The Expert’s Guide to Driving a Man Wild (Bluebonnet #3)(55)
Author: Jessica Clare

She’d never seen him like this. “Why are you being so controlling?”

Grant’s fists clenched at his side and he turned away from her. “You can go after him. But if you do, you’re destroying any sort of friendship that we have between us.”

Her jaw dropped. “That’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve ever heard.”

“That’s how I feel. I don’t give a f**k if it’s ridiculous. But if you do, go ahead and leave, then. Clearly how I feel doesn’t matter to you at all.” And he turned and stormed out of the main lodge, heading for his cabin.

Brenna’s mouth worked silently. She stared after his retreating back, wondering what the hell just happened.

One of the men in the lodge cleared his throat and gestured at the window. “Uh, miss?”

“Huh?” She turned toward him, her cheeks flushing. That strange argument with Grant had been witnessed by all of their clients. How embarrassing.

“There are a few men coming up the path right now.” He gestured to the window.

Brenna rushed to it and counted heads. Three men in Wilderness Survival Expeditions slickers, and three men in various gear. Their missing campers. Perfect. She didn’t have to go out after Rome after all.

Now she could go after Grant and figure out what the hell was wrong with him.

Irritation making her steps quick and crisp, Brenna marched out of the main lodge and down the path to Grant’s cabin, ignoring the pounding rain that quickly soaked her to the skin. She pushed open the door to Grant’s cabin and didn’t see him in the living room. A quick peek up the ladder didn’t show him either. On a hunch, she headed toward the bathroom and saw a narrow strip of light under the door. Just over the pounding rain she could hear the shower going.

Good. If he was just taking a shower, then they could still talk, because she had plenty to say to him.

She pushed the door open . . . and halted, her anger deflating at the sight of him.

Grant sat on the side of the tub in his jeans, his shirt tossed in the sink. The shower was running, but he wasn’t in it. His head was buried in his hands, as if he were trying to compose himself. And when he looked up when she opened the door, there was such stark pain in his pale face that she forgot all of her anger.

She moved to sit next to him on the tub. “What’s wrong?”

He shook his head, sitting up straight. “Nothing. It’s nothing. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine.” Her hand moved to his and, to her surprise, he clasped it hard. “Talk to me. Is it Rome?”

A short, bitter laugh escaped him. “It’s definitely not Rome.”

“Then what is it? You can talk to me.”

Grant scrubbed a hand over his face, but still said nothing, the tortured look remaining.

She stroked her fingers over his nape, rubbing him. “Something’s clearly upset you deeply about the situation. Something deeper than what you’re telling me.”

“My wife . . . my first wife. I guess . . . I have strong reactions to unsafe situations.” Each word seemed like a struggle for him to admit. He paused, then sighed.

“Go on,” she coaxed gently. “What happened with her?”

“When we first got married, she was happy as could be. We were both going to college—I majored in business, and she majored in economics. We were very normal. And then for her twenty-first birthday, a friend took her bungee jumping. We thought it would be funny but harmless, something to laugh about afterward. I didn’t realize it was going to change everything.”

“How so?”

“Heather loved it. She loved it so much she went again the next weekend. And then after that, she went parachuting. And then extreme caving. Rappelling down sheer cliffs. And anything else that she could find within a decent drive from our apartment. And then she started doing stuff that involved longer than day trips. Scuba-diving with sharks in the Great Barrier Reef, rhino hunting in Africa, whatever she wanted to do that she could think of. Didn’t matter if it was illegal or not, as long as she got a rush out of it. She was addicted to the adrenaline high, and it changed her. If she wasn’t home, she was away on a thrill-seeking trip. And if she wasn’t on a thrill-seeking trip, she was . . .” His voice trailed off and he swallowed hard. “. . . thrill-seeking here.”

Brenna shook her head. “I don’t understand.”

“She brought home strangers because it excited her, and when I got upset, she promised she’d stop. And then she just met them at clubs. Two or three at a time, it didn’t matter. Part of the excitement was the forbidden. I was pretty sure she was into drugs at some point, too. Not because she wanted them, but just for the high. After a while, she thought everything was boring—me included.”

Brenna said nothing but simply rubbed his neck and let him keep talking.

“It got out of control and our marriage became miserable fast. I still loved her, but it was obvious that I wasn’t enough for her anymore. Her trips got longer and more dangerous. It wouldn’t matter if I told her no or that I worried about her. She just needed that next ‘thrill’ fix.” His hand clenched tight in hers, clearly struggling with his thoughts.

“What happened?” Brenna asked gently.

“She died, of course.” Grant’s words were bitter with resentment. “Even though she had asthma, she got it in her head that she should climb Mount Everest. It doesn’t matter that people have died repeatedly doing it. Someone told her that it was the biggest thrill you could undertake, and that was all Heather needed to know. She signed up to climb to the summit, and she declined an oxygen tank. It’d be more daring, she decided, if she went without one, and if it was more daring, it’d mean more to her. And those bastards who were supposed to be her guides let her do it. She died without ever reaching the summit.”

Oh no. Brenna felt a sick clench in her stomach. “I’m sorry.”

“What’s the worst is that it was preventable. She didn’t have to die. She could have put on an oxygen tank, but no one stopped her. We just all let her do whatever she wanted, because she was lively and fun and determined and so full of life that you never thought anything bad would happen to her.” His mouth twisted bitterly. “I’m told that when she died, there were seven other people hiking to the summit, and that they all stood by and watched her collapse and die without helping her. Because helping her would have meant that they’d have to give up their chance at going to the top of the mountain, and they wanted that more than anything. She died surrounded by even more adrenaline junkies. And you know what I can’t stop thinking about?”