He hadn’t seen anything.
Not the fact that his father looked twenty years older than last time he saw him, or that his mother was pretending everything was okay with Grandma, when he’d seen Grandma hacking up a lung in the bathroom before dinner.
A sharp pang hit him square in the chest. What the hell was he doing with his life?
Stomach in knots, he reached for his second beer in the last fifteen minutes. A seagull landed on the roof of the tree house and stared at him. He lifted his bottle in salute and winced.
This was his future.
Beer, seagulls, a tree house.
The seagull made a noise that sounded a hell of a lot like heckling.
Great, so he was losing his mind, too.
A figure walked away from the house and made its way closer to him. Ignoring it, he finished his beer and popped open another one.
The sound of someone climbing the ladder made his stomach clench even more. If it was Travis or Jace, he couldn’t be held responsible for his actions. Not at all.
The hatch opened and Char popped through, beautiful black dress and all.
“Jake!”
He readied himself for the full force of what her beauty did to him, what that dress did to him, what those damn crystal eyes made him feel.
“Yeah?” Wow, he needed to work on his acting skills. His voice sounded so strained it was ridiculous.
“You doing okay?” Char lifted herself the rest of the way up and moved to take a seat beside him.
“Of course.” He shrugged. “I just needed to get away.” Play it cool, keep it simple. He shrugged again. Maybe that was too much shrugging. His shoulder seriously lifted as if to do it one more time. Okay, forget acting lessons, just more alcohol. He took a long sip and looked away, like a pubescent kid in junior high.
“You don’t look fine,” Char said softly.
His eyes flickered back to hers before he licked his lips and pointed to the Columbia river. “Did you know that at its deepest, the river can be over twelve hundred feet?”
“That’s um, inter—”
“And.” Jake cleared his throat. “Native Americans believe that a fight between two brothers caused the eruption of Mount St. Helens. You see, they were both in love with the same girl, but when she couldn’t choose, they became angry. Fighting broke out, villages were destroyed, and the father, angry that his sons could not put family ahead of their love for the girl, turned them into mountains.”
Char smiled and looked out at the river. “Which ones?”
“The first son was turned into Mount Hood, with his head lifted in pride toward the sky.” Jake pointed toward Mount Hood. You could see it from here on a clear day, and lucky for them it wasn’t too dark yet. “The other brother was turned into Mount Adams, with his face down toward where his lover fell.”
Char was silent while she looked toward Mount Adams. “What about the girl? What happened to her?”
“She blew up.”
At Char’s sharp intake of breath, Jake laughed, feeling better than he had all day. “No, seriously. Legend says she was turned into Mount St. Helens.”
“So…” Char leaned back on her hands and tilted her head. “You’re telling me two brothers wanted her, she couldn’t chose, and in the end everyone suffered and then she died?”
Yeah, probably not the best story to tell Char at the moment, but he was grasping at straws, trying to keep her from asking him the obvious: what was wrong, and have him blurt his feelings.
“I think I know why you like the story,” she said.
Surprised, Jake snorted. “What? It’s just a story.”
“No.” Char pointed toward the river. “The whole ‘this is how deep the Columbia River is’ fact lesson was just you avoiding pouring out your feelings. The story, however, is your way of doing it.”
“Excuse me?” Since when did she become a shrink?
Char reached for a beer. “Would you have fought for the girl? For your lover, or would you have given up?”
Jake was silent. His eyes flickered to the two mountains in the distance. “I would have done what was easy.”
“And what’s that?”
He shrugged, Good God, what was with his shrugging! “I would have walked away.”
“Why?”
“Because it’s what I do, Char. I walk away. I take the easy route. Is that what you want to hear? You want me to tell you that I’m different? That I’m the good guy? The guy that fights for what he wants? Well, I don’t fight for shit. I don’t have to, I’ve never had to.”
Char silently drank her beer, but her hand was shaking as she lifted it to her lips. He sighed and looked away. “I’m not that guy.”
“Says who?” her voice was pleading.
Jake shook his head and looked back toward the house. Laughter floated out of the backyard. “Everybody.”
“Even Grandma?”
“Fine, I have one fan.” Jake cursed.
“Two.” Suddenly Char’s beer was in front of him; she clinked her bottle against his and smiled. “You have two fans.”
Jake laughed. “Says the girl who’s threatened my life how many times in the past week?”
“Hey.” Char didn’t scoot away; instead, she leaned against him. “Fertility dance partners stick together.”
“Right. Apparently I need all the help I can get, you know, since my self-esteem is so low from the extra small condoms.”
“Who am I to judge?” Char winked. “I’m hitting the bottle and clearly I have a drinking problem.”
They fell into easy laughter, until the wind changed and Jake was able to smell her flowery perfume. He tensed, as if she could sense it too, and she lifted her head and leaned in.
“Char!” Jace called from the ground. “You up there? I can’t see you! It’s time for dessert!”
“I know.” Her eyes never left Jake’s.
“Pity,” Jake whispered, cupping her chin. “I was just getting ready to have my dessert early.”
“Most people have to work harder for such a benefit.”
He swallowed and looked down at her plump lips. “I promise I will.”
“Don’t be a mountain.”
“Huh?” He pulled back.
Char rose to her feet. “Don’t give up; don’t be a mountain.”
“So what am I supposed to be?”
Char didn’t answer him as she moved to the ladder and began slowly climbing down, but just before her head disappeared she whispered. “Yourself, Jake. Just be yourself.”
Chapter Thirty-six
Char woke to yelling. After her odd conversation with Jake where she was at least eighty percent sure he was drunk, she’d faked a headache and gone to bed, skipping dessert and family game night.
With a groan she picked up her cell and looked at the time. One a.m.? Were they still up?
Not thinking, she swung her feet over the side of the bed and hit something soft. It groaned, then cursed as it pulled her feet out from underneath her, causing her to land with a thud against it.
“Jake?” She breathed.
“No, it’s some other half-starved, half-drunk, crazy seagull-talking lunatic. Yes, it’s me, Jake. Who else would be sleeping on your floor?”
“Good point.”
“You can get off me now.” He grunted.
“Why are you talking to seagulls?”
“That’s all you took from that last statement? Not even gonna ask about the whole starving or drunk thing, just straight to the seagulls?”
Char moved away from his warm body and sighed audibly. “It’s simple subtraction.”
“Huh?”
“Which thing is not like the other? Food and alcohol go hand in hand. Seagull taking? Not so much.”
“Either you’re brilliant or drunk. I can’t decide which.” The tone of his voice was gravelly. “Why the hell did you step on me? Better yet, why are you out of bed?”
“I heard a noise.”
“It’s called breathing, Char. Some people need to do it in order to live.”
“Shut up, you ass.” She pushed him down and walked toward the door. “It was more than that. It was like a scratching or something.”
“So, we have a squirrel problem.” He sounded bored.
“You hate squirrels.”
“Let them get me! You hear that, squirrels? I’m ready for you!” Jake lifted his hands into the air and sighed.
“How much beer did you have?”
With a curse he struggled to his feet. “Clearly not enough. Otherwise I would still be passed out right now, instead of having this ridiculous conversation with you.”
He moved into the moonlight.
Char’s mouth went completely dry.
The man was a god.
How had she forgotten that?
Thick-corded muscles lined his abs and plunged into his pajama pants. Every part of him was smooth and tan. Just… way too beautiful to be real. She stepped forward. Was it possible for a man to be Photoshopped? In real life? In person?
Curious, she pressed a hand to his chest. He was so damn warm, and hard. Dang, but his body was hard.
“Char?” His voice was hoarse. “Are you sure you’re not sleep-walking?”
Jerking her hand back, she laughed nervously. “I thought I saw a, um, scratch, just there.” She pointed to the perfectly smooth skin on his chest.
“A scratch?” Jake’s eyebrows rose. “Really? Well, if you’re so concerned I’m sure I can take off my pants and you can check everywhere else. Wouldn’t want me not waking up in the morning. I’ve heard scratches can turn septic.” He winked.
“Ass.” Char pushed against him and reached for the door, opening it a crack.
“Char,” Jake groaned. “I’m exhausted. Like I said, it’s probably nothing—”
With a curse, Char hit him directly in his hard stomach and told him to shut up, then pointed to the hallway.
Sure enough, Kacey was making her way down the hall toward Travis’s room. His door was open. He was mouthing directions to her and pointing to the floor. Did he expect her to army crawl? And then he made a motion with his hands and cupped his ear.
“Hmm,” Char whispered. “Squeaky floor?”
“Yup.” Jake chuckled; his breath was warm on her neck.
“You know where the spots are?”
“Oh yeah.” He moved past her out into the hall and looked smugly from Travis to Kacey.
Kacey’s eyes narrowed. She made a cutting signal with her hand across her throat then flipped him off.
Like a lunatic, Travis was making obscene gestures toward Jake. It looked like he was threatening him, but Char couldn’t tell. It was like watching a mime get angry. His hands were everywhere in the air, but it was too comical to mean anything.
And Grandma, bless her heart, was sitting in a recliner in the middle of the hallway. Mouth ajar, snoring louder than sin. Her leopard print pajamas practically glowed in the moonlight, and her face was covered with one of those creepy sleep masks with the eyes painted on as if to say, she’s always watching.