The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(103)

Della hadn’t packed a swimsuit, but she didn’t argue when I made her wear a t-shirt and underwear before getting wet. I made sure she was never around when I bathed, and I averted my eyes whenever she’d strip—sometimes catching me unaware with flashes of her perfect skin.

We shared tasks on building a fire or erecting the tent or preparing food, and overall, the lifestyle we shared was much easier now she was older and offered more help than hindrance.

For two glorious months, we travelled on back-roads and explored the stunning countryside. Occasionally, we’d stumble onto a campsite tucked high in the hills, or hear trampers in the distance, treading the trails we’d become so sure footed on.

The money stuffed safe in my backpack wasn’t needed as I allowed every aspect of our lives before the Wilsons to return—including stealing.

I didn’t take from those who had nothing and did my best to only pinch a few things. Items like toothpaste and deodorant, canned food and another lighter…things that didn’t cost the large supermarkets much money but kept us healthy and fed.

Della asked me to teach her the art of thievery, but that was one thing I refused. I’d teach her anything she wanted—skinning rabbits, setting traps, sharpening knives, making fires—but never stealing.

There was too much risk.

And she was far too precious to get caught.

She might not need me as much as she once did, but I still had a role to play in her life.

A role I would gladly uphold until my dying breath.

To protect her.

At all costs.

Even if it meant protecting her from herself.





CHAPTER FORTY-EIGHT


DELLA



Present Day




CRAZY HOW LIFE can change so fast, right?

How days can blend into months, and seasons can flow into years.

That was what happened with us.

Leaving behind Cherry River was sad. Some days, I missed Patricia, John, the horses, our one bedroom, Liam, and even Cassie so much, I almost asked Ren to turn around. To admit I’d made a mistake, and I wanted to go back.

I’d never stopped to notice just how privileged I’d been living there—learning to ride, running around in open fields, swimming in creeks, and attending a school that actually nurtured my dreams instead of ruined them.

I missed it.

But as much as I missed them, I would miss Ren more, and he was no longer welcome there.

Because of me.

I’d made it impossible to go back.

I’d taken away so much from both of us.

The guilt that caused was a daily passenger. Unfortunately, I had a steep learning curve to find there were many layers of guilt. Some days, I suffered shame. Some nights, I wallowed in disgrace. Others, I wanted to flog myself with blame and dishonour and somehow purge the skin-crawling chiding that I’d done something irrevocably wrong.

I’d been selfish, and stupid, and as much as I regretted everything we’d lost, I was just as guilty for being grateful for everything we’d gained as much as I was for losing it.

For the rest of summer and most of autumn, I had Ren all to myself.

He no longer left before I was awake to work on the farm. He no longer stayed out till dark doing chores and feeling responsible for the paddocks and meadows left in his care.

He lost the edgy hardness of being relied upon and returned to the serious, wild boy I remembered.

Every story he shared. Every laugh he indulged in. I remembered how to love him purely without any of the mess I’d caused. Some weeks, I honestly didn’t remember why I’d risked everything by kissing him.

What was I thinking? I’d muse.

Eww, how gross. I’d conclude.

I merely saw him as Ren—the farmyard boy who I’d watched make out with Cassie, go through chicken pox, and get all stuffy with the flu.

But then…other days…a switch would flip inside me, and I’d struggle to see him as family and only saw things I shouldn’t.

Forbidden things.

Things that had the potential not only to get me in trouble but to steal Ren from me forever.

I’d focused on the glisten of his sweat, and instead of thinking he needed a bath, I’d think how salty he would taste. I’d watched him break off dead tree limbs for our fire and instead of worrying he’d hurt himself, I only noticed how strong he was. How his arms bunched and his belly clenched and how everything about him was virile and perfect and just begging to be touched.

Things were alive inside me. Heat and hunger.

Sometimes, he’d look at me before I could bury my feelings and he’d freeze. His eyes would lock on mine, understanding the look of naked need even if he didn’t want to.

I’d swallow it all down, let my hair curtain my eyes, and pretend all over again that things were normal and I wasn’t drowning beneath right and wrong.

One dawn, when Ren slept beside me in our tiny tent, he rolled toward me as he sometimes did and gathered me close. I couldn’t help myself. I let myself be gathered, melting into the way his front cradled my back.

He was asleep. I was awake. I knew who was innocent and who was not, but it didn’t stop me from wriggling closer, my belly tightening as Ren’s hips jutted forward with something hard and— Yep, stopping right there.

I can’t write the horror of what happened when I gasped and woke him up. How he’d ripped himself away from me. How he’d thrown himself out of the tent and refused to talk to me for the rest of the day.