’s face catches my attention, and I reluctantly tear my gaze from his lips to meet his eyes.

“What?” I ask quietly.

My dirty thoughts are probably written all over my face, but I don’t care. Maybe it’s the heat of the moment, the adrenaline pumping through my veins at my injury, or the fact that Levi is standing much closer to me than he ever has before, but my heart has taken off like a startled doe caught in the flash of headlights on a dark road. I bet he can hear it pounding through my chest.