Timing Read online

  “Stefan?”

  I tried to think about anything other than being flat on my back under Rand Holloway. It proved very difficult. “I’m fine,” I said, clearing my throat. “Excuse me.”

  I stood up fast. I needed air, lots of air, and wide-open spaces. My body was hot, my cock was hard; I had to put distance between Rand and me immediately. I had no idea that just a little of his attention would be mind-numbing.

  “You all right? You need to lie down?”

  He was trying to kill me. “I’m good.” I barely got the words out, certain from the way he was looking at me that he had no earthly idea what was going on in my head.

  Rand was just being nice to me, and all my thoughts had him sweaty and naked in my bed. I needed to work off some energy so my thoughts would turn from carnal back to normal. Going for a run seemed like a really good idea. I bolted upstairs as fast as I could. After changing into running shorts, shoes, and a long-sleeved T-shirt, I made my escape before anyone came looking for me.

  It was soothing to be alone, and I enjoyed the solitude, thinking about everything I had to do when I got back home, wondering what Mrs. Freeman would decide and how whatever the outcome was would affect me.

  The scenery was beautiful—the trees, the wildflowers, and the greenest grass I’d ever seen in my life—but still I was thinking about work until Rand suddenly filled my mind. What the hell was going on with Charlotte’s brother, and how in the world had I gone that fast from hating the man to lust? How shallow was I? Had my initial feelings never changed and so as soon as he called a cease-fire I was free to want him all over again? And what about all the things I knew to be true about him? How could I even like anyone as homophobic as Rand Holloway? It was all running around in my head, and because of that, I never even saw the truck.

  The horn jarred me, and when I turned, the roar of the engine came seconds before the grill would have been on top of me. I dove right and there was no ground, only air. I tucked my head and rolled. I didn’t stop. The hill was much steeper than it looked like from the top, and I tumbled off a ledge before I was suddenly hurled down into thick mud. The last drop had to be at least five feet. I couldn’t breathe, as all the air had been slammed from my body.

  I lay there staring up at the solid blue sky and watched the way the branches above me whipped around in the breeze. It was actually kind of pretty.

  “Hey!”

  I couldn’t have made a sound even if I wanted to. Now that I was no longer falling, I was a little nauseous, so I didn’t want to move too quickly. I was trying to determine if I was hurt or not.

  “Hey!”

  He must have stopped right above me, because leaves rained down on top of me.

  “Oh Christ,” he groaned, jumping down beside me, splattering more mud on my face and neck.

  “Could you not,” I said sharply, finding my voice, looking up at his face. “Oh shit,” I braced, positive that he was there to hurt me.

  “Ohmygod, you’re all right.” It was the guy who had tried to hit Ben, Charlotte’s cousin Brandon. He was there, kneeling down beside me with one hand on my chest and the other on my shoulder. “Can you move?”

  “Get off me! You just tried to kill me!”

  “No!” He sounded panicky. “I wanted to talk to you and apologize, but then I saw you go for a run, and I thought I’d follow and try and talk to you, but when I saw that other truck gettin’ close to you, lookin’ like it might hit you, I blew my—”

  “Shut up.” I cut off his rambling, incredulous, watching him sway just standing over me. “You’re drunk and you’re driving? How stupid are you?”

  “I just—I never act like… I’m so sorry, you gotta believe—”

  “You tried to run me off the road,” I said, starting to sit up.

  “No.” He knelt down beside me. “It wasn’t me. I saved you. Now lemme help.”

  “No, just—don’t,” I snapped, brushing his hands off me. “Just move back, all right?”

  He tried to smile, reaching for me again. “Please lemme help.”

  I could feel my eyebrows furrowing. “Fuck you, no,” I growled, pulling my knees up, taking a breath, and trying to get my bearings.

  “Wow.” He chuckled, stepping back, hands in his pockets. “You got a temper on you, huh?”

  “Not usually,” I growled again, getting slowly to my feet, bending over, hands on my knees. “God, I’m gonna be crippled tomorrow.”

  “Oh shit,” he breathed out, pointing. “You’re bleeding.”

  I looked down at my long-sleeved, once white, now mud-stained T-shirt and saw the blood stain. But I wasn’t hurt. I knew my body. “It’s not mine.”

  We both saw his arm at the same time. The cut was wide, but it didn’t look deep. A flap of skin was hanging open. It looked like mine had when I had wiped out on a surfboard on the coral in Hawaii two summers before.

  “You probably need stitches.”

  “Oh geez,” he said softly.

  When I looked up at him, I saw him start to sway before his eyes rolled back in his head. I shifted quickly and caught him before he passed out cold.

  “Aw, for crissakes,” I yelled hoarsely, holding him in my arms. Who actually fainted at the sight of blood? I dragged him a few feet to the right so I could see up the long hill. It was steep, but it was covered in grass and dirt. The climb was doable, just not something I was looking forward to, especially with the added weight. And he was not a small guy. He was taller than me, close to six-two and more muscular. But what was I going to do? Leave him in a ravine in a swoon? How safe was that?

  “Fuck me,” I said aloud, because even bitching to no one, I felt a little better.

  I checked him for a cell phone and, finding none, resigned myself to carrying him, because I didn’t have mine either. Who took a cell phone for a run? I was used to being close to everything. There wasn’t a place at home where there wouldn’t be people around to help me. This was what I got for running alone.

  It’s probably called “deadweight” because you feel like you’re going to die when you carry someone who’s passed out. What had taken seconds to fall down took hours going back up. And even though logically, I knew that I was exaggerating, it seemed like I could feel every muscle in my body when I finally made it to his huge Ford pickup. The driver’s side door was hanging open, the truck still running as I reached it. I rested a second, leaning him against the hood of the truck, before I opened the door and dumped him in the passenger seat. When I went around to the driver’s side, he was slumped over with his face on the dashboard. Once I had his head back against the headrest and he was buckled in, I slammed the door shut, put my forehead on the steering wheel, and closed my eyes. “Exhausted” didn’t do it justice. I wouldn’t need to run for a week.

  Fortunately, he had a GPS system in his truck, and once I entered what I needed, I had driving directions for the University Medical Center. Halfway there, the guy came around, only to swoon again when he saw my shirt. He was beyond useless. Half an hour later, I parked outside the ER where I wasn’t supposed to, left the car there, and got out. Nobody yelled at me as I carried Brandon into the hospital.

  Since I knew nothing about him and wasn’t family, I got to wait outside. And wait, and wait some more. An hour later, a nurse called me in to explain as much as I could about his injuries, and when they looked at me, they insisted that I be checked out as well. I was covered in cuts and bruises and I was sore, but I was sure that was all. They wanted to be certain. I got to have pictures of my brain taken, and three hours later, when I was finally allowed back to my room, I was told that I didn’t even have a concussion. I could have saved everyone a lot of time and effort if they had just listened to me to begin with. I actually did know my own body.

  As I was changing back into my dirty clothes from the lovely hospital robe, Brandon slipped into the room.

  “Gonna shoot me now or something?” I asked the guy who had nearly killed me.

  “No.
” He shook his head before crossing the room to me. “Why?”

  “Oh, I dunno—the whole running me off the road thing… that ringing any bells?”

  “Stef, you gotta get it through your head; I ain’t the one that run you off the road. If I hadn’t honked at you, I reckon you’d be dead right about now.”

  “You were drunk,” I said, my tone sharp. “You just thought there was another truck, but it’s not like you meant to kill me. You were just trying to make amends.”

  “I was—do wanna make amends, but there were two trucks. The other guy drove away the second he saw you go over. I swear to God I—”

  “Whatever.” I cut him off, too annoyed to listen to it anymore.

  “Jesus, you’re pissed at me, huh?”

  “Pissed was hours ago,” I assured him.

  He offered me his hand. “I’m Brandon Holloway, but you can call me Bran.”

  I squinted at him until he dropped his hand.

  “I’m so sorry about the fight, Stef. I was so mad at myself—furious. I mean, I never act like that, but I’m at this wedding, and my girl, she won’t even talk to me no more, and—”

  “You’re frustrated about your girl and you took it out on Ben?” Unrequited love, the one thing I had sympathy for. “Is that what you’re telling me?”

  He raked his hands through his hair. “Aww, man, I’m so sorry. I was sorry the second you grabbed me. I was like, ‘oh fuck me, I should just let this guy kick the shit outta me for being such a stupid prick.’”

  I grunted.

  “And then you go and make it worse by carrying my ass up the side of that hill. What’re you, a fuckin’ saint?”

  “Hardly.”

  “Stefan, I am really so very sorry about the fight.”

  “But not about trying to kill me?”

  “That wasn’t me,” he insisted. “I swear to God, there was another truck.”

  I let out a deep breath. “Whatever. It’s over, don’t worry about it.”

  “Well I ain’t worried, but maybe you should be, huh? I mean, somebody just tried to kill you.”

  I shot him a look, as I was fairly certain that he was the only one putting my life in peril. I noticed then that his eyes had darkened to a deep olive green as he stared at me. He was actually a very handsome man with a slight cleft in his chin, sharply cut features, and a warm smile. His hair was light chestnut brown and streaked blond from the sun.

  “So you know I intend to take care of any charges that—”

  “That’s not necessary.” I cut him off.

  “Oh, I think it is,” he assured me as he stared into my eyes. “You carried me up a hill just ’cause it was the right thing to do. You’re a real nice guy, Stefan Joss. I hope you can give me another chance to get to know you.”

  I had an idea about how he could help me. “Can you drive me back?”

  In his truck another hour later, Brandon let out a deep, settling breath. I had to drive because I didn’t trust the level of alcohol still in his system. It was almost dinnertime when I turned into the enormous circular driveway of the sprawling ranch house. I thanked him for letting me drive his truck and, over his objections, climbed a little unsteadily out of the driver’s side door. What he was upset about were his keys in my pocket when I went inside. He was walking home if he was going at all. He was still assuring me that he was sober as I closed the door behind me.

  I needed food and lots of water, but I had to shower and change before anyone saw me. I went through the foyer, the living room, and up the stairs. In my room, it was cool, because the lights were off. I was glad I had left the air conditioner on. Before I even thought about it, I toed off my shoes and got on the bed, crawling up to my pillow before I collapsed and lay down, closing my eyes, feeling like I was sinking into the mattress.

  “Are you hurt?”

  I jerked awake, not even realizing that I’d fallen asleep.

  “Stefan?”

  Deep voice asking me questions. I lifted my head and looked over my shoulder. Rand was standing at the end of the bed, arms crossed, waiting for an answer.

  “I’m fine.” I sighed, putting my head back down. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  “Oh, I dunno, a trip to the hospital tends to be tiring.”

  I groaned as the light went on and a flood of people came through the door. Charlotte and Ben and the rest of the wedding party filled my room fast. I rolled over on my back and covered my face with the pillow.

  “I would smack you, but I don’t know where you’re hurt!” Charlotte ranted at me. “Twice in one day you scare me—must be a new goddamn record for you!”

  I groaned into the pillow before it was snatched away.

  “Stefan!”

  She was really mad, and everyone stopped talking to look at her. Her voice was shrill. It sounded strange, unhinged, and her breathing was erratic, like she was going to hyperventilate.

  “You are my best friend in the whole world, and I love you more than practically anyone! You were there through the worst moment of my entire life, and if anything ever happens to—”

  I lifted up, grabbed her arm, and yanked her down beside me. She wrapped tight around me, coiling, and even though it hurt a little, I didn’t make a sound.

  “I didn’t want to ruin the wedding,” I told her, kissing her forehead, nuzzling my face in her hair.

  “The only way it gets ruined is if you’re not there beside me, you stupid ass.”

  I squeezed her, and the tears rolled out of her eyes.

  The bed dipped as everyone sat down on it, Ben sitting up beside the headboard, the bridesmaids on the other side, soothing Charlotte. Rand was standing by the window, looking out at the darkening sky.

  “You guys need to go,” I told them. “There are more festivities planned for tonight, right?”

  “Yeah, we’ll all meet downstairs in, like, half an hour,” Ben said softly. “I need to talk to Stefan and Char real quick, but the rest of you guys go on and get ready.”

  It was his wedding, so everyone did as he asked except for Rand. But I knew, just like we all did, that Ben had never actually thought Rand would listen to him. Rand didn’t listen to anyone. When the room was finally clear, he asked his bride to look at him.

  “Tell me about the worst thing that ever happened to you, Char. I’m gonna be your husband, I should know.”

  She clutched me tighter, buried her face in the side of my neck.

  “Is it a deal breaker?” I asked him.

  He squinted at me. “What’re you talking about?”

  “If she doesn’t tell, is the wedding off?” I asked Ben, hoping it wasn’t.

  “What—no, of course not, I love—”

  “Then not today,” I said softly, giving Charlotte a final squeeze before I let her go and whispered for her to go to Ben.

  She rose out of my arms and lunged at her fiancé. He grabbed her tight, and when she locked her legs around his hips, he carried her out of the room. I let out a deep breath, pulling my hair back from my face. What a day.

  “My cousin Bran says that he didn’t try to kill you,” Rand said, moving from the window to stand beside the bed. “I think maybe if he hadn’t been hyperventilating when he said that someone else ran you off the road then maybe Charlotte wouldn’t have freaked so hard. I only heard a little of it before I came up here. Tell me what happened.”

  I looked up at him.

  “Now.”

  Why I responded to him, I had no idea, but I heard more than the demand, I heard the underlying concern as well. So I told him everything that happened, including carrying his cousin up out of the ravine. I tossed him Bran’s keys. Rand was nodding when I was done.

  “I always thought you were sort of fragile, but you’re not; you’re strong,” he breathed, and for some reason that revelation seemed to please him. “So now tell me about this Cody guy.”

  I was silent because I was both confused and unsure that I’d heard him correctly.

  “D
id you hear me?”

  “I’m not sure, could you repeat the question?”

  “Tell me about Cody.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Charlotte said a while back that you were dating some guy named Cody but he didn’t come along with you so I’m askin’ you what’s going on with him?”

  I took a breath, squinting up at him. “Rand, why are you—”

  “Did you break up?”

  I nodded after a moment, completely confused by the entire conversation.

  “Why’d you break up?”

  What were we, girlfriends now? “Rand, are you aware of how weird this whole—”

  “What was wrong with Cody?”

  He seemed very intent about wanting to know.

  I cleared my throat. “Well, it ended like a month ago.”

  “Why?”

  I squinted at him.

  “Just tell me.”

  “He was too serious.”

  “Whaddya mean?”

  “Rand, do you really expect me to—”

  “Tell me what went on.”

  He would wait all day for the answer, I could tell. It was such a weird conversation—at least I thought it was. But I was a little out of it, so maybe it was normal.

  “Now.”

  “Why?”

  “Why not?”

  “That’s not an answer.”

  He scowled at me.

  I gave up. What did I have to lose? “Okay, so he was ready to settle down and buy a house and get a dog and all that shit. He was even talking about kids, and—”

  “And you don’t want any of that stuff.”

  “No, I do,” I corrected him. “I just… he just—”

  “Wasn’t the one,” he said softly.

  “Yeah.” I sighed. “He wasn’t the one.”

  It was hard for me to explain to people, so I usually just skipped it, doing my patented disappearing act instead of having the big blowout that signified the end of a relationship. More than anything I wanted a home, wanted to belong to one man, but the men I always ended up with wanted to smother me and entrench me in their lives. I wanted to share my life with someone, not simply take on theirs. Most men didn’t understand that, and so I ended up leaving. There was a man out there confident enough that he could keep me around without trying to change me. I just hadn’t found him yet.