Our lips meet—soft, brief, terrifying. A kiss that feels like answering a question we weren’t supposed to ask.
She inhales sharply.
I pull back first. Panic slides cold beneath my ribs. Her eyes stay locked on mine, wide, stunned.
Violet laughs somewhere behind us.
Reality snaps back into place.
“Jax—”
“I know,” I whisper.
The pool hasn’t changed.
We have.
The next morning, I’m nursing a cup of coffee when Ava’s phone rings.
She steps into the hallway, but cabins like this don’t keep secrets well.
“Yes, this is Ava Dawson.”
A pause.
Then her voice tightens. “What failed?”
My grip tightens around the mug.
“The endocrinology?” Her voice sharpens. “No—you can’t suspend services. My daughter depends on those appointments.”
Another pause. Her shoulders sag.
“Repairs? How much?”
I hear the answer in the silence.
“That’s impossible,” she whispers. “Not that fast.”
I’m on my feet before I think.
“What about heating?” Her voice cracks. “It’s below freezing—those kids can’t—”
She stops. Listens. Swallows.
“I understand,” she says quietly. “Thank you.”
She ends the call and stands there, unmoving.
Violet watches from the couch, worry etched too clearly on her face. I kneel beside her, adjust the blanket so she doesn’t see my expression.
Ava returns, voice carefully composed. “The clinic’s roof damage was worse than they thought. One of the main beams failed. Heating’s unreliable. They’re cutting services until repairs can be made.”
She steadies herself. “Violet may need to travel down the mountain for appointments.”
Six hours. In winter.
The guilt hits hard and sudden.
