We’re both breathing hard now.
Angry and soaked.
Me in my underwear. Jake in a soaked T-shirt and sweatpants. The fabric clings to him, outlining every hard line of muscle like it’s revealing secrets he’d never say out loud. Water drips from his forearms. His hair is darker, messier, and his eyes burn with an intensity that makes it feel like he can see straight through me.
“I don’t need therapy,” I bite out.
“Everyone needs therapy,” he fires back.
“True,” I concede automatically, because honestly, fair. “But not because I went for a swim.”
He steps toward me again, water sloshing. “You were under too long.”
“I was holding my breath,” I yell. “In a pool. Because I wanted to swim.”
He glares. “People don’t just—”
“Yes, they do!” I shout. “It’s called diving, Jake. It’s called being underwater. It’s called trying to feel something other than stress for five seconds.”
His mouth opens and closes, like he has too many words and none of them fit.
I’m trembling, furious and humiliated all at once. My chest aches from dragging in air, my throat raw from coughing, and now I have to stand here half-soaked while he rants at me.
“I never wanted to kill myself,” I say, each word shaking. “I never. I just wanted to go for a swim.”
Jake’s expression shifts so fast it’s almost dizzying. Anger cracks. Something else leaks through.
Relief.
It’s ugly relief, the kind that makes his shoulders sag and his eyes go glassy for half a second before he clamps down again.
He drags a hand over his face, water clinging to his lashes. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Well, that would certainly solve all your problems, wouldn’t it?” I shoot back, the joke edged in acid.
“Don’t. You. Dare. Say. That. To. Me.” He lands every word like a warning.
His eyes lock onto mine, sharp and unyielding. “I’m not leaving you to drown.”
I know he doesn’t mean it in a romantic way. He means it the way any decent human being refuses to let someone else come to harm.
And yet my chest tightens like it’s the sweetest thing anyone has ever promised.
I step even closer before I can stop myself, because my body is acting on something my brain hasn’t approved.
Jake’s eyes drop to my mouth.
My breath catches.
I’m still in my underwear. Water clings to my skin. His gaze flickers down my body and then back up like he’s trying to be respectful and failing.
The tension between us stretches so tight it feels like it might snap the air in half.
We’re both breathing hard.
We’re both angry.
We’re both… something else.
