Water streamed down his face, darkening his lashes,tracing paths over the sharp line of his jaw. His eyes were steady on mine—dark, unguarded.
He cupped my face with both hands and kissed me.
Slow. Deep. Like he had all the time in the world now that the world had paused trying to kill us. The warm water ran down our faces as he deepened the kiss.
I opened for him immediately, tongue meeting his, tasting clean water and the faint salt that still clung to him. My arms wound around his neck as his slid down to my waist, pulling me flush against him. I felt him—hard, thick, pressing insistently against my stomach—and a fresh wave of heat rolled through me.
“Callan,” I whispered against his lips when we broke for air. My voice cracked. “I… I care about you. More than I’ve ever cared about anyone.”
He stilled for half a heartbeat, buried to the hilt, eyes searching mine.
“I… I feel,” I went on, “things I’ve never felt before. Not like this. Not… safe. Not real.”
His thumb brushed my cheek, wiping away water.
“I know,” he said quietly, voice thick. “I do too, love.”
He kissed me again—tenderly this time, almost reverently.
I rested my forehead against his chest, listening to the thunder of his heart.
I didn’t feel like running.
I just felt… here.
With him.
Thirty Six
Callan
That night was like coming home.
I lay on my back staring at the ceiling, one arm wrapped around Sloane as she slept against me. The bed was warm, the mattress soft—a softness my body had almost forgotten existed. After weeks of hard couches and a cold night under open sky on a boat deck—this bordered on holy.
Sloane had curled toward me sometime after drifting off, her head resting on my chest like it belonged there. One leg thrown over mine, her hand tucked against my side. Her breathing was slow and deep.
Peaceful. Every once in a while she shifted, pressing closer in her sleep, as if part of her needed the contact without even realizing it.
I didn’t move, didn’t want to risk waking her.
So I lay there, staring at the dark wood ceiling and listening to the quiet sounds of the cabin.
Wind moving softly through the trees outside.
The distant murmur of Jeff and Ethan in the other cabin had long since faded.
We had made it, actually made it somewhere safe, at least for now.
The realization settled over me.
A month ago, I’d been living a different life: going to work, going home—well, to a house—arguing with Sloane over stupid shit at the aquarium. Back then, if someone had told me what this tiny woman would eventually do to me, I would’ve laughed in their face.
Love died a long time ago for me.
At least that’s what I’d believed.
After Sadie, I swore I’d never do it again. Never put myself in a position where someone had the power to rip my life apart just by leaving. I told myself it wasn’t worth it, easier to stay detached, keep everything casual, distant.