Run

Chapter Fifteen

Night insects are creepy things. How they chirp and whirr and you can't see them, hidden amongst the long stalks of grass. But night was when the heat dulled to a tolerable beast. And if you drove out far enough, night was when the sky descended and covered you in its icy, shimmering beauty.

The truck bumped and jolted over the rutted track, and I kept my mouth shut rather than attempt conversation. I'd probably end up biting my tongue in half if I did. Trevor had spotted the road on the edge of the highway, almost an hour and a half outside of Austin. The glow of the city had long since disappeared from the rearview, and I leaned forward to stare out the windshield.

He stopped the truck. I climbed out and tipped my head back. The stars were an arm's length away and completely unattainable, scattered across the sky like a little kid had too much fun with the glitter. Big ones, small ones, winking and flickering by turns.

We'd come prepared. Trevor snagged a couple of blankets from the back of the cab and started laying them out in the truck bed. He shooed me away whenever I tried to grasp a corner to help. When the bed was sufficiently padded, he grasped me around the waist and boosted me up, smiling when I snorted out a giggle.

"This what you wanted last night?" he asked, once we were lying down. He'd tugged me into a position that had me sprawled over most of the truck bed, my head on his chest, knees bent so my feet were flat.

"I felt guilty, using you like that," I admitted. "That first night, I was on edge, afraid I'd fall apart and do something really dumb. I'd tried medication. I'd tried therapy. I'd tried yoga. It's anxiety. That was the official diagnosis. Generalized anxiety coupled with mild posttraumatic stress disorder. The therapy got me to a point where I understood what was going on, and the medication dulled the worst of it, but it didn't do a damn thing to stop the guilt. They don't make a medication for that. I tried pot. I'm not much of a toker, though. Drinking helped for a while, except the hangovers were a bitch to deal with. Sex, when you do it right, requires this sort of absolute focus that just pushes everything else from your mind."

"Don't know that I've ever heard of sex as medication." He ran his fingers through my hair, the tips ghosting along my neck.

"I was surprised when it worked, to be honest. I went home and actually slept. I got a few good nights and days out of that." I twisted my head and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand.

He moved his hand to curl around my throat, thumb stroking the curve. "I don't know that you used me last night. I was the one who started it. And if I didn't want it, I wouldn't have participated, right?"

"True."

The conversation lapsed, the two of us content to watch the sky, his hand warm at my throat. His chest rose and fell in a steady, soothing rhythm. Minutes melted into one another. I wanted to freeze this moment. Save it, trap it so I could take it out and relive it when I needed it most.

A breeze rustled the grass, and I shivered. Trevor's hand stilled. "Cold?"

"Mmm. Not really." I shuffled around and scooted up so my body was parallel to his, enabling him to wrap his arm around my shoulders. "I think this is the first time since high school that I've done this with a guy. Though we didn't spend a lot of time staring at the sky." I snuggled closer. "There were a couple of roads that had turn-outs facing the water. Great in the summer, especially on those days when the high temperature was way up there. If we got really lucky, the moon would be out and reflecting off the bay. It's one of the prettiest sights I've ever seen."

He tensed next to me, though his next words were curious enough. "You miss it?"

If he'd asked me last night, in the heat of the moment, I would have said yes. "I don't know," I said honestly. "I haven't spent much time there since I left for college. Sometimes I wonder if I miss the idea of it more than the place itself."