“I’ll take your word for it, but I’m good right here.”
“Let’s at least get you out of the water before you become a popsicle.”
Together we waded toward the shoreline, climbing onto a rock and lying across it, letting the afternoon sun burn away the water left on our skin.
Chapter 19
Oliver
I’m a terrible person. Not in the classic sense, not in the cartoon villain, kick-a-puppy kind of way. No, I’m a self-centered kind of awful, pressing my body into someone who has no idea how I feel.
I should’ve pulled away the instant Luke wrapped his arms around me, told him I was good, and swum for shore like a decent human with intact boundaries. But no, I sank into him, greedy for heat and the illusion of being wanted, like I had any right to. I didn’t. I know I didn’t.
Luke is Luke. He would hold anyone shaking in cold water without thinking twice. That’s who he is. I’m not special. Not to him, not in the way I ache to be. Still, I hung on and breathed him in and pretended that I belonged there. It was dishonest. It was selfish. It was bliss.
Over the course of our living together, my feelings for Luke had only grown, becoming inescapable. Even after my pep talk with Talia, for weeks I questioned it, wondering if the feelings were real or just trauma, clinging to the first person who didn’t hurt me. Group helped me identify those fears. Therapy gave me space to work on them. Time gave me proof. The worry that my feelings were misplaced or wrong had faded, until it fell away altogether. My feelings weren’t born from gratitude or the relief of being treated nicely. The feelings I held for Luke werepainfully genuine. I liked him. Heart-thumpingly, tragically liked him. For who he was, not how safe he made me feel.
Luke remained clueless in the way only sincere people can be. Never realizing that when he so much as brushed a hand against mine, it lit me up like a match struck against sandpaper. That every time he held me, he unknowingly dragged me deeper into something I had no way of climbing out of.
But I always followed.
Because some stupid, reckless part of me, buried beneath scar tissue and caution, wanted to believe there was a version of this story where every time Luke reached for me, he didn’t do it solely to comfort or because I needed it, but because he wanted to. Because something in him recognized something in me, and chose it, chose me.
The fantasy was treacherous, stitched from threads of hope, scraps of longing, and the endless list of what-ifs. Delusional? Yes. Add it to my ever-growing list of quiet crimes—emotional trespassing, longing without license, and full-throttle romantic delusion.
Talia, as the self-appointed archivist of theOliver Pining Chronicleswould have a field day with today’s entry. It had become standard for us to get smoothies after group every week and I’d been feeding her installments of the ongoing saga of my epic Luke crush. When I couldn’t wait a whole week with the updates, I’d text her mid-week with fresh material, which had been happening more and more frequently. In fact, as soon as we got in cell-service range, I’d be sharing this latest installment.
Luke stood beside me, the muscle on his sun-ripened chest, complete with a sprinkling of dark hair, on full display. I shouldn’t have been looking, shouldn’t have been staring at the way his shoulders flexed as he stretched, but then, I’ve made a small empire of should-nots. I’ve built a cathedral of forbiddenglances and silent reverence. This was just one more prayer added to the altar.
He pulled his shirt over his head. Then, turning to me, he held out my own discarded layers.
“Thanks,” I said, taking the offered clothes, our fingers brushing in the exchange.
Sparklers. Confetti. Fireworks.
The contact had been next to nothing, but it shot my pulse skyward. It was high voltage in my bloodstream. I didn’t know how Luke didn’t feel it. How he existed inside this moment and remain so composed. Maybe the months away from Vincent had played tricks on my memory, but even at its most passionate, even in the sweetest moments with him, I had never been set alight by something so infinitesimal.
“So, now that we’re moderately dry and clothed, I have a confession.”
“A . . . a confession?”
He moved nearer, the heat radiating off his skin cutting through the chill the waterfall had left behind. Forget hypothermia, tachycardia was the greater risk here.
“Mmhmm.” Another step, another degree closer to ruin, my heart definitely racing. “You should know, Ez wouldn’t have been caught dead in that water.”
“Excuse me?” I said, feigning scandalized outrage. “Are you telling me I jumped into a glacial pool to prove I could stand in for Ezra and Ezra would’ve refused on sight?”
“That is in fact what I’m telling you.”
“Unbelievable,” I said throwing my hands in the air. “You let me freeze my entire circulatory system for nothing.”
“Not for nothing. For the memories. For the personal growth. For the bragging rights.”
“I’m filing a formal complaint.”
“With who?”
“The Outdoor Activities Ethics Board,” I declared, poking a finger into his chest, purely for emphasis and not because when one is presented with such sculpted, museum-grade pectorals it would be criminal not to. “You cannot exploit a novice camper’s earnestness and competitive streak for your own amusement.”
