If he hadn't shown up.She couldn't finish that sentence, not even in the privacy of her own mind. She knew what came at the end of it—she’d spent the last ten minutes knowing—and those twisted images stung her mind like an angry beehive.
“I came as soon as I could,” he rasped. “As soon as I knew, I came running.” His jaw clenched, the muscles tightening, his arms rigid with the effort of keeping his hands still. “I wasn't fast enough.” His next words came out rougher than before, as if they scraped his throat raw. “I’m sorry.”
She nodded. “Thank you.” They sat in silence for a moment, the camp a distant murmur through the trees, the spring still steaming softly beside them as though nothing had happened at all. Eventually, she asked, “Can you help me up?”
He guided her carefully to her feet, both of their hands shaking slightly—a fine, almost imperceptible tremor that neither of them acknowledged—while keeping her wrapped in both his shirt and his arms. The fabric smelled of him, saturated with his earthy scent, and she pulled his shirt tighter around her shoulders. When her knees buckled, he caught her without hesitation or comment before effortlessly lifting her fully into his arms, scooping her off her feet into a princess carry. It was as if she weighed nothing against the solid wall of his chest.
“Can’t seem to keep yourself steady around me can you?” he joked, and it had the desired effect.
She gave him a smile. “Only because you seem to run me ragged.”
Shedidfeel tired. Her entire body had been flooded with adrenaline and was beginning to fade when a new feeling slowly began to replace it. Her breathing quickened at the man who held her. He felt so solid beneath her, holding her, carrying her back along the lantern-lit path.He is … tense?Every muscle of his was taut, his eyes scanning the jungle around them. A lethal awareness rolled off him in waves.
The camp lanterns cast pools of amber light across the dirt path, the shadows between them thick and shifting. Anyone who glanced their way looked once and then away, quickly, as though they'd read something in his expression that made the choiceeasy. Sally was nowhere to be found.Probably ran off to hide with her father.Gabriella was grateful for small mercies.
Once back inside their shared house, he kicked the door shut behind them and set her gently on the bed. The mattress creaked beneath her. The room was small and dim, the single lantern on the table throwing warm, unsteady light across the peeling walls, the rough-hewn floor, the narrow window with its curtain drawn. Outside, the jungle pressed against the walls. Inside, for the first time since the beach, the world felt briefly, tentatively contained.
His hands hovered over her waist, not ready to let her go.
“May I touch you?” he asked quietly, his voice pitched low and cautious. “I need to check you.”
He's asking.Something about that broke through the numbness in a way nothing else had managed. He was asking. As though her answer genuinely determined what happened next. As though there was no version of this where he simply proceeded regardless.
Justin never asked.
His eyes were as dark and calm as an endless night, as if Sibö, the Costa Rican deity, had just taken her leaves from the palm tree and used them to block out the harsh light.He really is too handsome for his own good.
He waited for her reply. She saw the cost of his patience in the set of his shoulders, in how his jaw muscle twitched, in the controlled stillness of his hands. She nodded once and slipped his black shirt from her shoulders to reveal her nude form once more, the warm air of the room settling against her bare skin.
His hands were careful and professional, methodical in the way of someone who had done field assessments before, but it was obvious he was fighting against himself from turning his examination into something more than clinical. He checked her arms, her legs, and finally her ankle, where she'd been grabbed—his jaw tightened when she flinched. The bruise there was already darkening, a deep purple bloom against her skin that he studied with an expression she thought was a mix between fury and grief.
“Aside from this—” He laid his hand ever so gently, the barest ghost of a touch, on her ankle. “Were you hurt anywhere else?” His voice was deadly calm, measured as if he was calculating in his head. As if he were contemplating how much more violence he should deal out if she had been injured more.
“No,” she whispered. “You came.”
The pain on his face reflected the pain in her heart, a mirror she hadn't expected and one she didn’t know how to look at.He’s furious, but at whom? Me for being so weak, Sally for being so deceitful, or those men for being monsters?She didn’t know, couldn’t know, for certain.
Until he said, “I will never forgive myself … for letting this happen to you.”
He’s furious with himself.The realization did little to ease her own anger. Despite him rescuing her, she was still angry at him. How could she not be, given everything he’d done? She wanted to beat on his chest, demand to knowwhy—why this path, why these lies, why she had to be collateral damage, whyher?
But the anguish in his face extinguished her words, and she simply stared at him. “I never truly knew you, did I?” The admission of the question felt heavier than the tension in both their bodies. “What are we? What am I to you?”
“My everything.” The confession felt strained and Gabriella was not sure she believed him. Mateo pressed his forehead to hers, eyes closing briefly, the warmth of his breath fanning across her lips as he forced his breathing under control. The intimacy of it—forehead to forehead, breath to breath—wasalmost undoing in its simplicity. “And I will never let that happen again. Do you understand me?”
She swallowed. “You can't promise me that.”
“I can promise this,” he said, pulling back enough to meet her eyes, his gaze absolute. “No onetouches you again unlessyousay so. Ever.”
Something in his tone—the bedrock certainty of it, the complete absence of theater—made her believe him in a way that frightened her almost as much as it steadied her. She nodded. “Alright, I will believe you in that … but Mateo, there’s more between us that needs to be figured out,” she said then sighed. “Just not tonight. I am too tired for this.”
He helped her change into dry clothes after changing into fresh ones himself, turning his back when she asked, but staying close enough that she still felt his presence. The heat of his nearness burned against her back as she slipped fabric over pebbled skin. When she was done, he handed her a mug of water, guiding it to her lips when her hands trembled too badly to manage it alone.
“Drink,” he said.
She obeyed. The water was cool and clean, and she drank as if it were the first time in days. Once she’d drained the cup, she sat on the bed, the mattress shifting beneath her.
Only when her shaking slowed did he move beside her, his thigh brushing against hers, his hands settled behind him, his body angled towards her in that protective way he possessed—not crowding or demanding, justpresent. She felt so small now, curled inward, bravado stripped away like paint from a peeling wall.