Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70801 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 354(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
I feel the corner of my mouth tug. “Me too.”
For a minute we just stand there, two bruised-up people and a creek that’s older than both of us combined. The sun cuts through the branches overhead, splintering light across the surface so the water flashes silver and gold. A leaf spins past, caught in the current, disappearing around the bend without hesitation.
I don’t know what she’s thinking.
I don’t ask.
But I know this: whatever monsters are still living in her head, whatever ones are still pacing in mine, they don’t get to follow us here. Not right now.
We move toward a shallow basin bordered by rocks and a small sandy patch like nature tried to be hospitable. The water is clear enough to see pebbles at the bottom, dark and slick, with little flashes of silver where fish dart.
Salem stops at the edge and stares. Her face changes. Softer. “Okay,” she murmurs. “This is… pretty.”
“It is,” I say, watching her more than the water.
She glances at me. “Are you going to do that thing where you pretend you’re not looking at me?”
“I’m not pretending,” I say.
Her mouth twitches. “So you’re just openly staring.”
“I’m openly assessing,” I correct. My veins flood with want the longer I assess. Fuck, okay, I’m staring. Hard. She’s breathtaking. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever met.
“Assessing what?”
I shrug. “All of you.”
She lets out an audible breath. “Oh,” she pauses, then, “I’m afraid you’ll see something you won’t like.”
I don’t tell her that she’s crazy. Instead, I keep it safe, saying, “I’m wondering if you’ll jump in and instantly regret it.”
She huffs. “I won’t regret it.”
“It’s cold.”
“I’m tougher than cold,” she repeats, like it’s her mantra now.
I laugh under my breath. “Okay, clipboard warrior.”
She shoots me a look that’s supposed to be annoyed, but it’s got heat in it too.
We set our stuff on a rock. She hesitates—just a flicker—then starts tugging off her shoes, socks, and hoodie. Underneath, she’s wearing a simple black tank and leggings from Juno’s bag. Nothing fancy. Nothing meant to be seen. But my brain immediately files it under dangerous. Not because she’s half-dressed. Because she looks like she’s stepping back into herself.
She steps to the edge and dips a toe in the water. Her whole face scrunches. “Oh my God.”
I smirk. “Tougher than cold.”
“Shut up,” she snaps, but she’s laughing when she says it. She wades in anyway, shoulders tensing as the water climbs her legs. The creek is mountain-fed. It’s the kind of cold that bites first and then turns numb. She gasps. “Okay. That’s… evil.”
I strip off my boots and shirt, keeping my eyes deliberately on the waterline and not on the way she’s looking at my body. Every hour I’ve spent grueling over the gym is paying off. I want her eyes on me.
I like it. The water looks inviting, but I’m sure it isn’t. I step in, and the cold hits my skin like a shock. I suck in a breath and keep my face neutral.
Salem notices, narrowing her eyes. “You just flinched.”
“I did not.”
“You did,” she insists, delight sharpening her expression. “You’re not tougher than cold.”
“I didn’t say I was.”
She grins. “Coward.”
I move toward her, water swirling around my thighs, and she backs up instinctively—playful, but wary, like she still can’t fully trust play. I stop a few feet away. “If I’m a coward, what does that make you?”
She lifts her chin. “Brave.”
I hum. “Correct.”
Her expression shifts at that like she’s surprised, then something softer that she tries to hide.
I let it go. We wade deeper until the water hits our waists. The current presses against us, tugging at Salem’s tied-back hair, pulling loose strands like it wants to steal them.
She shivers. Then she exhales and—without warning—she laughs. A real laugh. Full and sudden and bright. It cracks something open in my chest. Because it’s not forced. And it makes me want to burn down the world for ever taking it from her.
She splashes water at me.
I raise a brow. “You sure you want to start a war you can’t win?”
Her eyes flash. “Oh, I can win.”
“Okay,” I say, voice low. “Come here.”
She squints. “Why?”
“So I can show you the part where you lose.”
She snorts, then lunges forward like she’s going to splash me again.
I catch her wrists gently—easily—before she can.
Her breath hitches.
The water laps at our bodies. The cold doesn’t matter for a second.
Her eyes lift to mine. And something in the air shifts. She’s close enough that I can see the faint freckles across her nose, the way her lashes clump slightly from water spray. I can feel her pulse in her wrists under my fingers. She swallows, and I let her go. Slowly. Deliberately. Because this isn’t the time to push. Not when she’s finally laughing. Not when she’s finally breathing.
Salem steps back, blinking like she just remembered what her body can do when it’s near someone dangerous. Then she splashes me again—harder. I bark a laugh and retaliate, sending a sheet of water toward her. She squeals, and then tries to dodge, slipping a little on the stones.