After a bit he pulls away and just stares at me, the intimacy of his look so profound that I know I can no longer deny either of us the chance at what could be, regardless of whatever the future holds. He angles his head to the side and whispers ever so softly, “You’re beautiful. You know that?”

And I want to laugh, want to tell him that I’m sure I must look it right now, with grass in my hair and covered in sweat and my bra half off, but there’s something in the way he says the words, something in the expression on his face that stops me, moves me, undoes me … because I realize that he calls me beautiful as if it were my name.

Even looking like this, I’m beautiful to him.

My heart swells with so many things, I can’t compartmentalize for once, so I let them take over—all of them—and own the moment for me. I reach up and frame his face in my hands and lean forward and press my lips to his, the emotion so great within me that I don’t want him to see it in my eyes just yet. I’m too exposed, too vulnerable right now, so I use that to fuel my need for this innocent action with him.

He accepts the soft sigh of a kiss I offer him, and we slip into it, prolonging the intimacy between us. I shift some, and he slips from within me as his mouth leaves mine and begins a trail of kisses down the line of my neck. My body, which was so satisfied moments ago, no longer is. Fuck, the man knows how to make me lose my focus and render me thoughtless with just the touch of his lips. It’s just freakishly wrong how much he affects me.

“Damn, City,” he whispers to me between kisses. I can feel him beginning to harden slowly against my thigh and marvel at his recovery time but most definitely have no complaints with it.

He laughs softly, the vibration rumbles against my skin as I score my fingers up his arms, the only thing I can do coherently. He pulls back, and his laugh is more earnest, and I tilt my head down to look at him.

“Your ladybug friend has decided to beat me to the chase here,” he says with amusement in his tone.

I’m unsure what he means, and so I look down just in time to see him reach a finger beneath the lace cup of the left side of my bra. He tugs it down so that the little ladybug, who’s obviously preferring to be a horny toad, can escape unscathed. I’m so scattered from the sex, my tumult of emotions, his mouth, and this little distraction that I react about five seconds too late to prevent it.

And I’m such a dumb shit, angry at myself for being so lost in the damn moment that I try to cover the jagged edge of stitches sticking out beneath the steri strips before he can see it. But I’m way too late.

“Haddie?” His voice is even, but the concern and confusion lacing through it is obvious to my ears.

I shove back off him immediately—and I catch him off guard so that I’m able to escape the confines of his arms. I’m panicked and unsure what to do, so I do the only thing my mind can grasp. I grab my discarded panties and clean myself quickly before tugging my skirt down, picking up my tank top, and then striding off across the field with so many thoughts I can’t think straight.

I can hear Becks behind me, swearing up a storm, as he pulls his shorts on, but I don’t care. All I can think of is the question that’s coming and how I’m going to answer it when he knows that scar and the stitches weren’t there two weeks ago. My head swims with uncertainty, and it’s prompting me to run once again, but the problem is, where in the hell am I running to? I’m in the middle of Bum-fuck Egypt, and I have no transportation.

But I don’t even get a chance to contemplate what comes next because Rex is barking and circling around me in excitement, and I’m shoving my tank top over my head, and it’s all tangled, and I’m flustered and frustrated.

And scared.

Scared because I just let him in, and now I’m probably going to have to shut him out. Fuck, damn, shit.

“Goddamn it! Stop, Haddie. Stop!” I can hear the plea in his voice, and I try to ignore it so that it doesn’t faze me. I keep walking, keep moving to expel the frantic energy that has me doing anything but standing still. “Had! There’s nowhere to go.” His voice is firmer now, more resolute, and I know he’s right, but I just don’t want to do this right now.

But my feet falter, and the mixture of the sun and my anxiety makes me feel like my skin is on fire. I know he’s closing the distance, can hear his feet crunch the ground along with his muttered curses, so I try to withdraw, prepare to disengage. Hope I can remain that way.

My arms are crossed over my chest in a protective gesture in more ways than one, and I step into the shade of a huge oak tree, head down, thoughts racing. I shrug out of his grip as his hand lands on my shoulder. It’s stupid on my part, really. Like I’m actually going to escape him, but I trudge on, hoping avoidance will help in whatever context it might come.

“You can’t run forever, Montgomery.” His words stop me. My steps falter, and my body deflates because I know he’s right, know that I’ve been running, but I’ve been doing it for so long, it seems that I don’t know how not to anymore.

My back is to him. Rex sits in front of me with his tongue lolled out and his head angled up at me in anticipation, like I have a ball I’m going to throw for him. Becks’s harsh breathing fills the space between us, and my heartbeat rages in my ears.

I close my eyes when I feel Becks’s hands on my shoulders, steel my body for the heat of his touch and the rush of words to come out of my mouth. But nothing comes. My thoughts are so jumbled and my mind is trying so hard to figure out what to say that my mouth falls open and then closes several times before shutting again.

“Hey.” The tenderness in his tone as he pulls me back against the solidity of his chest causes everything in me to feel as if it weighs a thousand pounds. And it does because the effort it is going to take to navigate this minefield is going to be unforgiving. Becks wraps his arms across my chest, cautious of my stitches, and just holds me tight. He presses a kiss to the curve of my neck and then rests his chin on my shoulder. “I’m trying not to be pushy here. I’m trying to let you have a moment to explain to me what I just saw and why you got spooked and ran … but you’re scaring the hell out of me right now. Your silence, you running … all of it’s scaring me.”

I bite my bottom lip to stifle the quivering of my chin and to allow me a moment to fortify my voice with the confidence I don’t have but need him to think I do. “The night at your place …,” I begin, my hands fisted and my body rigid, not wanting to accept any of his comfort right now. Needing to get through this, be strong, not break. “I woke up. Something felt pinched. I swore that I was imagining things. Spent like forever trying to prove otherwise, but I found a lump.” His arms flex ever so slightly in response, and I’m grateful that he stays silent. “I freaked out. Left and went to the doctor as soon as possible, had a biopsy where they removed whatever it was. That’s it.” I try to add a bit of insignificance in my voice, play it off, but when I hear his unsteady inhale, I know he doesn’t believe me.

I begin to pull away from him, but his arms remain steadfast in their hold. “Uh-uh,” he murmurs against my shoulder, the heat of his breath hitting the fabric of my tank top and trapping it between his mouth and my skin. “Just give me a minute.”

And so we stand there as he processes what he’s heard, and I try to figure out where to go from here because damn it to hell, I’ve let him in. He’s using all he has to be the can opener to peel back everything I’ve sealed so tight, and that scares me to death.

“What did the biopsy show?” he finally says, and the question hangs in the air like an oppressive cloud.

I swallow the truth I know deep down and aim for cautious optimism in my answer. “I don’t know yet. Any day now.”

He makes an incoherent sound in response, his thumb beginning to rub up and down gently in reassurance. “I’m … I’m having a hard time processing this, Had—”

“I know. I’m sorry. I didn’t intend for anyone to know. I just …”

He releases me and stalks past me a few feet, his shoulders tense, and his emotion transparent in his posture. He starts to talk and stops himself, his hand gripping the back of his neck as he stares at the pond before turning back to look at me. “You didn’t intend for anyone to know?” His anger surprises me. Pity, I expected, disbelief too … not anger. “You think that little of me? You think I’ll take you in my bed but don’t care about you as a person? What the fuck, Had?”

He shakes his head, his eyes boring into mine. I see his hands clench and unclench, his chest rises and falls in anger as we stand in a silent standoff. “You don’t get it, do you?” The question hangs between us, and I’m not sure if I’m supposed to answer it or not, and if I am, what the hell am I not getting? Which part of everything I’ve done to piss him off am I not understanding right now?

He clenches his jaw and looks up to the sky momentarily as if he’s asking for the universe to grant him some patience. When he looks back down, I see hurt in his eyes, and as much as I want to look away, I force myself to hold his gaze, tell myself that this look is nothing compared to what could be there if we held tight to whatever this is between us.

“I care about you, Haddie. I more than care about you.”

“That’s not possible,” I tell him, immediately pushing the thought away. Uh-uh. Not possible. Caring leads to devastation, and I can’t have that on my shoulders. “No strings, remember?” I spit the words off my tongue like they’re acid. Defense mechanism and all that. I see the impact of my statement flicker in his eyes and chastise myself. Crap! How can I feel it’s okay for me to feel like I’m falling for him, and yet I don’t want him to have any feelings for me? But isn’t a woman allowed to be a tad hypocritical when dealing with the bullshit I’ve had to deal with over the past year?