Not once.
Even when Rhett flirted too loud, when Jay made one of those dry comments that landed like a scalpel in silk—Roan just stood at the edge of the storm, arms crossed, watching.
Managing.
There I was, watching him right back.
I wasn’t stupid. I saw it long before anyone else did—the way Roaneasedaround them. How the hot-headed rookie who barked at refs and broke sticks on the ice suddenly stopped pacing. How he started laughing—actually laughing—when Rhett lost a glove mid-practice and yelled “naked hand” like it was a goddamn emergency.
Jay would roll his eyes. Roan would smirk.
The three of them were chaos and gravity. Orbiting each other like planets. Pulling everyone around them into their strange, perfect rhythm.
Including me.
I told myself I didn’t care.
Most of the time, Ididn’t.
I had work. I had rules. I had a plan.
But the memories didn’t give a shit about that.
Now, in this cabin, alone, exhausted and sore and strung out on a biological clock I couldn’t hold off anymore—those memories wereeverywhere.
I left the shower and sat on the edge of the bed in a towel, hair dripping, laptop still open on the table across the room. My scent was back already. Warm. Sweet. Edging darker by the hour.
Not full heat.
Not yet.
But it was close enough that I couldn’t lie to myself anymore.
I wasn’t focused.
I wasn’t fine.
I wasn’talonein my head—and that might’ve been the most dangerous part.
I drankanother glass of water.
Third in an hour.
The giant flat I’d hauled in from the back of the SUV was half-drained now, bottles scattered like fallen soldiers around the cabin. Water was supposed to help. Hydration, balance, grounding. Or whatever bullshit mantra my doctor had tossed me before I left.
It didn’t help.
Neither did the protein bar I chewed like cardboard, jaw aching, stomach curling away from the idea of food. Iwasn’thungry. Not for that.
I paced.
The movie I’d tried to start was still running in the background—some indie romcom I didn’t have the energy to absorb. Too many soft looks. Too much chemistry. Too much of everything I couldn’t let myself want.
The blanket I’d wrapped around my shoulders fell to the floor again and I left it there.
My body was hot.
Not just flushed—buthot.Skin too tight. Too sensitive. Every movement against fabric scraped across nerve endings I didn’t know I had.
