“Ready?” His voice is a rumble, rolling over me likethunder.
“Yes.” Dear lord, I’m already breathless and we haven’t even started the stunt. “Let’s go forit.”
His hands encircle my waist, each finger digging into my bare flesh. The rasp of his calluses against my sensitive skin is almost too much to bear. I try to put it from my mind, so I can focus on the task at hand, but there’s an undeniable lump in my throat as he bends low and lifts me up onto his shoulders in one smooth motion. Settled with my thighs sandwiching his head, I ignore the butterflies swarming in my stomach and position my bare feet in his hands. I almost moan at the sensation of his thumbs brushing against the balls of myfeet.
There is something seriously wrong withme.
When he straightens his arms up over his head, I lock my knees and engage my core muscles to keep from toppling over. Fully extended, I can just reach the top of the tree. Plucking a dozen coconuts from the hanging bunch, I toss them down onto the sand. I’m still grinning like an idiot when Beck lowers me back toearth.
“YES!” I exclaim, giddy withsuccess.
Victories here have been few and far between. I needed a win, a single moment of triumph after all the darkness and defeat. Maybe we all did. Ian cheers riotously, as though I’ve just landed a perfect Double Arabian that would make even his beloved Nastia turn green with envy. And Beck looks down at me with an honest to god grin lighting up his features. The effect is intense — I feel my heart skip a beat at the mere sight of all those white teeth, this close to myface.
“Thank you,” I tell himsincerely.
“You’rewelcome.”
For a while we stand there grinning at each other like idiots. Perhaps we’re leaning a little too close, playing with gasoline near a sparking power line, but I can’t force my feet to move away from him. It’s amazing to feel joy zipping through my bloodstream again as we laughtogether.
“Tell the truth,” Ian calls. “Beck, you were on an all-male cheer squad. It’s okay, you can tell us. We won’t laugh.” He pauses. “Nah, I take that back, we’ll definitelylaugh.”
“You caught me,” Beck jokes, shaking his head. “But it was actually rhythmic gymnastics. I’m quite light on mytoes.”
“Downright dainty,” I quip, eyes on his large feet. He must be at least a size twelve. “How ever did you find ballet slippers thatbig?”
Iancackles.
Beck snorts in amusement as he steps away from me, walking over to sit by the fire as I collect the coconuts. I’d be lying if I said I didn’t miss being in the circle of his arms as soon as I stepped out of them, but I push those thoughts aside, determined to hang onto the light mood of the past fewmoments.
The atmosphere conspires to aid me on that front — it’s a clear night with no breeze, so we stoke the fire higher than we’ve ever dared before. Showers of sparks dance upward and dissipate as we watch, clacking our coconut shells together in a celebratory cheers as the sky turns jet. They’re not margaritas, but they’re not halfbad.
Over a dinner of fire-roasted crab and sea clams, Ian entertains us with endless stories of terrible flight passengers, until all three of us are in stitches. Before I know it, the moon is high in the sky and my eyes are drooping closed. Ian’s face splits in a giant yawn, mid-tale.
“So, I told her, ‘I’m sorry ma’am, I don’t know what you thought your first class ticket entailed, but I can assure you what you’ve just done in the bathroom with the gentleman from seat 3C isnoton themenu.’”
I giggle until there are tears gathering at the corners of myeyes.
“You should get some rest,” Beck tells Ian, when our laughter tapers off. “Save your energy fortomorrow.”
“Ah yes, another big day spent sitting in this samespot.”
“Actually, if you’re feeling up for it, maybe I can carry you to the pool Violet found the other day — get you washed up, give you a change ofscenery.”
Ian’s throat works rapidly, and I can tell he’s moved by the offer. “Thanks, man. I’d likethat.”
“Also, there’s this.” Beck rises to his feet and walks to the edge of camp, where his things are stacked. When he returns, there are two long wooden branches in his hands, their tops shavedsmooth.
Crutches, I realize.He’s made Iancrutches.
My eyes well up. I have to look away to keep the tears from falling. Ian is similarly affected, judging by the thickness of his voice when he thanksBeck.
“Least I could do.” Beck shrugs. “They’re not finished yet, but they will be by the time you’re ready to usethem.”
“Means a lot, man,” Ian says shakily. “Appreciateit.”
Beck merely nods. As if it’s no big deal that he’s just given a man trapped by pain and circumstance something to look forward to. A reason to get up in themorning.
I am a grown ass man, weak as a fucking kitten, withering away in hundred-degreeheat.