Page 91 of Rough and Rugged
“Zachary Faneuil Ladd! Did you get the freaking Vice President involved?”
“He leaned on the Department of the Interior. No big deal.” He shrugs and says, “You’re hurt. We’re trapped.”
“I’m not that hurt, and the snow will clear.”
“That tree that took out your place, yeah, that’s blocking all kinds of access to us. Not even Morty could get to us without a chainsaw.”
“Don’t underestimate a moosearaptor.”
He smirks at me. “You heard?”
“I saw a moron reasoning with a moose.” I shift my tone to pretending I didn’t read the rejection. “Where’s the rest of this book?” He walks to the kitchen, side-stepping furniture.
“Moose.” I pause to see if there’s more to that sentence. “Coffee?” I throw a pillow at his back.
“Do not one-word me. Is that big envelope the rest of this book?”
He’s annoyed. And his stupid sweatpants just dipped, so I can see the notches of his hips peeking out at the sides of his shirt.Stop being sexy.He purses his lips. “No. Gone.”
“Hey, Mr. Sexypants, indifferent to everything and me.” My voice rises. “Don’t stop talking to me. What did you do? Where’s the rest of your book?”
He considers his words. Then walks to me and tries to take the pages from me. I pull back and win.
“Jesus, you’re buff,” he says and I grin.
“Talk.”
“No,” He gruffs. “Why does everyone know where you are but me?”
“So, I see you want to start with something easy. Answer me first. Where’s the rest?”
He rakes his hair back then grunts, looking at the ceiling and balling his fists.
I scold. “Tell me.” He flops down in a displaced chair. He flicks his eyes to the fire. Realization grips me, as I clutch my heart and sit up.
“You burned it?” He nods. “Dax.” My voice drips with anxiety. “Because it’s bad? Or because it reminded you that you can’t stand to be with me?”
He leans forward. His voice is dark and cutting. “Are you fucking kidding me, beautiful?” My body flares. His murmurs and the memories of him kissing my forehead and holding me most of the night flood back. I cock my head, and he cantilevers up in one fluid motion storming over. “You’re making me say this. Fine. Here it is and after I’ve said it, you can tell me to fuck off, but I can’t hold this any longer.”
He cages me to the bed with straight arms. “Why wouldn’t I burn a perfectly brilliant book if it could save you? What the fuck aren’t you getting? There’s nothing I wouldn’t do or give to make sure you’re okay. I tapped the second most powerful person in the free world, for you, not Morty.”
I gasp. He stands up and puts his hands on his hips. His voice drops a bit, but maintains the same intensity.
“I was going to your cabin to tell you this. I know you don’t want me, and it fucking tears at me all the time. So, I rewrote my great American novel into a fantasy, where we work out. Where if in the middle of the night if I dream of you, I can have you. You, Monica, are brighter than any fire or desire I will ever feel.”
He takes my face in his hands and then puts his forehead to mine. My heart races, and I swallow back the tears I try to never shed.
“Everything I do is for you: to avoid you, to push you from my mind or to pull your memory closer. To immortalize, laud and cherish you. Always for you. So why the fuck wouldn’t I burn everything I own to save you? Why wouldn’t I do that shit? SweeTart, I will forever be a slave to you even though you want nothing to do with me. It’s all for you. I can’t fucking stop,” he whispers before stepping away, leaving me breathless.
I try to put words together. Nothing is ever all for me, it’s why I left. Sophie had his heart and his attention. Work. His writing. His family. Nothing was about me. I’m everyone’s buddy. Their cheerleader. I’m the third wheel. I’m the plus one, never the one.
He goes to the only place with a door. I don’t get everything I want only for it to hide in the bathroom.
“You can’t have a word explosion then hide. I’ll hobble over there, and you know I can rip the door off the hinges. I’m that swole now.” No response. “I have to pee.” I knew it would work. The door opens and I lift the covers. Tears well up as I look at my mottled legs and wrapped ankle.
He rushes back to me. “Shh. Just bruising.” I snuggle into him. He carries me to the bathroom. “Do you need help from here?” He squats down so we’re face to face.
Almost dying makes me brave. “I left because you didn’t want me. You were always going to choose her.” He looks down, and stares at me sideways.