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Despite the warmth seeping in from behind, Beth’s teeth started chattering again. Marc convinced her to pull her barely dry jeans on again as some protection from the wind and she took the brief on-shore break to wolf down the muesli bar she’d had tucked away. Her body immediately started converting the grain into desperately needed energy and warmed her briefly from the inside. It wasn’t a patch on the blazing warmth of Marc’s skin.
She was too cold to worry about pride as she slipped back into the surf and then tucked herself shamelessly back into his body. He received her with the practice of years, not hours.
As if it was her rightful place.
Skin rubbed against skin periodically as Marc’s body followed hers down and back up. His breath was warm against her bare neck. The sensations she’d been numb to for several hours came roaring back—making her tingle, making her remember. Making her—for once—ache for something more than a drink. A neglected part of her longed to peel his wetsuit right down to his waist, to see in detail and up close just how much of a man Marc Duncannon had grown into.
But she’d have to settle for feeling the topography of his body against her back instead.
‘Does it feel good?’ Marc said, low and almost unwilling against her ear.
She gasped and half turned in his hold. ‘What?’
‘Addiction.’ She could feel his tension against her back, she didn’t need to hear it in his voice. ‘I figure it must for so many people to do it.’
Beth thought long and hard about that. About the rush, about how it felt when it was gone. Or denied. About why he wanted to know. She twisted back around in his arms and continued sloshing. ‘It’s not a choice you make. For me, it wasn’t about how good it felt when I was drinking. It was about how bad it felt when I wasn’t.’
‘Describe it to me. Both feelings.’
She swallowed the lump of tears that suddenly threatened. Even though she knew this was more about his mother. There was the Marc she remembered. He wanted to understand.
‘Were you ever infatuated with someone?’ She forced the words out. Between the cold and the strong arms cocooning her, it was amazing she could speak at all.
‘Like love?’
‘No, not love. Obsession. Did you ever have a massive crush on someone inappropriate when you were younger—someone you could never be with?’
Marc stopped sloshing. ‘Maybe.’
Tasmin? Except that he’d finally prevailed with her. They’d started dating in the final months of school.
‘Do you remember how it possessed you? How it took over your days, your nights, your thoughts? You can’t remember it starting but then it just … is. It’s everything. It’s everywhere. Like it’s always existed. Like it could never not exist.’ She stopped sloshing in his hold. ‘Have you ever felt something like that?’
The tightness of his voice rumbled against her back and birthed goose bumps in its wake. ‘Go on.’
‘It’s how it was with me and my addiction. I didn’t recognise how it consumed me when I was deep inside it. I arranged my day around it. I made allowances for it. It became so normal. I learned to function around the compulsion. Just like the most concentrated of adolescent infatuations. And every bit as irrational.’
She felt him shake his head and she tensed. ‘Is that no, you don’t remember how it feels,’ she asked, half turning back towards him, ‘or no, you don’t understand?’
His lips were enticingly close to her face. His breath was hot against her cheek. He swallowed hard. ‘I remember.’
‘Then you know how it can take you by stealth. The passion. The fixation. The feeling that you’ll die if you don’t have it in your life. And you don’t even feel like it’s a problem.’
Those arms tightened. ‘It feels that good?’
‘It feels great because you’re love-sick. And all those endorphins feed your obsession. And it’s hurting you but you don’t notice. You don’t care. Nothing matters as much as the feeling. As the subject of your passion. It’s like a parasite. Built to survive. The first things it attacks are the things that threaten its survival. Judgement. Willpower. Self-awareness.’
Marc’s silent breathing began to mesmerize her, his warmth sucking her in. She couldn’t tell whether her words were having any impact on him. ‘And being denied it physically hurts. It aches. You become irrational with the pain inside and out and you lash out at people you care about. And the more they intervene, the more you begin to imagine they’re working to keep you away from the thing that sustains you. And that’s when you start making choices that impact on everyone around you.’
She felt him stiffen behind her and knew he was thinking about his mother.
‘But adolescents learn to deal with infatuation,’ he said. ‘Or they grow out of it.’
Or they give in to it. She wasn’t surprised to hear condemnation in his voice, but it still saddened her. How many people saw addiction as a sign of moral weakness. A character flaw. ‘Mostly because life forces them out of it. Classes. Structure. Discipline. Financial constraints. Exposure to new people. Cold reality has a way of making obsession hard to indulge.’
She turned back towards Marc again. The unexpected move brought her frigid jaw line perilously close to his lips as he leaned in for a slosh. The hairs on her neck woke and paid attention. ‘But imagine that you’re of legal age with ready cash, no particular structure to your day,’ she whispered, ‘no restraints on whether or not you indulge it. A husband who makes drinking a regular part of his day.’ And all the reason in the world to want to numb the pain. ‘No reason at all not to allow the great fascination to continue. Why wouldn’t you?’
Steel band arms circled around her and held her still. Close. Her eyes fluttered shut. He spoke close to her ear. ‘Because it’s killing you?’
‘By then, you are so hooked on the feeling you just … don’t. care.’
He turned her in his hold and looked down on her, a pained frown marring his face. ‘You didn’t care about dying?’
She shook her head. Hating herself. Hating the incredulous look on his face. Not that she couldn’t understand why, after everything he’d been through with Janice. She could feel it in the tension in every part of his body.
‘Because you truly fear you’ll die without it,’ she said.
His frown trebled and he pulled her towards him. Into his warmth. The kind of moment she’d lived for back in school. It was old Marc and old Beth from a time that the two of them could have conquered the world. From inside the crush of his arms, she could feel his chest rising and falling roughly. He was struggling with everything she’d just told him. And why not? It had taken her two years to finally recognise where her addiction seeded. And when.
Emotional and physical exhaustion hovered around her. She struggled to keep her eyes open, leaning her entire upper body into his. So tired, the only thought she had about the two perfect pectoral muscles facing her was what a comfortable pillow they’d make. His hand slipped around her back to better support her.
‘I don’t know what to say,’ he said, voice rough.
‘There’s nothing you can say,’ she murmured thickly. ‘It’s enough that you know.’
‘Thank you for explaining.’
‘I’m glad you understand now.’ Her words slurred. Her eyes surrendered to the weight on them and closed. She leaned more heavily into him.
His voice was only a murmur but it echoed through the chest she pressed against. ‘You want my understanding? I thought it was forgiveness you wanted?’
Nodding only rubbed her cheek against his chest. It was perfect friction. She did it twice. ‘Both. I don’t want you to hate me.’
Marc’s thumping heart beat hard against her ear. Five times. Six times. ‘I accept your apology, Beth.’
Something indefinable shifted in her world. Like the last barrel of a lock clunking into place releasing a door to fling open. And out rushed all her remaining energy like heat from a room, finally freed from her determination to win his forgiveness. Marc was the last of her list. She’d focused on those names for so long she’d never really given much thought to what lay beyond them. A dreadful unknown spread out before her. Something she had to brave without help.
Later. When she wasn’t so warm and tired.
She found her voice. ‘Thank you.’
He took her face in his hands and tipped it up to his. She forced her lids to lift. Hazel eyes blazed down onto her. ‘I think I’ve been angry at you for a really long time.’
She blinked up at him, barely able to drag her lids open after each close. Knowing these words came straight from his soul. ‘I know. I’m sorry.’ She laid her face back against the pillow of warm muscle and sighed as the heat soaked into her cold cheeks.
‘Why couldn’t I let it go?’ he murmured.
I don’t know. The words came out as an insensible mumble as her lips moved against his skin. His arms tightened around her, held her up.
‘Why couldn’t I let you go?’
His voice swam in and out with the lapping tide and, ultimately, washed clear through her head and out again as she slipped into sleep, quite literally, on her feet.
CHAPTER SEVEN (#ulink_98706c58-b096-5a77-b116-fc6e52186919)
A HIGH-pitched shriek dragged Beth from a deep, uncomfortable slumber. A musty smell filled her nose and she shifted around uncomfortable rocks that had somehow found their way into her bed.
Her eyes cracked open. Not a bed … the back of a car. And the shriek was a Wedge-tailed Eagle that, even now, circled the dim skies in search of breakfast. The rocks were the detritus that littered the back of Marc’s four-wheel drive, cutting into her back and thighs where she lay on them. And the mustiness was a mix of the skanky old blanket that wrapped tortilla-like around her and the salty moisture of her clothes, her hair. Dry yet damp.
God damn it, Marc!
Fury forced her upright and every seized muscle in her body protested violently. She should have kept moving. She should have kept helping. Not sleeping comfortably—or even uncomfortably—while Marc froze his butt off alone with the whale.
She lurched like a caterpillar towards the rear doors of the wagon and used her bare feet to activate the internal handle. Icy-cold air streamed in as she pushed the doors with her legs and her skin prickled all over with gooseflesh.
It took longer than it should have, but she eventually scrambled out of the car and tucked the dirty blanket more securely around her against the chill wind. Up here, exposed above the dunes, it was almost worse than down on the shore. The world around her was still muted but tiny fingers of light tickled at the horizon.
‘How long have I been out?’ She didn’t waste any time with pleasantries as she got back to the shoreline. Marc was up to his knees in the rapidly retreating ocean, practically sagging on the whale for strength. ‘Why did you let me sleep?’
He turned his face her way. Haggard but still beautiful. To her. ‘You passed out in my arms, Beth. You were exhausted.’
‘So are you.’
‘I wasn’t the one asleep on my feet.’ Frost rose from his lips with every word.
Beth’s whole face tightened on a frown. Anxiety flowed through her. ‘How are you?’
‘Freezing. Thanks for asking.’
‘What can I do?’
‘You can not give me grief for putting an unconscious woman into my car.’
She bit back her frustration. ‘I’m sorry to be ungracious. I just. You were alone.’
‘I’ve done this before, on my own, Beth.’
‘You shouldn’t be alone.’
Well …! That was a mouthful and a half straight from her sleepy subconscious. The moment the words left her, she knew she meant more than just today. This man deserved the right woman by his side, for ever. A bit of happiness. He’d earned it.
Not that she was the right woman. Beth frowned at the instant denial her mind tossed up. It was a little too fervent.
‘Why are you single?’
He lifted one eyebrow. ‘Why are you asking?’
‘Because you’d be a catch, I would have thought. Even in the country. ‘ Where men outnumbered women ten to one.
‘Thanks for the confidence.’
All the time that had passed might not have existed. They fitted instantly back together. Back into the gentle jibes only friends could make.
‘I’ve had girlfriends.’
Olympic Tasmin for one. ‘Anything special?’
His eyes studied the lightening horizon. ‘Nothing lasting, if that’s what you’re asking. But all nice women.’
‘So what went wrong?’
He glared at her. ‘I hope you’re not warming up to offer relationship advice?’
Despite herself, she laughed. ‘No. I may be a lot of things, but a hypocrite is not one of them. ‘ Her eyes went to the whale. She looked ominously still. ‘How is she?’
‘Worse than either of us. But hanging in there.’ His words were full of staged optimism. As though the giant animal could understand him.
‘You’re not going to give up on her, are you?’
‘Nope.’ He turned to the whale and spoke directly to her. Beth got the feeling there had been several man-to-whale conversations while she was out like a light. ‘I’m not going to let you go.’
She frowned, those words striking a chord she couldn’t name deep inside. They seemed somehow important but she couldn’t place why. The eagle called again, high up in the part of the sky that was still a deep, dark disguise.
‘It says a lot about you.’
His look upward was a question.
‘How hard you’re fighting for this whale. To give her a chance. You really haven’t changed that much after all.’
Marc bit down on whatever he’d been about to say and clenched his jaw shut. Hard. She practically felt the atmosphere shift. Maybe he wasn’t in the mood for conversation after her revelations in the small hours of morning. She fought the heat of shame that rose on that thought and the sinking surge of self-doubt that followed. Then she braced herself against the cold, tossed back the blanket and bundled it into her arms. Before her body could convince her not to, she plunged back up to her knees in the icy wash and sank the blanket under the water; its frigid kiss shocked her into full awakening. She dragged its weighty thickness up and over the whale, shrouding its skin in dampness. The nasty arrowhead scar on its tail was exposed again.
That couldn’t be good. It meant the tide was retreating. If it went much further out it would mean the whale would be high and dry.
As soon as the blanket was secured, she moved, aching, up the beach and collected the empty two-litre container and commenced the bend-fill-slosh ritual all over again. Her body didn’t even bother protesting this time. It knew when it was licked.
Marc watched every move.
‘How are you doing?’ he finally asked. Tension tinged his voice, but it was concern etched in his face. And caution.
Oh.
She stumbled slightly when she realised he was talking about drinking. Or not drinking in the case of this very difficult eighteen hours. And he wasn’t particularly happy to be asking.
The thought of alcohol had not even crossed her mind since she’d woken. That had to be a first. Although it shot back with a vengeance now. Hunger. Thirst. Craving. Needing. They all mixed together into an uncomfortable obsession for just about everything you could put in your mouth.
She feigned misunderstanding. ‘I’m ready for a big plate of bacon and eggs, a big mug of hot tea and a Bloody Mary.’
Hazel eyes snapped to her. ‘You joke about it?’
