The Boy and His Ribbon (The Ribbon Duet, #1)(123)

She nodded to appease me but never left.

She sat beside me, reading trashy magazines, getting me coffee and water, never leaving my side for longer than a few minutes. Every so often, I felt her watching me through a curtain of blonde, her fingers tracing her lips. She’d avert her gaze the second I noticed, leaving me confused and achy and in more pain than before.

It was the longest evening of my life sitting in that room. Not because of my wrist but because of her.

It was a constant fight not to hug her close and kiss her softly. All I wanted to do was be free with my actions and affections. I just wanted to touch her to reassure myself that she was still here, despite the stress of the past few months.

But I couldn’t.

I was no longer allowed to hug and touch because my thoughts were no longer clear.

When I finally saw a doctor, underwent X-rays and learned the news that a couple of fingers as well as my wrist had been broken, I wouldn’t wish it away for anything.

The cow that kicked me gave me a night I’d never forget. It deleted the stilted strangeness that festered between me and Della, and I had my best friend back.

We went home together that night, me in a cast and Della with her arm looped through mine. We sat in comfortable silence on the bus home, had a midnight snack of cereal and milk, then she took my hand and instead of saying goodnight and going to our separate rooms, she led me into hers.

I balked at the doorway, staring at her double bed, seeing it not as a place to rest but a battlefield in which I’d never stop fighting.

But I couldn’t stop her when she tugged me forward, whispering, “I miss you, Ren. Please…just for one night.”

I’d never been able to deny her anything.

And so, despite my better judgment, I stayed.

Together, we stripped to underwear and slipped beneath the covers.

We didn’t touch, lying stiffly in the dark, but having her so close I could hear her breathing and feel her heat and smell her lovely scent…I was happier than I’d been in a very long time.

*

“Happy Birthday, Ren.” Della gave me a card with one of those tinsel rosettes stuck to the envelope.

We sat in a burger joint with red vinyl and grease-stained music posters. Tradition demanded our birthday meal took place in a diner, but I ensured it was different to the last one where she left me to eat with Tom.

“I thought we agreed we weren’t buying each other presents.” I put down my fry and wiped salt-dusted fingers on a serviette. “Now I just feel like crap because I didn’t get you anything.”

“Ah, well.” She shrugged. “I saw it the other day, and I had no choice. It had your name all over it.”

I frowned as I tore at the glue holding the envelope shut. Sliding my finger under the seam, I ripped the paper and pulled out a card with a picture of a forest wreathed in fog.

My heart thudded harder, knowing it belonged there over anywhere; my legs tensed to run to wherever this photo had been taken. “It’s beautiful.” I looked up, smiling. “Thank you.”

Della rolled her eyes. “Open it, you moron.” Wearing a black dress with her hair slicked in a high silky ponytail, she was pure elegance. She’d grown up, and the change in her from sixteen to seventeen hurt my chest whenever I stared too much.

I’d loathed her wardrobe choices lately; mainly because they were far more revealing than before. She was beautiful in whatever she wore, but the tight shorts and skirts, the tops that clung to her…it all drove me mad trying to stop myself from hunting down the men who stared at her in appreciation.

She deserved to be appreciated—just not by them.

Not by any man.

Including me.

Cracking open the card, another picture fell out, this one torn from a hunting and fishing catalogue. Picking it off the table, I flipped it over until I looked at a four-person tent with a small alcove for gear and two sleeping pods off the main living. The price had been blacked out with a picture of a scribbled balloon.

“What…” I looked up. “You bought me a tent?”

She scooted her chair closer. “Uh-huh. It’s the perfect size for when I finish school and we leave again. You won’t have to feel awkward sleeping with me squished so close, see?” She tapped the picture in my grip. “We would each have our own wing and our stuff would be safe in the middle. It’s brown like your hair, so it will disappear in the forest, and the fly screens are green. It’s perfect, don’t you think?” Her blue eyes danced with futures I hadn’t dared think about.

My life until now had been a monotony of riding to work, cows, riding home, and staying close but not too close with Della. I hadn’t dared think about what would happen when she’d finished school.

About what I wanted.

About what I needed.

The past few years had been a different chapter to our normal world—totally unrelated to who we truly were. An episode of treading water until we could go home, be happy, and figure out how we fit into each other’s lives after so much.

The concept that we could leave this place…run.

Just us.

Fuck, I wanted it more than I could stand.

Her voice dropped when I said nothing. “You weren’t planning on staying here…were you, Ren?”

I blinked, dragged into the conversation against my will. Unprepared to show her how desperate I was for something different…something better and bearable between us. “Well, no. I mean, I hadn’t thought—”