Burying Water (Burying Water #1)(71)

“I’ll wait.”

We lie among the fluffy pillows, listening to the fire crackle, smelling the burning leaves—I stuffed a few handfuls into the woodstove, just because I love the smell of burning leaves.

Her breathing evens out, her heart beats steady against my side.

I absorb all of it.

As I fall fast and hard.

“What’s down here?”

“If I tell you, then it’s not a surprise.”

“And you’re sure your family won’t come out here?”

“Yup. My mom and sister are in comas and my dad’s at some charity police force luncheon. Besides, no one’s been down this way in years.” I ease the Barracuda down the old, uneven path. Normally I wouldn’t think to drive it down, but it’s too far for Alex to walk while she’s still healing. And I really want to see her dip her fingers into a lake for the first time.

Up ahead the water is sparkling in the noonday sunlight. The blue skies are what I miss most about home. Portland always feels gray in comparison.

“A lake!” Alex turns, her own eyes now sparkling brighter than any sun rays on water.

I shrug. “You said you’ve never been to a lake.”

“And you actually remembered . . .” She doesn’t wait for me; she climbs out of the car and begins walking toward the sandy clearing where my sister and I used to set up for the day, back when we’d come out here to swim in the summertime.

I follow her, the wool blanket that she can’t seem to part with tucked under my arm.

“This is just . . .” Her words drift. She stands at the water’s edge, wrapped in my old gray-and-taupe flannel jacket, inhaling the crisp air, her eyes taking in the trees and mountains facing us. “This is me. This is what I want. I could trade it all today, for this. Has that ever happened to you? Have you ever stepped into a place and just known that you were meant to be there?”

“Kind of.”

She glances over her shoulder at me, waiting.

I pick my path toward her, unfolding the wool blanket out as I approach. From behind, I wrap the blanket and my arms around her slender body, pulling her into my chest. “One night, I got out of my car to help this girl with a flat tire. I didn’t know it right then, though. But I was meant to meet her.”

She tips her head back to set a light kiss on my jawline, sending my blood racing through my body and my arms tightening around her.

A flock of snow geese that were resting across the lake suddenly take flight, their wings flapping against the water, kicking up splashes that glimmer in the sun.

Alex smiles. “That water must be cold.”

I release her from my grip long enough for her to dip her red-painted fingertips in. She pulls back immediately with an exaggerated shiver.

“See that stream over there?” I stretch an arm to point out the small branch coming off the lake. “It’s fed off the mountain thaw. So is this lake. There’s kind of a funny story to it. The stream runs all the way down into our neighbor’s property. Our neighbor, Mr. Fitzgerald—he’s gone now—didn’t like it so close to their barn. For years, he’d try to stop it. My granddad would help him. They’d dump gravel and dirt. One year, they built a dam. But every single spring, the water would find its way onto the Fitzgerald property.” I chuckle, remembering the two old men standing over the stream, scratching their beards in wonder. “Finally they just gave up and let it be. Realized there was no stopping it. The water was going to go where it was meant to go.” I feel a smile touch my lips. “My granddad used to tell us that story every spring, when we came out here after the thaw. Of course, it wasn’t just a story to him. He turned it into a life lesson about telling the truth. I had a problem with lying when I was little,” I admit, sheepishly. “He said the truth is like that water: it doesn’t matter how hard you try to bury it; it’ll always find some way back to the surface. It’s resilient.”

I feel her body relax into my chest. “I really like that story. I want to be like water, too. I want to be resilient, to go where I’m meant to go.”

I graze her cheek with my nose. “You’re here, aren’t you?”

She gasps and pulls away to turn and face me, excitement sparkling in her eyes. “I know what tattoo I want now.”

Beans. I assume that’s his nickname, given he’s tattooed the letters on his knuckles. Otherwise he’s a dumbass.

A dumbass whose wary eyes drift between the two of us, frowning every time they land on Alex’s bruised cheek. “What are we going with today?”

Alex’s bright eyes are full of determination. “A tattoo.” Once she decided that this was what she wanted to do, there was no convincing her otherwise, banged-up body and all. Luckily we’re the only ones at Get Inked—a small but reputable shop in Bend.

He smirks—we are in a tattoo parlor, after all—and then asks, “Do you know what you want it to look like?”

“I was thinking something to do with water. Like a symbol or something.”

“Hmm . . . Can’t say I’ve done one of those. Let’s see what we can find.” With a fast flick of his hand, he turns his oversized monitor to face us. He hits a few keys to open up a search engine for “water symbols.” All kinds come up.

Alex immediately zeros in on a circular symbol with waves inside. “That one.” She nods. “Here.” She touches the right side of her pelvis, where I imagine her panty line might run.