Page 19 of Wild Valentine
We keep walking, and I tell her about the family sawmill. How it's been here for generations, and about my brothers who run it.
“Is that what got you into woodcarving? Is it a family tradition?”
I peer at her out of the corner of my eye, trying again to judge if she's pushing for a story. But she looks generally interested.
Interested in me.
The thought makes me warm inside. I’m falling for Hazel, and there’s a chance she feels the same. She opened up to me as we were walking and told me about her sick mother. Now, I’m compelled to open up to her.
“I started carving when I came back from the military.”
My mind goes back to that time. I came away unscathed, at least physically. But I don't think anyone who goes to war comes back without some damage on the inside. I'm just thankful mine is less serious than most. And I have an outlet.
“It started as a way to do something with my hands.”
Our convoy was hit with an IED on my last tour. I was retiring from the military, heading back home to help when my brother took over the sawmill. We were on our way back to base, and I was flying out the next morning. A few of us were leaving and we were joking around, talking about what we’d do when we got back. That’s when the IED went off.
I tell Hazel about all of it. About the explosion, then the gunfire. The screams, the blood, the choking smoke, and the stench of burning flesh. The confusion as we opened fire at an unseen enemy.
The horror that leeched into my soul, and the anguish. We sent five men home in body bags from that explosion. But I came away unscathed, not even a scrape, and the guilt haunts me still.
Carving wood, creating something out of nothing, helped keep my hands busy and my mind still. I started out of necessity, and I soon realized I was good at it. It became a hobby, and when Danni opened the studio, she convinced me to exhibit my work and sell a few pieces.
I haven't spoken to anybody about this. Not since my last appointment with the therapist they made me see when I got back. As we talk, the constriction in my chest that I didn’t even know I was carrying starts to ease.
Hazel places her hand in mine, and the comfort of having her here beside me makes it easier to keep talking.
I spill it all, telling her about military life and about the artwork. About how I couldn’t think straight when I came back and wasn’t much use to my brother at the mill. I tell her about the Wild Riders and how the MC saved me. How being on a bike on the mountain was freeing in a way that I needed.
By the time we finish talking, the trail has looped back around to where we left the bike. I lean against it, and Hazel stops in front of me. A ray of pale winter light falls through the trees and falls on her face, making her look even more angelic.
I never knew how good it would feel to talk about everything. But with this woman, I can open my soul to her.
“It's a beautiful story, Marcus,” she says. “Just curious, but why don't you want to share it?”
I take both her hands in mine and pull her forward so she's wedged between my thighs. She doesn't resist and I love this feeling between us, this connection that's grown over the last two days.
“Because it's not just my story to tell. People died, Hazel. It's not a story for a fucking arts magazine. People want to find meaning in my woodwork. It's pretty fucking obvious. I'm not going to exploit the lives of those men to sell a few pieces.”
She frowns, and I regret my harsh tone.
“I'm sorry if that gets you into trouble,” I say more gently. “I told you my story, Hazel, because I want you to know me. But only you. I don't want to put pieces of me out into the world.” I take her hands and press them to her chest, right over her heart. “That piece of me is only for you.”
It's been such a short time but this woman has stolen my heart, and I hope she feels the same way.
“I understand,” she says softly.
She's so beautiful standing here among the trees with the afternoon light making patterns on her skin.
I pull her towards me and our lips meet, like magnets that are drawn together. I kiss her long and hard. She opens her mouth for me and deepens the kiss.
The birds sing around us, soaring on a soft breeze. The chill of the air tickles my skin, and Hazel shivers.
“Come on. Let's get you back to the warm cabin.”
I drape my jacket around her as we climb onto my bike. She's a natural on the bike, and I love feeling her arms around me.
It's been the perfect day; I just wish my city girl could stay on the mountain forever.
