Page 60 of Fighting Words

SUMMER

I’ve never wokenup with regret like this. I can’t even look at Cat. I roll over and face the wall, peel the blanket up so I can peer down in shame at my fully naked body.Oh my god.I tuck the blankets around myself again and squeeze my eyes closed like that will help me disappear altogether. For the first time since arriving in England, a part of me wants to go back to New York and reclaim my simple life.

It’s clear I didn’t think things through concerning this arrangement with Nate. Everything happened so fast over the last few days. What felt like harmless flirting quickly morphed into something more, and then before we could sit down and discuss things, we just went for it. His head was… His hands were… His tongue…

OH MY GOD.

I wasn’t even drunk. The memories of last night are crystal clear, and if I wanted to recall them, I could. Oh and look at that, even if Idon’twant to recall them, they come anyway.

I groan and shove my face into my pillow, wishing I’d had more sense yesterday. Past Me really messed up. In what world was it a good idea to hook up with Nate? We still have to work together! We’ve barely begun outlining!

It’s early, the sun lazing around behind the horizon line. I could get up and get out before Nate even wakes up. I could have hours to assess my feelings and figure out a plan of attack instead of only a few minutes. I need a shower, but I don’t want to run the risk of waking him up, so I edge toward my door and pry it open.

The resounding SCREECH could wake the dead. This old cottage with its charm and insanely rusty hinges. Ugh!

I look over toward Nate’s closed door, listening for any sound of him. When I don’t hear anything, I move like a little mouse, scurrying on tiptoes toward the bathroom. As quickly as I can, I wash my face, throw a beanie on over my wild hair, and call it a win. I have my jeans and coat on, my boots laced up, and I’m at the back door before Nate wakes up.

When I open the door, a blast of cold air chills me to the bone.

It’s colder than it has been the last few days, colder than I was anticipating. I tug my beanie down and stuff my hands into the pockets of my puffer jacket. My feet crunch in the new snow that fell overnight, just a few inches, fresh and white. My footprints are the first thing to mar the smooth surface, and I almost feel bad about it as I yank open the door of the shed. Nate’s faded red bicycle is waiting for me just where I hoped to find it. I feel nothing but sweet relief as I tug it out and walk it through the snow toward the cottage’s front gate.

My plan is to go into town and loop around on the bicycle until something piques my interest—the coffee shop, Martin’s store, a bleak-looking graveyard…I have no preference. I just want to get away from here.Thisis my real downfall. My desire to flee clouds my judgment. Otherwise, I would have noticed how treacherous the conditions were on the road. Sure, a car or two has passed by me just fine, but the road itself is still mostly covered with snow and ice. I get barely five minutes down the road, wobbling this way and that way, like I took a bicycle out onto an ice-skating rink. Over and over again, the wheels lose traction then regain it, only to immediately lose it again. I look drunk.

But I’m persistent. The road is bad now, but surely, it’ll get better up ahead.

Up ahead…

Up ahead…

Up ahead.

The echoes of my stupidity hit home as a car comes barreling down the road behind me, taking a curve too fast. I yelp and swerve quickly out of its way. The bicycle wheels lose traction once again and I go down hard and fast. The car zooms past me just as I land, half on the road, half in the snowbank. Fortunately for me, I catch myself with my hand before my head can hit the ground. I wince as the impact ricochets up my wrist into my elbow. My legs are tangled with the bike, and I drop it slowly, assessing the damage. My jeans are torn at the knee, and one of the pedals scraped my ankle. My arm is a little sore, but I roll my elbow out and I can straighten it just fine. It’ll ache for a day or two, but I got extremely lucky. I could have completely wiped out.I could have been hit by that car!

Belatedly, I realize the asphalt tore into my hand enough that there’s blood, but I can’t look at it. I’ll assess the damage back at the cottage.

And so begins my slow walk home.

I’m too scared to get on the bike again. I can’t properly grip the handlebar with my left hand, and my wrist and elbow hurt. I’m sopping wet and shivering, fuming and annoyed by the time I wheel that stupid bicycle back to its home in the shed. I haven’t even really inspected it. With the way my morning is going, I probably broke the damn thing and will have to pay to get it fixed.

I whip open the back door to find Nate in the kitchen. I stand there dripping wet in the doorway as he turns to me with a cup of coffee in hand, the steam rising up in curling ribbons. He looks rested and restored. He’s just had a shower and he’s wearing dark jeans and a hunter green sweater. His strong jawline is clean-shaven again.

This man.

THIS MAN.

Suddenly, I hate him.

As he assesses me, he frowns. “What did you do?”

“Nothing.”

I stomp over to the sink, not caring that I’m leaving muddy footprints on the kitchen floor. I’ll clean them later. After trekking down the road a mile with the bike, I’m sweaty and hot. I yank off my beanie and unzip my jacket. Everything gets flung onto the floor. I’m really making a mess here.

Then I turn on the water and, without looking, shove my hand underneath it.

“Ah!”

Nate is beside me suddenly, taking my hand out of the water so he can look at it. Better him than me. I choose to stare at a point on the wall in front of me instead, holding on to my annoyance to keep all the other emotions at bay. I can barely feel Nate’s grasp on my hand, the way he cradles it in his palm like it’s a baby bird.

---