My lips twitch, and I bite the inside of my cheek. “Nothing a little overtime pay won’t fix.”
The boat slams into a trough, and my shoulder crashes into his. His hand shoots out, steadying me with a grip on my arm that lingers. When he pulls back, the absence of heat makes the cold that much worse.
I should never have kissed him. Should never have let him into my home, into my life. The barriers I built after Auren weren’t enough, and now I sit beside the evidence of my failure to protect both of us.
The engine pitch changes as Kyle throttles back, approaching the channel between the mainland and the island. The waves flatten out, and the rocking gentles. Still, our knees connect with eachbob and sway, the contact electric through two layers of denim.
My hands curl around the edge of the bench, the metal biting into my palms. Keeping things professional is the right call. Theonlycall. But the knowledge sits cold and hard in my stomach, a stone I have to swallow again each time I catch his scent or hear his laugh.
“Think the rain will stop by the time we head back tonight?” Jared asks, trying to keep the conversation going.
My focus shifts to the horizon. “Weather report says it won’t.”
“Weather reports lie.” His fingers tap on his thigh, inches from where our legs press together.
The boat engine throttles lower, and the taxi pushes through the final stretch of choppy water. Spray hits the plastic, finding the gaps and seeping beneath. Around us, a couple of crew members laugh at some private joke, the sound jarring in the quiet we’ve built.
I think of all the right reasons to maintain distance. The age gap. My history. His vulnerability. The crew’s gossip. The town’s judgment.
But none of that explains the ache in my chest when traces of him cling to my towels, or whenhis coffee mug rests beside mine like it belongs there.
Jared shifts beside me, his shoulder brushing mine as he turns to me. “You need a refill?”
He gestures toward the thermos clutched in my hand. I’d forgotten it was there, the metal warming my palms. I unscrew the cap, and steam rises, filled with coffee and cinnamon. He had it ready for me this morning by the time I reached the kitchen, and I’d barely touched it on the ride to the island.
“I’m good,” I say, though the truth is I’m anything but.
I recap the thermos without taking a drink, and our fingers brush as he hands me my gloves from the bench between us. His fever-hot skin burns mine, which has grown cold within the shelter of the taxi.
The boat slows further, and the engine gurgles as Kyle navigates the final approach to the dock. Through the window, I spot Nathaniel waiting under a black umbrella, clipboard tucked under his arm.
“Looks like someone has a welcoming committee.” Jared zips his jacket higher, preparing for the dash from boat to shore.
I should be doing the same, gathering my things and shifting into superintendent mode. Instead, Ifind myself watching the pulse point in his neck, the way his hair curls at his collar, and the faint shadow of stubble along his jaw.
The boat bumps against the dock, and the engines cut off. The sudden absence of vibration leaves my body with a hollow ring, as if the machinery had been filling spaces inside me that now gape, open and empty.
“Emily?” he asks, and I realize he caught me staring.
I stand, coffee thermos in one hand, work gloves in the other. “I should get moving. The schedule’s tight today.”
The words come out steady. This is what’s best. Professional. Distant. Safe. The lie of it sits in my throat like a fishbone, painful and impossible to swallow.
He rises beside me, taller than I sometimes remember. The space between us shrinks and expands with each breath, a tide I can’t control. Behind him, the crew gathers their tools and lunch pails, voices rising as they prepare to disembark.
With a shaky exhale, Jared steps back, giving me space to exit first, his palm hovering near but not touching the small of my back.
I stride past him, chin up. The professional. Thesuperintendent. The Alpha who doesn’t need or want complications.
Ahead of us, Leif meets Nathaniel, and I breathe a sigh of relief that the other Alpha hadn’t come down to the docks to talk to me. I don’t know if I could manage to answer any of his questions about the job right now, nor bear his quiet concern as a friend.
With each step down the ramp, the ache in my chest grows, but I keep walking because the alternative terrifies me more than the emptiness I’ve grown accustomed to.
Behind me, Jared’s boots thump on the metal ramp, following at a careful distance. Not too close. Just as I asked. Just as I demanded.
Just as I lied I wanted.
By late afternoon, mud clings to my boots, adding weight to my already-tired legs. The constant downpour has turned the worksite into a slick obstacle course, and the latest delivery needs to get logged and stored before it’s damaged.