Kevin squinted. “So if we got turned around, we could follow the cold one upstream to find the source?”
“Exactly.” Shane smiled. “You’re already thinking like a tracker.”
Kevin touched the surface, yelped at the chill, then laughed. “That’s awesome.”
They moved along the creek, and April crouched beside them to get a closer look at the water. Her shoulder brushed Shane's, and the contact sent electricity straight through him. He wassuddenly, acutely aware of everything—the warmth of her skin through her shirt, the faint scent of her lilac soap, the way her hair fell forward as she leaned in.
"It really is colder here," she murmured, trailing her fingers through the current.
Shane watched her hand, remembered those same fingers tangled in his hair last night. Had to clear his throat before he could speak. "Physics. Cold water's denser, moves slower."
"Show-off." But she was smiling.
April shifted her weight, the rocks under her feet unsteady, and Shane's hand shot out instinctively—catching her waist, steadying her. His palm spread against the curve of her hip, and for a heartbeat neither of them moved.
Her eyes lifted to his. Close enough that he could count the gold flecks in her hazel irises, close enough to see her pupils dilate slightly.
"Careful," he said, voice rougher than intended. "These rocks can be slippery."
"Right. Slippery." But she didn't pull away immediately. Her hand had landed on his forearm for balance, fingers curling slightly against his skin.
Kevin splashed further upstream, oblivious, playing with Pete along the bank.
Shane's thumb moved, stroking once along April's hipbone through her jeans. He watched her breath catch, watched color bloom across her cheekbones.
"Shane," she whispered.
"Yeah?"
"We should probably—" She tilted her head toward Kevin.
"Yeah." But Shane didn't move. Couldn't seem to make himself let go of her.
Finally, April squeezed his arm once—a silentthank youorwait until lateror maybe if God was smiling down from heaven todayI feel it too—and stepped back onto solid ground.
Shane's hand fell away slowly, reluctantly, still feeling the phantom warmth of her against his palm.
Kevin called out something about finding a perfect skipping stone, and the moment dissolved. But when Shane glanced at April, she was touching the spot on her hip where his hand had been, and the look she gave him promised they'd finish this conversation.
Just not with an eight-year-old present.
When they reached Kevin, the kid’s grin was bright enough to make Shane’s throat tighten a little. He remembered being that age—skinny and scrappy, running these same woods with Bear and Waylon, Elias always a step behind with a notebook full of ‘official mission logs.’ They’d made spears out of mop handles, fought imaginary bad guys, camped by the creek until their parents dragged them home.
He remembered the sound of Waylon’s laugh echoing through the canyon. Gabe trying to light a fire with wet pinecones. Ben explaining how moss grew thicker on the north side of trees—and Bear immediately arguing it depended on moisture, not direction.
Shane smiled faintly. They hadn’t known a damn thing, but they learned by doing.
That was where he’d fallen in love with the wild—with the rhythm of moving through terrain, reading the wind, finding quiet in the noise. That was where the idea of becoming a SEAL had taken hold, before he knew the difference between dream and cost.
He didn’t tell Kevin any of that, of course. The kid didn’t need the weight of ghosts.
April grinned as she watched him. “I take it you were this kind of kid, too.”
“Worse,” Shane admitted. “The whole gang of us, we all thought we were soldiers and SEALs. Used to sneak out here, play recon. Got in trouble more times than I can count. We called ourselves Mountain Division, all the way back then.”
April’s eyes softened. “And look at you now.”
He shrugged. “Guess the training stuck.”
