Page 70 of How to Kiss a Hawthorne Brother
“We gear up and hit the water.”
The rest of the guys are already unloading kayaks and paddles off the trailer. Brody moves to the back of the Suburban and opens the hatch where spray skirts, helmets, PFDs, and other gear has been stashed. Leaving the hatch open, he grabs his bag, then steps off to the side where he drops his stuff and pulls his t-shirt over his head.
He should have warned me. Held up a big sign that saysKATE: BRACE YOURSELF FOR THE VIEW.Becausegood griefthe view is spectacular. I mean,yes,I’ve seen all this before. And a warning would have helped then, too.
Brody is not muscled like someone who spends hours and hours working the same muscle groups in the gym. He is not the kind of guy who can’t rest his arms against his sides for how enormous his biceps are. He’s muscled like an athlete—like someone who uses his muscles outsidethe gym. He is lean and lithe, with the perfect amount of definition in all the right places. I particularly appreciate the line of his shoulder curving into his bicep—
Oh my wordnow his shorts are coming off. He’s got compression shorts on underneath, butstill. He quickly pulls on a pair of board shorts and a long-sleeved rash guard, then slips on a pair of bootie-looking things that must be specific for kayaking because all the guys are wearing them. Aislynn steps out from behind the Suburban wearing a dry suit, her spray skirt already hanging from her waist.
She looks very serious about her sport. She holds her paddle in one hand and taps it against the ground. “Let’s do this, men,” she says as she walks toward the kayaks. “Ryan, you’re with me.”
I look at Brody, my lips pressed together to keep from laughing.
His eyes are dancing as he mouths the word, “temptress.”
I bark out a laugh, my hand flying up to cover my mouth.
Griffin walks over to give me the keys. “So, if you take this road downriver about five miles, you’ll see the take-out just past Tapoco Lodge. The river is pretty much roadside the whole way, so if you want to watch, you can drive ahead and watch us coming. There are multiple places you can stop the whole way down.”
“Got it.”
I take the keys and make my way over to Brody who is securing his PFD. His helmet is at his feet, and I pick it up, holding it until he’s ready to pull it on. “Have fun out there,” I say. “But be careful too, yeah?” A surge of anxiety pulses through me. The feeling is foreign and a little overwhelming. I really don’t want Brody to get hurt.
He reaches for his helmet, his gaze searing into me like it always does. “I’ll be careful,” he says, his tone serious enough that I know he isn’t mocking my concern. He gently tugs his helmet out of my hands. “I promise.”
I take a step back and push my hands into the back pockets of my shorts. “Okay. I’ll be watching as much as I can.”
He pulls his helmet on. “You be careful too, all right?”
I watch from the shore as the group moves downriver, my eyes on Brody the entire time.
Be careful? My heart tugs and pulls. We blew past careful the first time we kissed. I can only hope we aren’t heading for a crash.
Chapter Twenty
Kate
Just as Griffin toldme, there are multiple places along the road where I’m able to pull over and watch the kayakers move downriver.
The feeling of watching Brody paddle through rapids that look like they could swallow him whole is difficult to describe. It’s thrilling to see a display of his talent and skill, but it’s also terrifying. I am an adventurer at heart and have a long list of risky activities filling my resume. Sky diving, cave diving, ice climbing. I even ran with the bulls in Pamplona. I shouldn’t be worried about something I know Brody is qualified to do.
But I can’t stop running scenarios through my head of things that might go wrong. I feel like I’ve only just gotten Brody back. What if I were to lose him again?
It isn’t a rational thought. Not even a little bit rational.
I still can’t chase it out of my brain. It’s not that I don’twanthim to do it. But I am hyper-focused on his safety. I don’t think I’ll actually take a full breath until he’s out of the water again.
The last stretch of rapids runs right behind a lodge where a dining area and patio sit at the water’s edge. I contemplategetting a table, but I’m too anxious to eat, and the place looks busy. I don’t want to waste a table while others are waiting. Instead, I find a blanket in the back of the Suburban and spread it out on the grass where I’ll have a good view of the kayakers as they approach.
Based on what Griffin projected before they left, I have another half hour before they make it downriver, so I kill time by reading through articles and online information about the Green Race. The editor I emailed atSouthern Traditions and Travelexpressed mild interest in a piece and asked me to send it over after I’ve attended and have something written up. But they weren’t interested enough to offer me an advance. I still haven’t found an angle, but that probably won’t come until I’ve beento the race myself. I keep hoping something in my research will jump out at me. But so far, I haven’t felt that tingle up my spine that tells me I’m on to the right story.
As I scroll through my Google search, my eyes catch on Brody’s name, published in the newspaper one town over from Silver Creek. The town is still in the same school district, so I shouldn’t be surprised to open the link and find a letter to the editor from yesterday’s newspaper talking about last week’s school board meeting.
The more I read, the angrier I get. This person’s summary of Brody’s remarks is so heavily biased, it almost feels like slander. I’m surprised the paper even ran it. Words have so much power, and whoever wrote this letter is doing their level best to use that power to shut Brody’s program down.
I pause.
That’s it.
