Page 34 of Miss Behaved
“Good.”
We climb out, and I guide her into the forest, along a path that only exists if you’re familiar enough to recognize it. We wind through tree coves with a hint of sea air cutting through at a distance. But when we reach a stream, there’s a rickety set of boards and rope in a makeshift bridge hanging over it.
“Oh, no,” she says, taking a step back.
Monica is deathly afraid of heights, I know this. But I need her to see this through with me. Twining my fingers in hers, I pull her closer to my chest. Close enough that I feel her heart hammering against me. Or maybe it’s my own, fighting to be closer to her.
“Trust me,” I say.
She swallows hard, but her nod is all I need before I lead her across the bridge. And when we reach the other side, her body curls against mine, and she follows me the rest of the way.
When there’s finally a break in the trees, the ocean and sky stretch out before us. An endless horizon drenched in sunlight. I stop us there, because if I bring Monica to the edge of the cliff, I know she’ll lose her shit. I motion her to join me on a rock twenty feet from the ledge and sit down.
“It’s beautiful,” she says, eyes fixed on the distance. Clouds break overhead us on an overcast day and bathe us in light.
She leans her head on my shoulder, and everything but my composure crumples apart. I’m holding her, breathing her in. Trying to memorize this moment. How her body fits under my arm and how she smells like the cinnamon gum she’s always chewing.
It feels like the beginning all over again, when I walked over to her porch and sat beside her, soaking in her laughter like it was sunshine. Her nervous chatter and giggles woke something up in me.
A tear slips from her eyes and lands on my arm, and I’m not sure if it’s because she’s upset I’m leaving, or because of what she assumes my dad did that caused my mom to finally pack her things, but I hold her tighter.
I’ll handle whatever Dad throws at me if that’s what it takes to keep coming back to her.
14
Carson
Nowthisisthetype of shit I’m talking about—flying through the air on a thousand feet of rope. Feeling the wind on my face and nothing below my feet.
Enough writing, feeling, imagining. Give me some fucking adventure.
The zip-line excursion is the one thing I looked forward to coming to this conference. At least a little adrenaline would make the rest of it bearable. Besides, nothing gets the juices flowing and blood pumping more than feeling your stomach in your throat and thinking that all it will take is one line snapping for you to plummet to your death.
“Didn’t expect to see you here,” I say to Monica.
As much as I’ve been trying to sync our schedules and spend time with her this week, this is actually the last place I expected her to be. The Monica I remember is terrified of heights, like won’t-stand-on-the-second-step-of-a-stepladder scared. But, to my surprise, here she is in a lemon-yellow shirt, looking like another dose of sunshine in the Arizona desert, waiting for directions with the rest of the group.
“We’re supposed to be taking risks, aren’t we?” she says as she pulls her curls off her face and secures them in a wild bun on the top of her head.
“Risks, yes,” I say, brushing one of the escaped spirals off her forehead. “But you do realize what we’re doing here, right? Dangling from a rope at thirty miles per hour, shooting across the Grand Canyon? We’re not here pickin’ flowers and drinking tea, Mon.”
“I’m aware.” She forces a smile, but her eyes are dilated and give her away.
“Oh, come on now, big man,” Agnes says, popping up beside me. “Your girl’s got this.”
Your girl.
Don’t I fucking wish.
Agnes says something under her breath in Monica’s ear before heading to sit by Nadine on the railing. They hold hands, and Agnes rests her head on Nadine’s shoulder.
Monica stays at my side, but her eyes dart toward the guide, who is blatantly staring at her. I think his name was Ryan or Ry. He’s tall and well-built, leaner than I am but probably still all muscle. His dark hair is messy, and he drags his hand through it as his eyes skim her over. I want to walk over and punch him in the gut.
Monica shoots Ry a nervous smile as he dives into his orientation.
Is this the kind of guy Monica goes for? The obvious player who hits on the hottest woman in any tour group?
Is this the kind of guy she thinks I am?
