She let out a strangled sound that might’ve been half laugh, half sob. “You’re serious.”
“Deadly. If you say no, I’ll respect that. But the offer stands.”
She stared at me for a long beat, every line of her body broadcasting resistance. Independence. The fierce, lonely pride of somebody who’d learned early that needing anything from anyone was dangerous.
Slowly, she stood.
My pulse kicked up. I rose too, giving her plenty of space. Letting her close the distance if she chose.
For a second, she only stood there, fists clenched at her sides, breathing like she was about to go into a courtroom instead of a hug. “This is stupid.”
“Probably,” I agreed. “A lot of the best things are.”
Her mouth quirked despite herself. With visible effort, she took one step forward. Then another. Until she was close enough that I could feel the heat of her. She hesitated again. I kept my arms loose at my sides, open invitation instead of demand.
“Just… don’t say anything,” she said.
“Scout’s honor.”
She made a soft, annoyed noise before she stepped into my space and pressed herself against my chest, arms coming up in a quick, almost defensive wrap around my ribs.
I closed my arms around her. Not too tight. Just enough.
She was stiff as a board for a full five seconds. Then ten. At last, with a quiet, shaky exhale, something in her gave way. Her shoulders dropped. Her forehead tucked under my jaw. Her fingers uncurling from fists to flat palms against my back.
That subtle surrender hit harder than any punch I’d ever taken.
I felt it like a tectonic shift—that moment when someone who doesn’t trust easily puts themselves, literally, in your arms. A weight settling against me that wasn’t physical so much as… soul-deep.
I couldn’t quite stop myself from tucking my cheek against her hair. “Got you.”
She didn’t answer. But her grip tightened.
We stood like that for a long moment. The boat creaked. The world continued outside—waves and wind and distant engines—but inside the Second Wind, it was only the two of us and the sound of our breathing.
Eventually, her arms loosened. She stepped back, blinking fast, jaw clenched like she could force every emotion back into its box by sheer will.
“Thank you,” she said, voice rough.
“Any time,” I said.
She huffed. “Don’t say that if you don’t mean it. I might take you up on it.”
“Good,” I said. “I’d rather you take me up on a hug than on, say, beating the shit out of Carson in a grocery store aisle.”
Her laugh came out more genuine that time. “Tempting.”
“Extremely. But I like you out of jail.”
Her eyes searched my face again, softer now. “I’m still mad at myself,” she said. “And at the system. And at Carson.”
“Good,” I said. “Stay mad. Just don’t let it blind you again.”
She nodded, slow. “I’m trying.”
“I can tell.”
I stepped back, giving her space again. Letting the air cool between us, even though every cell in my body was suddenly, acutely aware of her. The way she smelled—soap and salt and something warm and feminine. The way she’d felt, solid and small at the same time, pressed against me.
