“Corey, no,” I scream, over and over again, calling his name and telling him to get out, just leave it, get out. Why is he not coming out? I’m not someone who panics by nature. I’m a doctor – I was a surgeon for years – and I know how to keep a level head in a crisis. But watching Corey put himself at risk like this, I can no longer deny I want to protect this man from everything and anything that might cause him harm.
My fear response is so out of character for me, and I can sense an urge in me that wants nothing more than to grab hold of him with both hands and hold him safe in my arms.
Not only that, but I want to lay him over my knee and spank his bare arse raw for being so goddamned reckless.
As the fire recedes, Corey and Rain make their way towards the back of the blackened, charred boat that has, nevertheless, undoubtedly been saved by their actions. Rain tosses one of the mooring ropes to Aidan so he can pull the stricken boat back in. Corey and Rain look at each other and seem to share looks of grimdetermination as they jump back onto the boats where Aidan and I are waiting for them.
Without a word, I walk to the dock, checking over my shoulder every few steps to make sure Corey is following. I can hear Aidan giving Rain an earful about how he is more important than anything and how he shouldn’t have done what he did. Almost as soon as our feet hit the ground, Archer is there to take the hose from Corey’s hands just as I grab his upper arm and lead him around the workshop, away from my brothers.
“Corey. What the fuck were you thinking? That was so reckless. Dangerous. You could have been hurt. You could have been killed.” My voice is steady, quiet, and utterly devoid of the roiling sea of emotions filling me. “You should have let it go. What if you’d passed out in the cabin, hmm? Where I couldn’t see you? Fuck, Corey, I couldn’t see you!”
He won’t look at me, and I take hold of his shoulders and shake him gently, despite my frustration, until finally his gaze drags up to mine and our eyes meet. The tears that fall from his eyes, leaving tracks in the soot on his cheeks, gut me.
He looks distraught.
But not at what just happened, no. At the way I’m speaking to him.
Fuck.
“I was just trying to help,” he says, voice small and broken.
I take a deep breath, the sharp stench of smoke from his hair, his skin, his clothes, too stark a reminder of what could have happened, and yet not enough for me to miss how heavily my words have landed on Corey’s shoulders.
“Fuck, I’m sorry, Corey,” I say, much more gently, pulling him into me and pressing my forehead against his. He closes his eyes, and I do the same, happy to just feel him breathing. “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that, I just… You scared the shit out of me.”
“I’m sorry. I—”
“No, little rabbit, I’m sorry.” He huffs out a laugh at the stupid nickname and pulls back to look at me. “I was just scared. Scared something could’ve happened to you and I would never…”
“You’d never what?” he asks, big green eyes locked on mine, our faces close. So fucking close I can almost taste his breath, which catches on an inhale as my lips move infinitesimally closer to his.
This is one of those moments where time slows to a halt. Our breathing synchronises. For every inhale I make, he exhales, a give and take of togetherness in space and time, our bodies perfectly in tune with one another.
After almost two weeks of ghosting him, though, I can’t make things worse by doing what I want to do and pressing my lips to his. Instead, I press my forehead more firmly to his for a fraction of a second, and then I pull away.
The look of hurt on his face guts me, and I feel like the worst kind of person.
“S-sorry,” I stammer, trying to recover my equilibrium. “A-are you OK? Did you hurt yourself?”
He won’t look me in the eye, but he replies.
“I’m fine. Thank you for your concern, but I’m fine.”
At the sound of the others rounding the workshop, he turns away from me and makes his way indoors with Aidan and Rain to wait for the police to arrive.
I follow behind, my feet like lead, dragging the chains of my bad behaviour behind me.
Fifteen
Corey
The wind whipping up the dunes brings biting grains of sand along with it, the sharp sting as they hit my skin, something tangible to hold on to. The honk and bark of the seals below as they play, and posture, and preen is a soundtrack to my racing mind.
It’s Christmas Eve, and I should be back at Rain and Aidan’s house, wrapped up warm in my flannel pajamas with a hot drink, listening to Christmas music as Rain bakes his contributions for Christmas Day at Nash’s house tomorrow.
Instead, I’m wrapped up in three layers of clothing – one of which may or may not be Nash’s navy blue cashmere cardigan I nevergave him back – Aidan’s old coat, and Emma’s hand-me-down Dr. Martens, all topped off with an old dog blanket that Rain assures me is clean, but still smells slightly canine.
I’ve been here since sunrise, such as it was, the grey, overcast sky failing to let much light through, searching for the positive thing I want to happen today. Yesterday, I got a job, which was great. But then I also saw my friends’ hard work go up in smoke – literally – and almost kissed a man who patently doesn’t want me.
