Page 62 of Reckless

Outside, the rain stopped at last. The wind picked up, rattling the window frame, and somewhere in the village a dog barked once and then went quiet.

I lay awake a little longer, listening to the sea, feeling the rise and fall of Robbie’s chest. Tomorrow there would be cows to milk and possibly even patients to see, and a life to build out of the broken pieces we’d both been carrying. But tonight there was this. His body warm against mine. His breath on my skin. His heart beating steady under my hand.

It was enough. It was more than enough.

It was everything.

I closed my eyes and let the warm weight of him carry me under.

Chapter 19

ROBBIE

I liked how it felt to breathe this way. Salt air in my lungs and the sunlight on my shoulders. A sense of total ease. For the first time in a long time, I was returning from Newcastle feeling good. Not hunched over and hollowed out, trying to keep the bile down. Not bruised or aching or guilty or ashamed. For once, I’d simply gone to Newcastle to take care of business for the farm, and now I was on my way back with only one thought on my mind: Alastair.

Okay, he was the only thought on my mind until I noticed the guy sitting a few feet away from me on the barge. I’d never seen him before, and he didn’t look like a tourist. He had neatly combed light brown hair, glasses, and an ironed button-down shirt. He had a big stack of papers in his lap and seemed determined not to let the movement of the boat make him too queasy to leaf through them. Every now and then he pressed the back of his hand to his lips as though to quell a wave of seasickness. But he kept to his task.

I thought about starting a conversation. That was the effect Alastair was having on me these days: I was thinking of starting a conversation. With a stranger. I thought better of it, though. The guy seemed engrossed in his papers. And I preferred to go back to thinking about Alastair.

Normally, I’d get off the barge and go straight to the farm to sleep off my hangover, and to assure Kat I was still in one piece. But I was ninety-nine percent sure Buzzy Pete had stayed the night on the farm, and Kat had told me yesterday, in no uncertain terms, not to hurry back.

I hadn’t told Alastair I would come right to his place. I’d said goodbye to him yesterday with a “see you around.” Then I’d hovered anxiously on his threshold, wondering if I was expected to say ‘I love you,’ or anything like that. I’d been grateful when he made it easy, saying he had a couple of instructions for me while I was in Newcastle. When he’d said ‘instructions,’ I wasn't sure whether to expect a lecture on being safe, or…

Well, it ended up being the ‘or’, at any rate. I hadn’t known exactly how to feel about the instructions. There was a need that had me hot all over, clashing with the embarrassment of being told exactly how and when to get myself off while I was on the mainland. What to think about while I did.

Alastair said that the thrill of all this didn’t lie in embarrassing me, but sometimes I wondered.

I knocked on his door, hoping he wasn't with a patient. He appeared right away, like he’d been watching out the window for the barge. My heart fluttered stupidly at the sight of him.

He was closed-lipped for a moment, and then the smile he gave me made my chest lift. “Come here,” he said quietly, and stepped back to let me in. Without even bothering to shut the door, he wrapped me in his arms. I still wasn't used to how this felt—the way warmth and pleasure and hope all whipped up inside me at once. I was grateful for the security of this embrace, and the fact that I hadn’t had to do anything to earn it. That it was given freely.

I was, however, glad when he shut the door.

“Kneel,” he said just as quietly, nodding towards a blanket folded on the floor of the kitchen. I hesitated. Usually, I was instructed to take my clothes off before kneeling. I didn't know if I was supposed to show initiative and undress, or simply follow the order as given. I decided on the latter; kneeling fully clothed with my head bowed and my palms resting on my thighs. “You look good,” Alastair commented, as he began to make us tea.

Weirdly, it wasn’t a hard compliment to accept. I felt good. Everything about Newcastle had been strange—staying in a motel instead of passing out in a stranger’s flat, wrapping up my business at the feed store without the itch underneath my skin telling me it was time to get fucked up. Going to bed at ten-thirty p.m. Riding the barge back without a hangover.

Now I was home and feeling good, and an urge came over me to show off a little for Alastair. I spread my knees a little more, bowed my head a bit lower, and grinned when he abandoned the kettle to come stand in front of me. His hand on my hair was light, a barely felt pressure against my scalp. Then he dug his fingers in and rubbed gentle circles, waiting until my eyes closed before he asked, “How are you?”

“Good,” I mumbled.

He moved his hand from my head down to the back of my neck, then trailed it lightly between my shoulders. “How was Newcastle?”

For the barest second, I tensed, wondering if he was trying to catch me out. But that thought was gone as quickly as it came. “Weird,” I said honestly. “I didn’t…know what to do with myself, really. Just did what needed to be done and came home.”

“Did what needed to be done, hm?” Alastair’s voice was soft and hypnotic. His hand returned to my hair and tugged lightly.

I didn’t answer. My heart was starting to beat faster.

“Did you do what I asked you to?” he enquired.

I nodded.

“Tell me about it. Don’t leave anything out.”

The heat in my face and chest kept me from speaking right away. He gave my scalp another light scratch, then returned to the kettle and prepared two cups of tea, giving me a moment to think about what to say.

He brought the saucers and cups over to the table and pulled one of the chairs out so he could sit beside me where I was kneeling. He leaned forward to retrieve his tea from the table, placing the saucer on his lap and lifting the cup to his mouth to blow on it.