and our nights in my cabin. While Jared and I swam in the clear water on Wednesday afternoon, the clouds rolled in. The waves were soon the largest we’d seen since our arrival and when we had to dive into the water regularly to keep from getting pummeled, Jared carried me back to the shore.
As soon as he stepped onto the sand, the rain began to fall. I looked up to the sky and smiled. The light, warm rain was a welcome change from the sharp, icy downpours of Providence. Jared and I raced to my casita — which he allowed me to win — and we parted ways to wash off the salt water in our respective huts.
Jared hadn’t returned when I slipped on a pair of white canvas pants and a pink tank top, so I walked to his cabin in my bare feet. I could hear his music as I approached; I thought that he might still be in the shower, so I knocked on the wooden border of his screen door.
“Come in, Nina,” Jared chuckled. “You don’t have to knock.”
Jared relaxed with his back against the wall, lying on top of his perfectly-made bed. He was scribbling in a thick, brown book. The screen door whined as I stepped inside, and several small lights caught my attention. Monitors and electrical equipment lined one side of the room.
I raised an eyebrow. “You brought a stereo?”
He shrugged. “I take it everywhere.”
“You couldn’t have brought an mp3 player?”
“I can’t have music blaring in my ears while I’m working.”
I crawled in bed beside him and he pulled me closer. “I thought you could hear me over a stadium full of people?”
Jared wrinkled his nose. “Okay, you caught me. I don’t like the way those things feel in my ears.”
I bit my lip and leaned into his ear. “But I thought you liked things touching your ears,” I whispered, brushing my lips along the ridge of his ear. He pressed his lips firmly against mine and in the same second, I was flat on my back. His reaction seemed automatic, and I was suddenly hopeful that his weakness was my best chance at changing his mind about waiting.
Just as I settled against him, he pulled away.
“Your lips are different than a pair of hard plastic speakers. Now behave yourself,” he smiled.
“Sorry,” I said unconvincingly, nestling in the crook of his arm. Listening to the rain tap out a soft song on the roof, I closed my eyes and smiled. It was the first time I had ever been glad for it to rain on vacation.
The pages of the book Jared held were full of hand-written words. He had begun at the very top of the page, writing in tiny script, using every empty space available.
“What is that?”
“My journal. I thought I’d get caught up. I’m about a month behind. I didn’t want to leave anything out,” he said, kissing my hair.
“You keep a journal?” I asked in surprise.
“What else is there to do for the six or so hours I’m awake at night?” he smiled.
“Do you ever write about me?”
“Nina, most of this book is about you,” he said, as if it should have been obvious.
I sat up. “Seriously?”
Jared grinned, amused at my reaction. “Yes. You don’t believe me?”
“Of course I believe you…I just….” I looked down at the thick book, and noticed that there was only half an inch left to write in. “That’s a lot of pages.”
His features softened as he scanned my face. “I’ve been in love with you for a long time.”
“You took notes on things I did?”
Jared laughed. “No. Well…sometimes. Mostly I wrote about the way the things you did made me feel, or plans I’d make, how I could get around Jack’s wishes, how I would live without you, how I would make you happy. It got me through some rough nights.”
“Is there anything bad?”
Jared grinned. “Would you like to read it?”
“No!” I cried. Embarrassed that he thought that was what I wanted, I felt the familiar fire burn under my cheeks. “It’s your journal. It’s none of my business.”
“I don’t keep secrets from you. You know that.”
I looked down at my hands and picked at my fingernails. “It’s private. I wouldn’t want you to read my journal.”
“You don’t have a journal. I probably would have read it if you did,” he said offhandedly.
I looked up at him, shocked.
“I’m kidding!” he chuckled. “There’s nothing I’ve written that I’m ashamed of. I think it would be a good thing.”
He closed the book and placed it in my lap. I was curious to know what the journal contained, but it felt wrong to read it, regardless of the permission I’d been given.
“Nina. It’s okay. Read it,” he said, taking a finger and flipping open the cover to the first page.
I spent the stormy afternoon with my head propped up against Jared, reading his private thoughts. Once I’d pored over the first few pages, the guilt slipped away and I found myself absorbed in every word. It was an odd sensation reading my memories from pages written at a time when I didn’t know he existed.
I chewed on my thumbnail as I read through my life from the outside. Jared played with my hair; otherwise he sat motionless and silent. Half way through one of his more lengthy entries, I realized it was written the night he’d taken a bullet for me.
…Claire extracted the bullet. I’ve been angry, but this time I was furious. I saw that bastard aim at her and I wanted to tear his head from his neck. I couldn’t end his life fast enough. That’s one less of Donovan’s men that will go after her, but it doesn’t make me feel better. I can’t figure it out. I yelled at Claire to finish so I could go back to Nina. I couldn’t even explain to Claire what I was so mad about, because I don’t know myself. The need to get back to her was ridiculous, because I knew that Dad was with her. She’d gone home by then, but I had to be near her and I was angry that I felt that way.
It’s like I’ve been addicted to her, but I didn’t know it until tonight. As if I didn’t already have to be near her to protect her, now I just need to be near her. It’s infuriating.
So now I’m here, watching her talk to Cynthia. I still don’t know what my problem is. For the first time, I was afraid that I would fail. And not just fail — that I would fail HER. Claire accuses me of being a perfectionist, maybe that’s what it is. Or maybe I just didn’t want to let her down. But why the hell should I care? She wouldn’t know either way. I don’t want her to die, but that should be obvious, right? She dies, I die.
Maybe I just care. And that wouldn’t be a bad thing… for me to care about her. She’s a sweet girl. She’s kind to others. She’s intelligent. She’s comically stubborn. She does that cute tuck-her-hair-behind-her-ear thing when she’s nervous. She’s beautiful… unbelievably beautiful. Anyone with any sense would care about her…spending all this time around her, I guess it was inevitable. But this is more than just caring. If I wasn’t bleeding all over myself I would have grabbed her and…I don’t know. What am I thinking? She can’t know about me. Maybe that’s what I’m angry about. Maybe I want her to know I’m protecting her. I think a part of me wants her to know. She’s walking around her house and has no idea that I saved her life today. And that should bother me WHY? She shouldn’t know. She shouldn’t know that I protect her or that I care about her or that I think she’s beautiful. Wouldn’t that be ridiculous if I had feelings for her? But maybe that’s what it is. Maybe it’s more than that. I think it’s more than that.
I think I’m in love with her.
I looked up from the pages of Jared’s journal to see that he was watching for my reaction. I pulled myself up quickly and scrambled to kiss him. His mouth turned up into a smile as I pressed my lips against his, so I pulled back to look into his eyes. His expression was triumphant.
I took in a deep breath to speak, but Jared’s face twisted into a frown. “Don’t say ‘aw’.”
