Across the clearing, Bethany finally understands something I’ve been pretending not to see this whole time. Oaks didn’t dive in because of obligation. He didn’t dive in because of the club. He dove in because losing me scared him.
And that is something no wedding ring can stop.
Chapter 25
Brittany
I don’t remember the walk back to the cabin.
I remember water in my lungs. I remember the way it burned like I swallowed fire instead of lake. I remember something brushing my leg in the dark, slow and heavy enough to make my mind go numb.
I remember Oaks’ arms locking around me like I was the only thing in that water that mattered.
By the time we reach Lottie and Holler’s cabin, I can’t feel my fingers.
The door shuts behind us with a solid thud that cuts off the noise of camp. It’s warm. Too warm compared to the lake. My body doesn’t know what to do with the change. The cold still lives in my bones. The fear still hums under my skin. I start shaking harder like my nerves are finally catching up.
“Sit,” Oaks orders.
I don’t argue. I lower myself onto the edge of the bed and realize my clothes are dripping onto the quilt. My shorts feel like they're glued to my thighs. My hair hangs in wet ropes down my back. Everything about me feels heavy and waterlogged, like the lake is still holding on.
Oaks stands in front of me for a second and just looks. His chest is bare. Water tracks down the grooves of his abs anddisappears at the waistband of his soaked jeans. His teeth crack and his eyes sharpen in a way that makes me feel seen and exposed at the same time.
“You scared the hell outta me,” he says quietly.
I try to make a joke. I can’t find one. My throat feels scraped raw from coughing and panic. “I didn’t mean to fall,” I whisper.
“I know.”
His hands come to my shirt first. He grips the hem and pauses like he’s asking permission without saying the words. I nod once because my pride has no strength left. He pulls it over my head. His fingers brush my collarbone and the contact is hotter than it should be.
My bra is plastered to my skin. He notices. His jaw shifts like he wants to curse at the whole world and can’t decide where to aim it.
“Jesus,” he mutters.
“I’m fine,” I insist, even as my teeth chatter hard enough to shake the words.
“You’re shaking.”
“I’m cold.”
He grabs a thick blanket from the back of a chair and wraps it around me in one sure movement. He tucks it under my arms like I’m something fragile. His hands don’t leave right away. They rest at my ribs, firm and warm, holding me in place like if he lets go, I might vanish again.
“You don’t get that close to the edge again,” he says.
I look up at him and the stubborn part of me flares even through the shaking. “You don’t get to tell me what to do.”
His eyes darken. “The fuck I don’t.”
“Why?” My voice cracks. “Because I fell in? Because you decided I’m yours to guard?”
“Because I almost watched you disappear.”
The words land heavy and raw. Whatever fight I had left drains out of me like water from a cracked glass. He drags a hand through his wet hair and exhales hard like he’s forcing his heartbeat to behave.
“You think I’m overreacting?” he says, voice tight. “You didn’t see what I saw. The bank gave way and you were gone. I couldn’t see you. I couldn’t…”
He stops. His hands fist at his sides. For the first time since I’ve known him, he looks shaken. Not furious. Not guarded. Shaken.
