East of Redemption (Love on the Edge #2) (27 page)

“Where else are you hurt?”

I pointed to my side.

She grabbed the hem of my shirt and yanked it upward and over my head. The motion stung, and I hissed. “Easy.”

“Please. You’ve been through much worse than this.” She bent at an angle to look at the reddening area. It’d be a wicked bruise tomorrow, but it was so fucking worth it. The way she worried over me filled me with hope. That, and I could see a slip of her cleavage from the way she was bent. “I think you’ll be all right.” She pressed on my ribs one by one. “Nothing feels broken.”

I reached into the cargo pocket of my pants and fished out the journal, handing it to her. She had to look twice before she snatched it out of my hands and flipped it open, fingering the pages for authentication.

“How?” Her voice was breathless.

“Called in a favor. Tracked Corrine down to a nearby prison. She won’t ever bother us again. I’ve made sure of that.”

Rain held the book to her chest, hugging it like a long-lost friend.

“I’m sorry you ever lost it,” I said. “And—”

She broke the small distance between us and crushed her lips on mine. I instantly snaked my hands around her waist, drawing her closer. I parted her lips with my tongue, tracing the roof of her mouth with a fast flick. She moaned against me and straddled my lap. One of her knees clipped my side too hard and I winced, momentarily breaking our kiss. She gasped and leaped off of me, holding her robe closed.

“Hey,” I said, reaching for her. “I won’t break. Just use the gentle gloves.”

She stepped away from me and shook her head. “I only meant to say thank-you. I’m sorry . . . I shouldn’t have—”

“Raindrop,” I chided. “Don’t ever apologize for kissing me like that. Now, come here.” I held my hand out to her, begging with my eyes that she take it. It meant so much more than a moment of passion shared between us. This was a culmination of moments, all leading up to her choice, and I wanted her to choose me so fucking bad.

“I can’t.”

I dropped my hand to my knee, which shook with her rejection. A mixture of anger and understanding made my stomach twist in knots. I was pissed at myself for ever fucking up something as great as I’d had with Rain.

“I was about to get dressed before you came in. I booked a flight home.”

And the floor jerked out from underneath me. She didn’t even want to stay to see what would become of Harrison’s cave?

She handed me the journal back. “I still want you to read this. The parts you can, anyway. He would’ve wanted you to.”

I took the book, eyeing her. “You just got this back—”

“I trust you with it. Obviously. I wouldn’t have it back without you.” She turned into the bathroom, and I heard the zipper on her bag. She returned dressed in a pair of light blue jeans and a white T-shirt. Somehow it was sexier than the robe. Tears coated her eyes, but she kept her back straight. “I need time.”

I’d known that already. She walked to the door, hurrying it open. “The cab is waiting for me already.”

“What if I hadn’t come back?”

“I would’ve waited.”

I wanted to believe that.

“Thank you for taking me with you, Easton. I needed to see what he’d seen.”

It took everything in me to nod and hold myself to the bed instead of slamming the door shut and not letting her go. I had to let her go, though. That was the point. I couldn’t force her to forgive me.

One soft smile, and she was gone.

I gripped the book between my hands too tightly. My chest burned from the whiplash it’d had, a blooming hope for a future with Rain—filled with brunches, babies, and stolen trips across the world after they’d grown—had quickly been smashed into a deep, dark hole where the only life I had existed on a fucking television show that was bound to kill me. I’d offered her my heart, and the woman had left me with a damn book.

Rain

HOME WAS A
cozy ranch-style house on a hundred acres of land in Oregon. I shared the house with my mother, not out of need but because we were rarely ever there at the same time. When I was gone on a shoot, she’d take care of the place, and I took care of it when she was off on one of her many travels—she’d always said continuing her and my father’s goal to see the entire world had kept her sane after his passing.

She was in Turkey now, and although I would’ve liked someone to talk the events of the past two weeks out with, I relished the space. I didn’t want to tell her about Easton anyway. It would only reopen closed wounds, and there wasn’t a need. Mom and I had both grieved and come to an acceptance of Dad’s passing. He’d been an adventurer since before I was born, and I was raised with a full understanding of the risks that came with his profession, but I’d been the one who had needed closure. Not Mom.

And despite the hurt, I’d found it. Finally, after years of wondering
what if
and
why
, I knew what had happened to Dad—and to Easton.

Salt poured into the opened gash on my heart every time I thought about him. What he had gone through. What he’d done with his life as a result. I had no doubt he would’ve gained the prestigious status he had now, regardless of what had happened. I just believed that had my father lived, Easton might not do his job in such a way that it took his body to the edge every single expedition.

I sank onto the plush sofa in our barely lived-in living room and flicked on the TV. Cable was a luxury expense for Mom and me, especially since we weren’t here often, but we kept the house hooked up to the grid in order to offer the seclusion we wanted when we
were
here—which was only to recharge before the next job or adventure. When we came to home base, we wanted food, sleep, and mindless distraction. Hence, TV.

I scrolled down on my packed-tight DVR list and selected one of my favorite episodes.

Easton had traveled to the Brazilian jungle in search of the legendary city of Paititi—the city of gold. He’d gotten closer than anyone ever had before, and his findings had turned up evidence of a large section of land in the middle of the jungle that was perfectly square-shaped and hidden behind tons of thick, green jungle. The enclosure had been impossible to penetrate with the tools he’d had, but images captured by a fly-over done after the mission was complete had backed up everything Easton had said. The anomaly remained untouched to this day because it was protected by the local tribe’s religion, and any damage to the area caused by a full-scale excavation would start a war.

Of course, I knew if Easton truly wanted the claim, he could easily win the locals over. His passion for discovery, paired with his irresistible, confident charm, was a hard thing to resist in any language.

The scene that made it my favorite episode filled the screen, and I couldn’t help but shift in my seat as heat flooded my thighs.

Easton’s back muscles rippled underneath his tan skin as he yanked his shirt off. The heat of the jungle had him sweating constantly, and the beads that trailed down the sharp V that led to . . . well, they were practically lickable.

“This secluded waterfall is a precious find,” he said, smiling at the camera and pointing off screen. “The Amazon River is filled with things that could kill me in minutes. I’m sure there are a few dangers even in this glorious small, pond-like, body of water, but not nearly as many. And it’s sweltering here, like I’m breathing water, so I’m ready to cool my body down and get a good amount of the fresh water into my system.” He unbuckled his pants and slipped them off, one of his crew whistling, which made Easton crack a silly, sultry pose right before he dove into the water.

He broke the surface, dripping wet and with a grin that made me want to kiss it off his face. “That, my friends, is what heaven feels like.” He moaned and threw his head back, going under again.

The show cut to a commercial and I sighed. He’d looked so happy, so playful, and so much like the boy I’d fallen in love with. Of course, after my own expedition with him, I
knew
better. Easton had two sides—a camera one and a private one. The private one was much more jaded, but even then I’d seen the two parts of him trying to reconcile the longer we’d been on the trek. Perhaps now that he’d shared the weight of the tragedy he’d carried alone for way too long he would be able to live differently. More free. Happier.

I absently rubbed the center of my chest where a tightness lingered. Why hadn’t he trusted me enough to tell me? How could he ever think I would’ve blamed him, left him?

My heart thudded against my chest rapidly, propelling my mind to an answer that hadn’t seemed as obvious moments ago. A flush of heat raked across my skin, and my breath caught in my throat.

I sat up straight and brought my palm to my face. “I’m an idiot.” It needed to be said out loud.

He’d gone against instinct and
finally
opened up to me, telling me the truth even though it forced him to relive the pain, sharing the darkest part of himself with me, and what had I done?

I’d fucking left.

The irony was not lost on me. How could I be in his life, when I was a constant reminder of what he’d been through? The circumstances of my father’s death were more than enough to hit Easton with PTSD. I was almost certain it did from the reoccurring nightmares he had, and the dramatic emotional shift he’d had when the snake had nearly caused me to fall, or when we were in the cave itself. He must have only seen Dad in those moments, and relived the trauma over and over. How could I want that for him? To be the trigger to his deeply rooted pain?

He wanted you to stay. He asked you to. You said you wouldn’t leave him.

I leaned back in my seat, completely at odds. The urge to hop the next flight and return to him was overwhelming, but the idea of torturing him for the rest of his life by merely being who I was stopped me.

There was a choice here. And I could either make it for both of us without his consent—like he’d done to me—or I could woman up and lay my heart on the table.

Easton

“YOU SURE ABOUT
this, Easton?” Kevin, my rope specialist, asked me. “We’re already five hundred meters deep, and I can’t calculate for what I can’t see. It’s dangerous, going in blind.”

“Yes, Mom,” I said, rechecking for the fifth time the harness I wore. “My mind is made up. And if I sense a danger I can’t handle on my own, I’ll radio you.”